04/12/2012, Kuoh Church, Evening
The transition from the sterile, humming air of Grigori's chambers to the cool, quiet twilight of the Kuoh hilltop was instantaneous yet jarring. One moment, Makoto stood within a nexus of advanced technology; the next, his shoes were scuffing the loose gravel and dirt of the construction site.
The last rays of the sun had vanished, leaving the sky a deep, bruised purple, with the first few stars beginning to prick through the darkness. The skeletal remains of the church were shrouded in long shadows, and the air was now still and silent, the work crews having long since departed.
He had barely taken a single, grounding breath when a vortex of frilly blue fabric and overwhelming energy slammed into him.
"Makoooo!"
The cry was high-pitched and ecstatic. Serafall Leviathan materialized from the shadows, her magical girl costume a splash of vibrant, unnatural color against the muted tones of the evening. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug that was less an embrace and more a full-body tackle of affection, squeezing the air from his lungs with surprising, Satan-level strength.
"Did the big, bad, evil fallen angels treat you well? Did that mean old crow Azazel try any weird experiments on you? You tell Levia-tan everything!" she chirped, her voice muffled against his shoulder, her grip unrelenting.
Makoto's stoic expression tightened slightly; it had been a long day of awkward tension and a draining spar, and this was an assault on his already depleted reserves of social energy.
Before he could even attempt to formulate a response or extricate himself, another voice cut through the evening air. It was a voice he knew intimately, but its tone was one he rarely heard directed outside the Velvet Room: cold, sharp, and utterly devoid of its usual playful melody.
"Serafall."
Elizabeth stood a few paces away, having arrived with the same silent suddenness as her brother. Her posture was ramrod straight, her hands clasped neatly in front of her blue dress. Her golden eyes, usually warm with amusement or curiosity, were fixed on the Devil Satan with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible chill seemed to radiate from her, causing the grass at her feet to momentarily still.
"Leave. Makoto. Now." Each word was enunciated with a crisp, glacial precision.
A visible shudder ran down Azazel's spine where he stood, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and wariness.
'Oh, she's done it now,' he thought, a smirk playing on his lips despite himself. 'Leviathan, for all your power, you have just poked a being whose wrath is as ancient and fathomless as the sea itself. You are profoundly, hilariously doomed.'
"I don't wanna!" Serafall whined, actually stomping her foot petulantly without releasing her grip on Makoto. She buried her face deeper into his jacket. "He's my future brother! I need to make sure he's okay!"
Elizabeth took a single, deliberate step forward. The air grew colder. A frown, subtle yet terrifying in its severity, marred her typically serene and relaxed features. Her gaze could have frozen hellfire.
"You have three seconds," she whispered. The whisper carried further and held more menace than any shout could have.
The change in Serafall was immediate. The playful whine died in her throat. She stiffened, and for a fleeting second, the persona of the bubbly magical girl vanished, replaced by the instinctual wariness of a primordial devil sensing a predator of a higher order.
With a sound that was half-gasp, half-squeak, she uncoiled herself from Makoto and hopped back two full paces, putting a respectful distance between herself and the attendant from the Velvet Room.
"Liz," Makoto said, his voice weary but calm as he readjusted his rumpled uniform. "What were you two doing out here together?" He glanced between the pouting Satan and his intensely focused attendant.
Elizabeth's expression softened the moment her eyes met his, the terrifying chill evaporating as if it had never been. "While you were away forging a new bond of the shining star, I decided it was an opportune time to continue our dialogue with our devil friends here," she explained, her tone returning to its normal, musical lilt.
"There is much about this world's structure we still need to understand, and she is a veritable fountain of... energetic information."
Makoto simply nodded, content with the explanation. The intricacies of inter-faction diplomacy were a problem for another day. The fatigue of the day's events—the journey to Grigori, the confrontation with Vali, the constant, low-grade hum of otherworldly politics—settled heavily upon him. It was a deep, soul-level tiredness that yearned for the quiet, timeless atmosphere of the Velvet Room.
Without another word, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the ornate, