#aigis (mentioned)

[aomiyukataaa]

"I Was Blind"

a Morimens fanfic by Aomi Yuu

For those who do not want to visit Archive of Our Own, I'm posting the full fic here >:3

Fandom: Morimens

Characters: Jenkin, Aigis, 24, Ramona, Leonora/F!Keeper, Lotan, Brown

TWs: character death and trauma, Morimens chapters 1-2 spoilers.

Author's Notes: Some of the dialogues are sightly inspired by a song I like (indigo la End - 盲目だった, EN: I Was Blind). I won't see Jenkin and Aigis' relationship as lovers, but friends because I wanted to stick to canon relationships between these two. Some parts of this fanfic can reference the song I mentioned itself's lyrics; albeit I translated the lyrics myself. Please give me some advice if ever you read this fic, I'm not much of a fanfic writer, but an artist. Thank you~

「盲目だった、あなたはそうなのかもしれない。」[EN Translation: I was blind, so that was why you became blind too.]

It was a day where clouds covered the skies in Londinium. Lightning strikes, creating disrupting sounds. Upon hearing this from inside her house, Aigis woke up from her bed as she screams. The 7-year-old girl's eyes were red and puffy as tears flow down her cheeks, embracing her beloved pet tightly. She continues sobbing, embracing her pet tighter.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" A voice comes out from her room. "M-mommy! Please help me! A-Aigis is scared..." still shivering, the blue-haired girl stutters as she runs to her mother, the one she lost to in the Dissolution. Aigis' mother wraps her in her arms as her daughter continues crying. "It's alright, Aigis... remember, mother is always here for you..."

...This was the last thing she said before disappearing into the Dissolution.

Aigis, now 8-years-old, took frequent steps around the streets until she saw a green-haired girl with ragged clothing and mouse ears raising her voice to the outsiders who almost murdered her sidekick: a small mouse. The eyepatched girl didn't know what to do, so she decided to let her pet do the work for her. The pet started to transform into a huge monster that could possibly devour a person's life.

As the monster continued to grow, the outsiders started shaking in fear. Then, they screamed and ran away from Aigis' "pet", which both impressed and angered the mouse girl.

"Hey! What did you do to those outsiders?!" She screamed as she points her finger to Aigis. "A-Aigis didn't mean to scare the others... she wants to... to..." Aigis could barely keep up. She garbled up her words as she tries to explain what happened just now.

"Squeak!" ("Jenkin, stop!") The mouse exclaimed. "Squeak! Squeak squeak!!" ("That girl is trying to protect us! Please don't interrupt her!!")

"What?! Brown, what do you mean by that?" Jenkin questioned the mouse as it tries to explain what the blue-haired girl was doing. "She... saved us?"

"Squeak!" ("Yes!")

It seems like Brown is convincing the teenage rat girl to thank Aigis and her pet for saving both of them from being attacked by outsiders. Jenkin, glancing at the young girl for a second, felt confused for a second. That's when the rat girl realized that...

"She... did save us."

Jenkin, glancing at Aigis again, slowly goes near and looks at her sobbing uncontrollably. "Hey, crybaby..."

Aigis looks at the 13-year-old Jenkin, but then looks away. Never has she ever felt this bad because she feels like she has been judged by strange people.

"Listen, young girl. I'm sorry I called you a crybaby, but I want to sincerely thank you and your, uh... monster-thing for saving our butts off these strangers. Look, if you didn't see us like this, Brown would've been roadkill." Jenkin whispered. "May if I ask, who exactly are you?"

The blue-haired girl hesitated to open her mouth, but then she stutters. "I... I am... Aigis... and you?"

"Jenkin, and this is Brown. Nice to meet you, Aigis!" The rat girl smiled warmly, waving her hand to Aigis.

The moment where Aigis sees Jenkin, the former felt a sense of guilt and doubt, but also sensed a feeling of curiosity and fearlessness; while the latter still smiles warmly.

"Aigis is... glad to see you too!" The girl warmly smiles and greets young Jenkin too.

"Say, Aigis. I'm thinking of bringing you some candy since you seem like a nice girl to befriend with. Do you want that?"

Aigis, upon hearing the word "candy", widens her only eye for a bit as it sparkles brightly. She remained quiet and still, but decided to nod her head.

"Great! Let's go get some from the candy store near us!" Jenkin took Aigis' hand after saying this as they run to the candy store.

Many months later, after Aigis disintegrated into nothingness, the memories of Jenkin's first meeting with the girl she always trusts still remains in her head with the rat girl's hands holding a piece of silk.

"I feel no pain..." these words kept repeating all over her head until Jenkin couldn't hold back her tears. She didn't want to remember all this, but it's already too late. Jenkin can feel the pain going through her body and mind, and thus she wept down.

"Jenkin..." Ramona approached the rat girl, putting her hand on the latter's shoulder. With Lotan and Leonora watching over the scene, Jenkin continues to sob.

"Was this the moon or you that shines so brightly?" Jenkin wanted to ask this question to her friend who had disappeared in thin air, but she didn't want to confuse those who can hear her.

"I don't want to pretend that I understand..."

"...because I was blind..."

"...blind to understand her pain..."

Weeks have passed and Jenkin is trying her best to move on from Aigis' disappearance. The rat girl, unable to follow Brown's words, crawled through multiple vents, fought off enemies, and got herself with loads of scratches all over her legs and arms until she found the key the Keeper had lost prior to the traumatizing events in the Wax Museum she and Ramona had to face.

When Jenkin got to the exit of the vents, D-Slime was all over her face and Leonora's key on her left hand.. She was ready to sacrifice herself with all the struggles she faced in the past and present. In order to save Ramona and the Keeper, she tossed the key to Leonora.

"Hurry. Run away and leave this place." Jenkin groaned. Before Leonora could even say a word, Ramona and 24 pulled her away from the destruction of the Wax Museum. Right at the moment before Jenkin disappears too, she still remembers the past she had with Aigis, hoping that they could meet each other again in the afterlife.

"That's why I felt this lonely." She thought.

"I always wanted to have a good life with Aigis... now I feel like I could've saved her so we can still go on and fight the Dissolution. Even though I may see her again in the next world, I just want to say..."

"...That's enough."

After all this, Jenkin finally immerses in the D-Slime, leaving without a trace.

The End.

[shokosriver]

persona 3 and twewy spoilers but

i just need to ramble about how the hypothetical bad ending of twewy (neku shoots josh) is basically what happens to ryoji and makoto at the end of the year. neku and makoto both discover that the weird guys hanging around them are actually supposed to be in some way battling against them. and because fate is cruel, they have to choose whether to kill them or spare them for the sake of having brighter lives. joshua tells neku that he’s going to “erase shibuya” while ryoji says killing him will make makoto and his friends forget about the coming fall to save some stress. (interestingly enough these motives range from judgement to guilt)

joshua and ryoji are related to destruction in some way. joshua is trying to see if shibuya really isn’t worth erasing and ryoji is literally death/thanatos and nyx’s messenger. despite knowing this, neku and makoto still struggle to choose because to them, the care and love they have for their friends hasn’t gone. alongside that, their motives to keeping them alive is also because of the fear of losing the bonds they’ve built together than simply just saving shibuya or protecting your peace from the fall of the earth.

there are differences between joshneku and ryomina, but the similarities are still there. i love joshneku and shuake comparisons, but I find that ryomina is also very fitting.

okay what I’m saying is this dynamic makes me ill

[silent-partner-412]

i can’t tell if my utter lack of interest in episode aigis is because of problems originally in the answer or changes made for reload that make it worse, because i never played the answer. i can say, however, that i dropped it after like 2 hours or so after profoundly disliking my time with it, making it the first time i’m actually with the anti-reload crowd. like yeah, maybe episode aigis actually is a waste of time and i should just forget about it and move on. shame i already spent 30$ on it (fuck you atlus), but at least my 20 hours are still mine.

[mrgiggler]

It pisses me off sooooo much when aigis relationship with femc is dismissed as less significant than the mc variant as if it isnt the almost exact same in both routes (id say its more heartbreaking even)

[aloyiouis]

snippet from minato’s artbook description that stood out to me. i think it’s important.

[a-sketchy]

hmmmmmmm now that i’ve finished p3p i guess my choices now are to watch the answer, start a ng+, or start p4g. i think i’m leaning towards that last one

[lecliss]

Why is there always a dateable teacher in persona games??? You have a crush on one of your students? Okay what if I kill you? What if I step on your skull so it shatters into a million little pieces? What then?

[midnightclover]

4 11 and 15 for the ask game? :3

4... see, the most important part of a fishing minigame isnt the minigame itself, but the rest of the game around it. so this is kinda difficult. id mention a bunch of examples but.. it got kinda long, so lets skip to the punch, yah?

a short hike has the best fishing minigame ive seen. the minigame itself is simple, just mash a, and it's hard to fail, but the fun comes in with trying to find out where each type of fish lives.. you end up trying every little spot of water on the island, and finding rarer and rarer variants! its just a fun time (also once you find one of each fish you can talk to the fisherman on the boat and get a gold fishing rod which finds rare variants easier)

11. favourite berry? hm... raspberry. kinda close between raspberries and blackberries

15. a quote from a game that lives rent free in my head.. theres quite a few to pick from. i'm not sure what to choose.

ah how about this? even though it's been ages since i've played it, i still occasionally have himiko from fucking danganronpa v3 in my head going "Nyehh...."

[jdtrashman]

What stood out to me the most about Episode Aigis' first and second acts was how despite Makoto rarely being mentioned - and obviously never by name - you feel his presence hanging over every conversation. He is the true, underlying, unspoken topic of half of what the team talks about, long before the arguments and insults start flying.

You never see the funeral, you never see his grave. Instead, the game shows something so much worse: the hole Makoto has left in his friends by leaving the way he did. (spoilers under the cut)

Aigis naturally falling into Makoto's role as the silent protagonist leader-kun, and for the same reasons as him: introversion caused by deep self loathing.

Junpei proverbially tightening his belt and straightening his shirt, stepping up to be the team anchor because someone has to keep this team from falling apart on each other. How you see that through his jokes, how carefully timed they are to avoid a conversation going down a dark path. He's gone from the guy who blamed Makoto when things went wrong, to the one keeping the team's eye on the ball.

Akihiko doing his level best to stay strong, to prove to himself that he didn't fail his two best friends.

Yukari and Mitsuru's paralleled pain, both having been failed and left behind by yet another man in their life. And how that pain manifests differently - Mitsuru isolating herself for much of the expansion's first act, and Yukari's attempts to shut away the pain manifesting in petty jealousy over Aigis receiving the wild card powers.

Ken appearing to be totally fine until you sit back and realize that what you're seeing is a child's carefully trained numbness in response to trauma. He's lost his mom and two surrogate older brothers. He is, tragically, the best of the group at pretending he's okay.

The only one who seems to be adjusting as well as anyone can is Fuuka. You get the sense that she's the only one who is actually attending therapy for this. And even then, when the story gets to its end, it's clear that she's as hurt as the rest of them.

All of this is conveyed through dialogue way before the colosseum lays all the trauma bare. Genuinely masterful stuff.

[mrgiggler]

the subtle changes made in the femc version of yukari sl ....... how you dont have to max out charm to talk to her ......... how many more options are neutral and less likely to upset her .......... granted i do think it is due to the mc being a girl (though its still an unique case in all of p3 iirc) but still. yukari ............

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

(A little bit of something different today! We wanted to elaborate on some headcanons we have about everyone’s elemental attacks– they all use the same animations in-game, but we really liked the idea that the elements people use would look/behave/manifest in ways that reflect their personalities, just like their Personas do!)

(Some of these headcanons were mentioned briefly during the scene where Shinji watches the battle against the Hanged Man Shadow from his hospital room window, but we thought it would be fun to elaborate on them further!)

Electricity: This is the one that got the most elaboration within the scene we mentioned. Minato’s electric attacks take on the form of ball lightning, also known as St. Elmo’s Fire (although apparently the name St. Elmo’s Fire is also applied to a completely different kind of weird-lightning-phenomenon, which is very confusing lol), and they’re blue-to-violet in color– think of the colors you see in those plasma ball lamps! Ken creates discrete, precise lightning strikes that are bright gold– very much the image that might come to mind when you think of Zeus’ bespoke thunderbolts. Akihiko’s lightning is huge and bombastic, spider-webbing in all different directions and giving off bright, bright white light. .

Ice: Minato manifests ice magic as snow and sleet while Mitsuru creates glacial ice– crystalline and incredibly translucent with a luminous blue color Another big difference between Minato and Mitsuru’s ice magic is that Minato’s tends to freeze a target from the outside-in, while Mitsuru’s freezes outward from the target’s core .

Fire: Minato’s fire magic is blue of course! Think Azula from AtLA Junpei’s fire is bright orange and it’s very big and flashy, but doesn’t burn especially hot– it’s more like a campfire than a wildfire. Part of this is because he’s just not a magic specialist, and part of it is a reflection of the warm and friendly side of his personality. Koromaru’s fire magic has a distinct brimstone smell to it, and sometimes has a greenish tinge around the edges. Jin’s fire attacks create a lot of thick, dark, oily smoke, like an old diesel engine. It smells very strongly of gasoline and hot metal as well. Chidori’s fire attacks look different almost every time she uses one– her magic is as unpredictable and unstable as Medea herself is. She tends to end up a little singed herself when she uses it, but the injury is almost always minor enough that her healing abilities undo it pretty much immediately. .

Wind: Minato’s wind attacks are cold; they smell a little like ozone, like they came from a storm. Yukari’s wind attacks are hot, like the kind of baking wind you’d find in a desert. Her healing magic on the other hand feels like a pleasant spring breeze– the kind that feels just cool enough if you’re overheated or comfortably warm if you were cold. .

Bless: As an aside– yes we continue to refer to Bless and Curse in this fic even though Reload uses Light and Dark– we just like it better lol. Minato’s manifests cool, silvery moonlight in his bless attacks, while Ken’s magic is a warm, buttery gold like sunlight. .

Curse: Minato’s curse magic looks almost like if you took the light from a blacklight and made it into physical matter. Koromaru’s looks like shadows (literal, lower-case s shadows) becoming physical matter as well Takaya’s curse magic works almost like a black hole: the light in the surrounding area seems to get absorbed and devoured .

Bonus healing magic headcanons, since we mentioned Yukari’s: When Minato heals, it feels like taking a long drink of cold water when you were parched Akihiko’s healing feels like getting a shot of adrenaline Ken’s feels like standing in sunlight, aches fading under its warmth Aigis’ feels like applying antiseptic to a wound: a sharp sting that nonetheless feels clean afterwards When Fuuka’s Theurgy manifests as a party-wide heal, it feels like buoyancy– like a lightness on your feet as fatigue is washed away Chidori’s healing feels like the injury reversing itself; the process can feel incredibly unpleasant, but afterwards it’s like you were never hurt at all

[rontra]

who are your favourite p3/p5 characters other than the beloved failteachers?

🤔

mitsuru from P3 was always huge. i talk a lot about my early love for toriumi but lest we forget they also had me smoking yukamitsu at 12/13 and we are still mapping out the full effects of that one too

aigis my beloved of course. chidori was big too

tho i like everyone in P3 it should be said. i love everybody in SEES and mmost of the social link guys

the first girl i was invested in romancing back in the day was chihiro so you know i have a soft spot for her but she doesn't really factor as a "favorite". i just feel bad not mentioning her bc Baby Diesel had a bias for her ASDFHB

i played P5 when i was. uh. Older. so (sighs and puts on my Predictable Hat) its gonna have to be takemi and sae on the podium with kawakami yeah wow who coulda guessed ASHBHDBHJ

sorry im kind of obsessed with sae but she will never get to play in failteachers. amen. hope she's doing well (she's not)

[bakafurai]

WOAH AU JUMPSCARE!!! hi yes this is my very self indulgent hamtoshi au I have lovingly called reversed fates!

Basically it's a ng+ au where Hidetoshi somehow travels back in time a year after wishing he could have done something to save Kotone and takes on the wildcard role in her stead. He's the only who remembers everything, but he quickly learns how little that actually helps him when it comes to the dark hour...

More details under the cut! (Huge shoutout to some of the peeps over in the Hidetoshi Server btw for their big brained ideas... ya'll are my life saviours i swear fjghf)

More details on the main gang's personas (+Hidetoshi's starting social stats)

(Note: as of writing this I have not finished P3P so I don't have a list of the Personas from Kotone's compendium yet.)

As for the velvet room, Hidetoshi gets his own Velvet Room attendant by the name of William, who I have shared a reference here, his velvet room basically looks like those film noir detective office.

Because of the nature of his arrival to the velvet room, and the fact that Kotone already filled her compendium, Hidetoshi is not allowed to fuse personas- he is however free to summon and use Personas from the compendium (William is... too nice and socially anxious to charge him money for it).

Some other info about the AU! >Kenji swaps roles with Junpei, while Rio swaps roles with Chidori. >In his au, Kenji knows Rio but hasn't seen her in 10 years so is unware she is also a persona user working with Strega. >Chidori is a regular student at gekkokan, a third year student who manages the art club. >Kotone remembers nothing, however the death incarnate within her does! The bad news is that Pharos' memories are scattered and he can only remember enough to know that he can't let her sign the contract... The good news is that Hidetoshi can see & hear him for some reason and doesn't hesitate to sign it if it means saving Kotone. >Did I mention this is a hamtoshi au? yeah this guy didn't get to confess his feelings last time around and he ain't about to mess that up twice...He just has to get to know her as a friend all over again. (oooh he internally yearns for her sooo bad you have no idea, he loves her so much) >Aigis is no longer here, instead taking her role is Makoto! He definitely wasn't there last time though... >Hidetoshi and Kenji are in 2-E, while Kotone and later Makoto are in 2-F.

[s0ulphr4se]

for @truthprevail

Various papers & index cards were scattered across her table. Out of sheer luck (& the privilege of saving humanity), Kotone managed to get into Sophia University as a student in psychology. The only caveat to that being she was absolutely swamped in schoolwork. Gekkoukan was a special enough hell given it was a prestigious high school, but university? She underestimated it to an incredible degree. It was Golden Week, and she was studying!

Her forehead rests on the cold, wooden surface her materials lay upon. Fingers idly twiddling with each other, her mind flashes back. What would Sae do? She hasn't seen her since graduation day. It was a gnawing feeling of doubt tearing at the back of her mind. Her number redirected to some random lady in Mikage-cho, and she couldn't find her in her usual romps. Probably because she was so busy with university, right? Groaning in frustration, she turns her attention to her notes before being rudely interrupted by her phone.

...Wait, she silenced her phone?

An urgent beeping ran throughout her small studio, alarm bells ringing in her mind. She remembers that Mitsuru mentioned something like this before. Before she left for university, this phone was only to be used in case of emergencies. Eyes wide in panic, she hastily picks up the phone. Receiver to her ear, she can hear a voice that definitely wasn't Mitsuru's.

" Hello, Shiomi-san. Please head outside. We have a helicopter waiting for you. "

Putting on a star-laden jacket, she moves towards the exit. After all, a sports bra & a sports shorts were poor taste for an emergency. At least she'd have pockets too.

The helicopter ride towards Yasoinaba was chock full of information. She knew that there was a new wild card besides her & Aigis, but she didn't know that this would happen, even with the Shadow Operatives' involvement. To have to bring even Yukari, Junpei, & Ken into this... It must have been serious enough, more so that she needed to be called.

Rappelling down the rope of the helicopter, she lands at what she assumes to be the central district of this small town. A small ache in her right knee persists, but it's chronic enough that she can ignore it. She certainly wasn't unfit, as her stomach enough was evidence of such. Kotone then shakes her head. Those were thoughts for another day! Gaze lowering, the red fog practically covers the entire district. Naginata at the ready, she carefully treads the street - she knows shadows will come out. It's only a matter of when.

Kotone knows she's nearing the school, as evidenced by the Tartarus-themed building piercing the sky. Poor taste, she thinks. She's had enough of tall buildings she needed to climb to the top for one lifetime. Taking a short break from the frankly suffocating air, she leans against the sign post of some traditional looking inn. She's heard of it before, she thinks. Something about being a popular hot spring place in the area. Maybe it was a good thing that she was choosing this specific place to have a quick breather before moving onward. Her family needed to be saved, after all!

" FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! " she screamed towards the sky, aimed at no one in particular.

Maybe she did need a short break before moving forward.

[melliae]

The Great Seal’s Design

Considering how close Episode Aigis/The Answer is to being released, I think it’s time to point out one of the most interesting design choices in the game. Because everyone must have asked themselves why does the Great Seal look like this:

A golden door with 6 eyes and 4 spirals…

Well, the choice for it to be a door has an obvious source: one of the titles the Death card receives in esoteric traditions (in particular Thelema) is the “Lord of the Gate of Death”. This title also influenced the card rendition in P3 and P4.

The doors behind the skull? Yeah, they are the ones.

I don’t think I’ve to do an in-depth explanation of why doors—and thresholds in general—are a perfect representation for death and transformation/evolution, going from the known and familiar world into the great unknown, from the inner into the outer and vice versa.

“Man is a gateway, through which from the outer world of gods, daemons, and souls ye pass into the inner world; out of the greater into the smaller world. Small and transitory is man. Already is he behind you, and once again ye find yourselves in endless space, in the smaller or innermost infinity. At immeasurable distance standeth one single Star in the zenith.” - Seven Sermons to the Dead.

And as a curiosity that has no particular relation with the Seal’s design: Makoto created the Seal within Nyx’s body, yet The Answer showed him using it within the depths of the collective unconscious. Pretty interesting, and I can only link it with the Star mentioned in the previous quote, and thus with…

“An Indian picture of Shiva-bindu, the unextended point. It shows the divine power before the creation: the opposites are still united. The god rests in the point. Hence the snake signifies extension, the mother of Becoming, the creation of the world of forms. In India this point is also called Hiranyagarbha, 'golden germ' or 'golden egg.'” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious

How I lied about its importance xD

Again, I’m not going to repeat the meaning and role of Nyx’s here; I already wrote a post about it. So to put it shortly, Nyx isn’t something that can't be defeated, but only accepted, integrated and transformed. That’s why the Great Seal is a door, because doors are meant to be opened, to communicate the outer with the inner. However, as life and humanity are unable to confront their darkness, the Gate is sealed for the time being.

Now, moving into the next element, the 6 eyes! And I have a perfect quote once more.

“Eyes are round and in common speech are likened to ‘cart-wheels.’ They also seem to be a typical symbol for what I have called the ‘multiple luminosities of the unconscious.’ By this I mean the seeming possibility that complexes possess a kind of consciousness, a luminosity of their own, which, I conjecture, expresses itself in the symbol of the soul-spark, multiple eyes (polyophthalmia), and the starry heaven.” - Mysterium Coniunctionis.

That quote was in regard to an analysis of Ezekiel’s visions about (biblically-accurate, duh) angels, the cherubim and ophanim. Since those angels are the bearers of God’s throne, they become extensions of his essence and symbols of the Self as well, of the unified and whole nature of man. The animal and monstrous characteristics of the angels are due to said wholeness, which fully embraces the autonomous and (sometimes) beastly aspects of the unconscious.

At any rate, the same logic should apply to the Great Seal, with the multiple eyes it has being representations or outright multiples souls/complexes that are working harmoniously as one, constantly watching their surroundings. In this regard, the number of eyes also makes sense: 6 is the quantity of directions (above, below, front, back, right, and left) in a 3D-space like the universe. While the number doesn’t really fit with the hindu Lokapala, it does with their role as the guardians of the cardinal directions and eternal watchers of the universe at large.

However, as far as I’m aware, there’s no particular relevance of the number 6 within a psychoanalytic context beyond two mentions. The first one is in the explanation of Seven Sermons, where the candelabra named “Ignis” and “Eros” has seven arms due to the spiritual principle of the number 3, or “3 + 3 + a special 1”, which in turn connects with the second mention:

“Luna is thus the sum and essence of the metals’ natures, which are all taken up in her shimmering whiteness. She is multi-natured, whereas Sol has an exceptional nature as the ‘seventh from the six spiritual metals.’ He is “in himself nothing other than pure fire.” - Mysterium Coniunctionis

This one makes more sense, considering Makoto’s visage is a white/gray stone hanging near the center of the Seal. It can also connect with the alchemical symbol of the hexagram, representing the union of opposites during the Great Work and, as per Tatsuya’s Scenario, the macrocosm of space—or the macrocosmic universe (“大宇宙”). And just to put the final nail on the coffin:

“This sun has seven rays. A commentator remarks that four of them point to the four quarters; one points upwards, another downwards, but the seventh and ''best" points inwards. It is at the same time the sun's disc, named Hiranyagarbha.” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious

The six eyes are the multiple “consciousnesses” that watch over the ever-expanding and ever-developing outer word. They observe and change, focusing only on the reality that surrounds them. While the seventh ray, the most important and exceptional “metal” of all, focuses inwards, into the equal and contrary of the macrocosm: the human soul. And that disposition isn’t only found in Makoto’s “soul”, but also in the other element on the Seal, the 4 spirals.

“We can hardly escape the feeling that the unconscious process moves spiral-wise round a centre, gradually getting closer, while the characteristics of the centre grow more and more distinct. Or perhaps we could put it the other way round and say that the centre—itself virtually unknowable—acts like a magnet on the disparate materials and processes of the unconscious and gradually captures them as in a crystal lattice." - Psychology and Alchemy

4 is the number par excellence of the process of individuation and the Self, the sacred quaternity that’s ever so prevalent in mythology and folklore. And it’s present along with the figure of the spirals that, as previously quoted, stands for the movement of the psyche around its core and whole nature, the Self. Thus, the spirals go on forever, endlessly and fruitlessly getting close to the underlying archetype of life and humanity.

The eyes and spirals, then, present complementary imagery. They both represent the simultaneous collectivity and individuality of the Self, which is “smaller than small and bigger than big”. Yet, the divinity present on them is only fulfilled when the effigy of humanity is included, the immobile and changeless center from which every movement emerges and around which they move.

However, life is bound by time and change by definition. It transforms itself to accommodate archetypal wholeness. So what happens when that wholeness is achieved and embodied?

“That would probably mean—translated into our language—that when the Self, after having grown within the earthly man, has completely reached its goal, i.e., the mandala of the unus mundus, then it has a deadly effect on the earthly body because it has reached a form of definite oneness with the all-pervading cosmic One-continuum, which seems to be hostile to separated existence.” - Psyche and Matter, by Marie-Louise Von Franz.

The Self, the union between the outer and the inner, is the final goal of life, its purpose. And once it’s achieved, life is ready to “depart”, but not completely. Again, when individuation is finished the individual becomes one with the collective and world at large, and just like them, it keeps going even after death, though not necessarily in a physical manner. Again, the only thing that dies is the physical body, because the realized essence becomes everlasting, like stone itself.

“Then spirit, soul, and body become ‘the One, in which the whole mystery lies hidden.’ This ‘One’ is also described as a stone statue which is born out of the fire. It unites spirit, soul, and body and contains all four elements.” - Psyche and Matter.

The real stones that everyone knows of aren’t eternal, obviously. I’m not speaking about that kind of thing, but of their symbolic nature as things that surpass the lifespans of all living beings, that resist the weathering of time and the elements. Thus, what element better than stone to represent the non-bodily eternity of the soul? Even Erebus, with a strength that Elizabeth said was enough “to tear down mountains to the heavens”, can’t even put a scratch on Makoto’s effigy.

Following with the stone motif, Christ’s association with stones can also be highlighted, the eternal cornerstone of the house of god, as well as the Philosopher’s Stone, which, despite having red as its main color as seen with Trismegistus, is said to be a manifestation of God like Christ is, and the microcosm itself—the perfected human spirit. But again, the main idea behind the statue is that it’s Makoto’s crystallized life force, made to last as long as humanity finds life unbearable.

The Great Seal, the manifestation of Makoto’s soul and his final resolution, will forever remain in the abyss of the collective unconscious as a symbol of the potential that lies dormant within everyone—the timeless bond that joins everyone as one. And as long as it remains as such, the Gate will be eternally closed, immovable as a mountain.

He may look alone, but that's from the truth.

[sabotsen]

God’s Offering

Relationship: Tulu & Keeper/Reader [Platonic!! Friends!!]

Notes: Based off his Wandering chapters and a bit of his Frenzy chapter. Word Count 5.5k because I’m insane. Cross posted to ao3.

Warnings: Child sacrifice, mentions of death and gore, grief, survivor’s guilt.

There is no such thing as an outstretched hand without expectation. There are always strings attached. 

Tulu knows this. It is simply the nature of things, much like the way a curtain of colors follows the sun’s trail across the sky. It just simply is. 

So why, then, are your strings so hard to find? They must be there, somewhere. True, there are times you ask for his aid in battle on the few occasions you manage to catch him awake enough to ask, but that is simply his agreement and duty to Mythag, not you. Perhaps if you reached out to him more often he might be able to see it, glinting like piano wire in the sun. But rare are the instances you reach out to him at all. He has noted, more than once, you tend to keep your hands to yourself in his company. Now and then, you offer small sweets if your hands are full from a recent visit to the bakery you seem to enjoy. 

But not once have you reached those scarred hands out to him, empty and pleading. 

It’s strange. Baffling even. 

Tulu watches as you crouch on the dusty paved walkway a short distance away, a small smile on your lips as you listen to three children awakeners. Jenkins and Aigis, he idly recalls two names only thanks to the passing memories of their play and laughter reaching him from afar as he dozed. He does not know which is which, however, and he lazily watches as the one with the tattered cloak jesters wildly with excitement. The other two are quieter: one clutches a doll beside the cloaked child and the other child with long brown hair lingers closer to you, almost pressed against your side. 

They’re speaking of a small path they found in the garden where a well tended to shrubbery maze rests, as if it might lead to a grand adventure or secret. There’s excitement woven into every word of the cloaked child and, although silent, it shines just as well in the gazes of the quiet children. There’s an innocence to them — in their words, their gaze, even in the way their tiny hands grasp at your clothes. 

It reminds Tulu of days long, long gone and buried beneath the waves. It reminds him of faces blurred by time that shook him from his sleep and dragged him from the bunk bed with giggles and urging. It reminds him of reverent whispers spoken in hushed tones as they dragged him down hallowed halls, hope and dreams lacing their every word. 

An ache, aged and calloused, unfurls in his chest. Heavy, it settles upon his lungs as he watches the four of you. But he sits by all the same — looking, waiting, searching. 

You listen to the children, laughing softly at their excitement when the cloaked child grasps your hand and tries to pull you up to follow and the brunette child clings to the folds of your clothes. The child clutching a doll hovers and watches, her face nearly hidden behind the doll.  

“I can’t right now,” you say even as you allow them to coax you to your feet. “Doll is waiting for me.”

The quiet child tilts her head up towards you and Tulu only barely manages to catch her voice, “Are you hurt?” 

Even the cloaked child settles as they stare up at you, worry muting their excitement, and the third child clings to the former’s cloak seemingly near tears. But you gently pat them each on the head and smile, “No, it’s just a checkup. How about I come find you three tomorrow morning?” When the three of them blink up at you, eyes wide, Tulu hears your laughter once more. “We can’t go on an adventure without packing anything. Even great thieves need tools, right Jenkins?” 

The cloaked child, Jenkins, immediately perks up. “Th- that’s right!” Her small hands clench into tiny fists for a moment before she latches onto the other children. “We have to get ready! Let’s go, Aigis, Lily!” 

Aigis stumbles but is quick to match Jenkin’s stride as if almost second nature. Lily allows herself to be herded and dragged away from you, but she still glances over her shoulder to give a small wave before Jenkins drags her too far for her murmur to reach you, “Bye-bye.” 

Tulu watches, gaze lingering on the gentle slope of your smile as you wave goodbye to the children. It’s only when they are out of sight that your hand falls, as does the smile on your lips. It shifts to something more subdued as you wallow in your thoughts. Behind you, the setting sun casts you in a gentle glow, the silver key around your neck glinting in the golden light. 

That weight still lingers in his chest, burdened even more by your solitary figure for a reason he doesn’t have the energy to discern. Instead, he calls out from his perch beside the fountain. “Shouldn’t you hurry along?” 

You startle, visibly jumping as your hands fly to the silver key around your neck before your head snaps in his direction. “Tulu?” Tension bleeds out of you just as quickly as it came and the chuckle you offer is more a weak breath than a true laugh. “How long have you been there?” 

“Long enough,” he closes his eyes for a brief moment, the fountain gurgling behind him. He had only come to stretch his legs and hide from Miryam for a moment, yet he ended up lounging here. It was… nice, even if only faintly, to hear the distant bustle of the university. The birds chirping in the nearby trees that rustled in the breeze, the occasional footfalls and rush of students and faculty as they moved from building to building, the hourly chime of the clock tower that loomed near the center of the university — the voices and life of people who did not crawl on their knees before him. The sound of life flowing, free from his grasp and direction, as it thrived around him. 

There was comfort to be found in it. There was a loneliness to be found in it. 

Tulu opened his eyes and noted you had ventured several steps closer, hands behind your back and head tilted slightly to the side. Absently, his Aequor limbs coiled closer, winding around the bench he lounged on and even dipping into the water of the fountain. The setting sun gleamed off his crown and cast even the green hues of his tentacles in a soft glow. He sighed, head perched upon his hand, “If you have something to say, I give you leave to speak it.”

“I only wanted to say don’t stay out here too long, Tulu. The evenings are getting colder.” 

That’s… it? 

Tulu blinks, nearly raising his head from his hand. That’s all? A faint frown tugs at his lips, his voice even and weighed with something too heavy for someone his stature, “You forget what I am.” 

“I haven’t,” you answer simply, still offering that baffling gentle smile. “I imagine even God Kings would have trouble sleeping if they get too cold.” 

Silence is your only answer as Tulu watches you, the soft coral of his gaze deepened to an almost eerie crimson hue by the setting sun. Patiently, you wait and watch as his gaze narrows, his presence alone enough to peel the layers away of any normal mortal’s facade. But you are no mere mortal and you do not buckle beneath his gaze. Tulu closes his eyes. 

You are different. For better or for worse. You have always been different. 

You know him well enough to take his quiet gesture as permission to leave. Just barely does he catch the faint chuckle you hide behind a quiet breath, nearly lost beneath the crunch of gravel underfoot as you turn to leave. 

“Wait.” 

It is pure impulse that wrenches the words from his lips. But you halt just the same, and Tulu feels the warmth of your gaze upon him, waiting. 

Almost hesitantly, he opens his eyes, but he keeps his attention downcast upon his Aequor limbs that curl just beyond his feet. The words form and die in his throat several times and he struggles to salvage the wreckage of their remains. It’s foolish, he knows, to hesitate like this. He is a God King — there are few things he has not seen and heard over his long, long life. 

But perhaps that is why he is all the more baffled. 

Tulu frowns, a furrow in his brow as his gaze finally lifts back up to your face. Your hands linger near the silver key — a nervous habit, he has long since noted — but still ever present is that soft smile of yours. The sunlight shimmers off the soft green of his tentacles as they squeeze close to him before unfurling out, expanding their reach around him as if to elevate his presence. 

Perhaps it is cruel of him to ask this of you. But enough time has passed with him holding his breath as if waiting to drown. Why haven't you reached for him? Why haven't you asked anything of him?  A cold, plain stone bench rests beneath him and the humble clustered buildings of Mythag sprawl just beyond, but all he feels is the bloodstained throne and all he sees is the muted, swallowed remnants of his homeland. 

“Do you not wish to ask something of me?”

Confusion wipes away your smile as you tilt your head to the side. “Like what?” 

“The revelations of a God, their prophecies, or even the vast treasures of Lemuria.” There’s an edge to his voice, crowned by the cold metal of the burden golden upon his temple and framed by the Aequor that coils around him. Faintly, he hears in the echoes of his own voice the prayers and pleas that used to haunt his dreams.

You laugh, more a huff than anything else, and an amused expression replaces your confusion. “I don’t need them.” 

The frown upon his lips twists, small and fragile in a way only a soul lost at sea would know – grasping at the wreckage of what he once knew and finding no landmark in sight. “Do you truly not need anything of me?” 

Tulu watches as you press your lips in thought for but a moment, fingers rubbing at the silver key. “Nope,” you reply with a smile so honest and bright it hurts. 

It doesn’t make sense.

An ache hollows him out, old and nameless. It settles in his lungs, nestles where the sea once burrowed when the grand civilization was swallowed. 

Tulu closes his eyes, Aequor limbs coiling close and in on themselves as if to make him smaller. You’re strange. So strange. A god king sits before you and offers a wish yet you laugh it off and continue on your merry way. Do you think he cannot honor his word? Do you think whatever you wish for is beyond his reach? 

“You are strange.” There’s a grumble to his voice, barely hidden behind the exhaustion he sighs with. 

You laugh. It’s a gentle and warm sound, an honest one — Tulu can’t bring himself to dislike it. “I hear that a lot.” 

When he does not respond, his eyes closed and his brow still slightly furrowed, Tulu hears the gravel crunch underfoot once more as you turn to leave. He does not stop you this time. He listens, straining against the noise of the trees, the chitter of birds, and the distant bustle of others to catch the sound of your steps until they fade. Only when you are truly gone does he open his eyes again, gaze lingering where you once stood. 

The sun has nearly vanished beyond the horizon and the deep blue and purple hues of the night creep across the sky. 

He is tired. 

Dreams hover on the edge of his periphery, gnawing upon the fringes of his waking mind. It wears him down to ignore them for long, but he couldn’t help but stall the lulling call of his evening nap when you happened by. He had thought perhaps if he watched you a little longer, stared a little harder, pried a little deeper he might finally see the strings wound about your hands. Perhaps he could finally, finally see your end goal. 

But it was for naught. 

All he saw is all he ever seemed to see. Your hands are empty and there are no strings attached to your kindness. You do not reach for him. You do not ask anything from him. 

Is it because you have nothing to ask from a King? Or do you have nothing to beg from a God?

Tulu rises slowly, Aequor limbs lazily unfurling and flowing in his wake like ripples on the water.

It doesn’t matter. 

He just needs to sleep a while, and then this ache in his chest will drown beneath the sea, just as all things do. 

He dreamt. 

Tulu always dreams, but this time was different. He dreamt not of things yet to come — of chaos twisting unto itself upon a throne of corpses he could never save. No, this time he dreamt of something etched in stone and lost beneath black waters. He dreamt of the past and that made it all the worse. 

Like a curse, those hallowed halls loomed around him, pale stone gleaming in the soft light as children — his friends, faces he has not seen for eons — chatter in hushed whispers as they dragged him along. At his side, as if he had never left, was Noah — face still soft and round, unmarred by both the sea winds and time. Innocent. Youthful. They all were. As they pulled him from the bed and dragged him through the quiet temple halls, dread coiled in the shadows of his every step. 

He knows how this plays out. He has seen it time and again, a curse burned into his mind at night whenever sleep claimed him — as unchangeable now as it was back then. Tulu watches, resigned, as his long gone friends usher him into the throne room. There, as he knew it would, gleamed the golden crown. Something bitter and cold coils in his gut at the sight of it.

Despite the many years since. Because of the many years since. 

Tulu did not dissuade his friends when they cloistered around the crown, nor did he stop them when they pondered testing it upon their heads. 

“To see if they are worthy,” one of them had said.

As if that relic was anything but a burden and a curse. 

When the high priest came and admonished them, Tulu let his eyes linger on the crown. What did they see when they stared at it, he wondered. Did they feel that eerie sense of dread drip down their throat as they neared it? Did they see the Aequor tentacles coiled about it, twisting and writhing like a beast grasping for air? In their eyes was it truly just a mere metal crown? 

Tulu closed his eyes. 

He did not ask. This was a dream. Nothing would change. 

Tulu resigns himself, as he always does, to allow the currents of the dream to carry him forth. There is no point in thrashing against the tide, no merit to expending energy in the struggle. Nothing would change. 

When the dream shifts to the crowning ceremony, Tulu tastes bile in his throat. He is loathe to relive this moment, no matter how many times he has seen it. It did not prepare him when it haunted his dreams prior to the ceremony, and it did not bring any comfort now that his homeland lay buried and lost beneath the sea. He lingered, just as he had that day, at the foot of the grand altar. 

Distantly, he feels something different. Something off. There is something — someone in the dream. 

But he hears the reverberation of several pairs of footsteps climb the stairs and he cannot focus on anything else. He feels the rain against his skin, hears the distant scream of his people as they flee to safety. Nature and beast alike roar in the approaching distance upon the black waters. At his side is Noah, face twisted with worry and fear. But there, upon the altar is that foolish, gentle friend of his — Samuel. The clown glints in his too small hands. 

Tulu sees, too late — always too little, too late — the golden crown rest upon Samuel's head. For only a moment, a heartbeat’s stumble, he prays that perhaps this time will be different. 

But Fate cannot be changed, and blood sprays from the child’s mouth, blooming bright amidst the dreary colors of the storm. Bathed in crimson, emerald tentacles curl from Samuel’s mouth and further burst from his throat. Bloodied tears form and trickle before every semblance of his face is erased in a writhing mass of emerald and mutilated flesh.

One after another, those foolish — brave — young friends of his give their lives for faith, for hope. For salvation. 

Their prayers are answered in blood.

He hates it. He hates these dreams he cannot change. He hates these memories that haunt him still. He hates the faith he cannot shake, the voice that echoes in his dreams. He hates so many, many things. 

But Tulu still screams at the top of his lungs, his voice swallowed by the storm. He still runs up the stairs with Noah scrambling and grasping after him. He still salvages that bloodied, cursed crown from the horrid remains of Samuel, Amos, and Gretchen that are quickly nearly washed away by the rain. He still grits his teeth and bears the weight of that crown — that burden, bloodied and gory — upon his head. 

Because such was his dream. Because such was his fate. 

Only when the metal kisses his skin, the cold chilling his scalp, does he feel it. There, buried and nearly lost amongst the presence of something Other, is someone familiar. Small, weak — like a firefly nestled beneath the cycling beam of the lighthouse. Easily missed, easily overlooked. But Tulu knows the weight of this crown — he knows the blood upon its metal and the sound of its call. You are not the crown, but you are there, within it. 

There’s comfort to be had in that, perhaps. 

A gentleness that flows from the shadows of the metal into him that he is unaccustomed to as he floats through the dream. You stay with him, even as the storm ceases and his people return. You remain, even as they place him upon that damnable throne and the days slip into years between his slumber. You remain, unchanging and gentle, even as Noah ages beside him with every blink of his eyes. 

An ache grows in his chest, cold and gaping. Bottomless. But still he feels you, that warmth you try to seep from the crown into his small form to fill the gaps. It’s not enough. But it means something, still. 

It is only after he stands in the darkened doorway of Noah’s home, a small pouch of treats pressed into his hands by Noah’s wife, tears still streaming down her face, that he feels the tendrils of the dream shake. The delicate thread connecting you to him thins, twisting as if strained. It’s ending. The dream is finally ending. The priestess calls his name, all but beckoning and grasping at him to drag him back to the throne. But he still lingers in that doorway as if trapped, his gaze on the lifeless form of Noah upon the bed and the way his wife curves a weeping willow over him. Her delicate hands grasp at his calloused ones as she bows her head as if in prayer. 

Idly, Tulu wonders when exactly did he close his eyes to the way Noah’s hands outgrew his own. He knew Noah aged, just as everyone else did — just like all mortals are supposed to. 

Tulu stands in that mourning doorway, unchanged since that day in the storm — his frame too thin and his shoulders too small for the burden crowned upon his head. 

But the priestess begs for him once more and the dream shudders. 

Tulu turns away from Noah’s corpse, from Noah’s wife, and the cozy little home Noah had built with his own hands that Tulu knew from countless cherished tales like the back of his hand. 

Tulu turns away, the warmth of you shatters, and the dream collapses. 

He wakes slowly. 

Upon his head, the crown gleams in the morning light, cold and devoid of comfort or warmth — just as it should. 

It takes longer than he would like to untangle himself from the Aequor limbs that had coiled and twisted themselves around him like a sinner’s chains in a lakebed. But he crawls from the bed, scowling all the while. A pressure lingers upon his shoulders and nestles in his chest — a weight he can’t quite place. It unsettles him. Tulu ignores it, as he does so many things, and slips silently from his room. 

Miryam will no doubt come to pay her respects to him — too noisy and devout by far. Despite the many hours he lost to his slumber, he could still track when she would come. Religion requires time set aside for devotionals and Miryam was nothing if not fervent in her devotion. She knows his sleep schedule almost by heart and, knowing he would wake around this time, she would no doubt come to him. It would be best if he made himself scarce now. 

Tulu flees to the one place he knows she will at least hesitate before gracing the doorstep — your room. 

He's dreaming again. 

Resignation taints the edges of his emotions. He doesn’t recall falling asleep. He should have been on his way to your room, to burrow under those thick, fluffy blankets and while away the remaining hours of the day in quiet peace. He should have been curled up in the corner of your bed, bundled up as he watched students bustle to and fro outside your window. He should have been in the sole quiet shelter he carved for himself away from dreams and burdens. 

With a sigh, Tulu lets the edges of the dream twist around him. There’s chaos in this space, here at the edge of dreams where colors and noise blur into dizzying shapes — the place beyond a normal mortal’s reach. A voice, muted and distant hums at the back of his mind, too invasive to be friendly as it needles under his skin. He doesn’t bother trying to parse what it’s trying to say; he gave up long, long ago. He simply waits for the chaos of the realm to collapse in on itself enough to break the edges of a dream, to pull him once more into a vision he cannot change. 

But there's something else beside him in the chaos of noise. Soft and subtle, foreign in this alien sea he has grown so accustomed to drowning in.

A light burning silver blazes in the swirling colors like a comet struggling against the gravitational pull of a giant star. He sees it flicker and wane, sees it surge in a brilliance of silver before it wavers and dims again, like a foolish cycle. A firefly struggling in a monsoon rain, brave yet fragile.

It's you.

He would recognize that silver hue of yours — that gentle warmth, that guiding light — anywhere. A beacon, a comfort, a friend, a fool. 

Tulu plucks you from the sea of dreams too old and powerful for you to swim and linger in.  He feels the confusion that ripples off the edges of your light, the way panic tinges the edges of the silver into a burning white. Carefully, he cradles your consciousness close, basking in the familiar warmth of your company. You settle against him, quieting once you recognize him. Idly, he wonders what he feels like to you in this dream, so close to the edges of reality. Do you still recognize him as himself, or is he overshadowed by the crown upon his head and the tether tying his soul to something Other? 

Your light dims a fraction the longer he holds you, a firefly battered and weary in his palm. 

Tulu supposes it doesn’t matter what you see him as here. It’s a dream. Perhaps you’ll forget. 

He weaves the chaos and noise into something more stable, darkness bleeding like ink from his fingertips. Carefully, gently, he guides you back to shallow shores, where dreams are contained and harmless things. He guides you back into the gentle embrace of a black, empty dream and slowly pulls you up with him to the surface. 

Sleep washes from him effortlessly, smooth as water off his Aequor limbs. There's a soft bed beneath him, pillows and blankets piled high like a nest. A bed. He’s in a bed, warm and bundled. Tulu shifts, Aequor limbs coiling around the pillows as he rises. 

Across the room, he sees your slumped form as you lay rousing with a groan from your sleep at a desk. 

“You—”

His voice is hardened, a scowl upon his lips. How many times has he told you not to carelessly approach him while he sleeps? Do you not care for your safety? Do you not realize how dangerous it is for a feeble mortal like yourself to glimpse even a shadow of a God’s dream? 

The words boil up his throat and they taste of blood — of salt water and blood splayed across the altar. 

But they die upon his lips, dissipating to sea foam as he catches sight of the framed picture on the wall above your head. Even from across the room, he recognizes your figure — one arm slung over the shoulders of a silver haired girl, Ramona, as you flash the camera a wide grin. He can almost hear the sound of your laugh when the picture was taken, the way your eyes gleam with pure joy and how honest you are, right down to your posture. 

He doesn’t have a photo of you upon his wall. 

Tulu’s gaze drifts down as you groan and slowly push yourself up off the desk. He sees little trinkets decorating it. A small train car, an old coin, a rusted key, a pendant with a chain that gleams white gold in the faint light. Gifts. Memories. They are not his. 

This is your room. 

Tulu is quiet and still as you mutter something under your breath and rub the back of your neck. He does not make a single sound, but you must feel the weight of his gaze on your back. You turn, still half groggy as you rub a kink out of your neck, “Tulu?” 

He does not answer you right away, instead his gaze lingers on your face. Searching. Waiting. Nothing happens, aside from the way you furrow your brows at him. You’re fine. You’re safe. Tulu casts a glance at one of his Aequor limbs, the green hues shimmering between soft seafoam and a deeper emerald as the light filters over them from the window. He closes his eyes and takes a breath. 

He still tastes blood on the back of his tongue. But it’s not yours, and that’s what matters for now. “My apologies. You were pulled in because of me.”

You tilt your head and roll your shoulders, stretching. “I honestly didn’t see you bundled up over there. You were buried pretty deep,” you chuckle. 

Silence settles, gentle but strained in a way Tulu feels like oil against his skin. He opens his eyes, quiet as deep waters as he remains half buried in blankets upon your bed. You’ve stood and have turned your back to him, sorting through paperwork you fell asleep on. Homework and reports, he assumes. That’s not what catches his attention. 

It’s you. 

It’s the hue that lingers around the silver of your soul — the colors he sees through the crown’s eyes. There’s exhaustion lining the edges of it, a film that mutes all colors. Understandable, considering you were pulled into two of his dreams in short succession. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep while he waited for you to return, but he did. You’ve always been sensitive to awakeners, and his pull is stronger than most. 

But beneath the muted color of exhaustion is something new. Something he can’t ignore. Deep, rolling, seeping into the silver colored core of your soul like ink stains in water. A deep purple that bleeds into crimson and back again. 

You saw. Too much, too little — he isn’t sure. But it was enough. 

Tulu closes his eyes to block out the sight and bows his head. 

Of all the things for you to see. Of all the moments in his past. 

He is not ashamed of his choices, nor is he capable of regretting the burden he carries. 

But even so, he did not want you to see those days — those green Aequor limbs soaked in the blood of children (his friends…) that now surround him, the remains that the storm couldn’t fully wash away, the empty days that followed, the silence between dreams, the loss as time slipped by. 

You are too kind by far. 

He knows such sights are not easy to bear (but he carries them all the same because there was never any other choice). 

“Tulu?”

Your gentle voice pulls him from his thoughts and he opens his eyes to see you hovering near the edge of your bed. Your brow is furrowed in worry as your hand hovers in the air, just shy of brushing against the blanket still hanging off his shoulders. “Are you alright?” 

When was the last time someone asked him that, genuine and kind? Was there ever a time? Back before the crown claimed him, before even the temple plucked him up to be reared for something Other? Had there ever been someone who needlessly fretted and worried over him? 

He can’t recall. He never dreamed of them. Perhaps it really, truly never happened. 

Tulu reaches out, his hand lightly brushing yours away. 

You worry too much, he meant to admonish. To remind you that he is not a child, but a God King. 

Instead, his tongue betrays him. “Do you think differently now?” 

You blink, confusion evident as you withdraw your hand. “About what?” 

Tulu presses his lips into a thin line for but a moment. He already caught himself in the net, he might as well let it pull him to the surface. Perhaps it will be different this time. You’ve shared a dream with him, even if only one of his past. It stretched for decades yet flickered by in a blink like light flitting downstream. You’ve glimpsed what it means to be a God King — trapped in the crown, you’ve seen the world from a view no mortal has. You’ve witnessed sacrifices and miracles, salvation and death. Perhaps now your answer will be different. 

Tulu straightens his posture, Aequor limbs twisting in the blankets to frame him like a wreath upon a throne. “Is that all you wish to ask?” 

You straighten, no longer hovering over him as you stand by the edge of the bed. The furrow in your brow deepens and a scowl begins to tug at the corners of your lips. You are quiet.

He presses further because surely, surely you have something to ask of him now. Surely you’ve glimpsed enough of what a god king can provide to answer him now. Surely, surely, surely you will reach for him with purpose, with strings, with intent. “Do you truly have nothing to ask of a God King?” 

A change. Subtle and soft, but devastating like the fracture of ice over a lakebed. Tulu watches as that deep purple hue around your soul shudders and bleeds dark crimson-violet down to the very silver core of your soul. Your expression shifts, your frown pressed into a thin line as you bite your lips. A mist glimmers in your eyes as you regard him. Your hands, always so kind and gentle, curl as you tuck them close to your chest — not in prayer, not to beg, but simply to press as if staunching a wound weeping from your heart. 

“No,” your voice is a fragile, delicate thing nearly lost in the silence of the room. Yet there is a weight to it that lingers, heavy — weeping and bleeding from the sacrifice of others. It rings in his ears. “I don’t need anything.” 

Something nameless and wounded writhes in his chest. It has been there since his first dream and it will remain, suffocating and dying within his chest, until the crown falls bloodied from his corpse. 

You do not reach for Tulu.

He does not ask again.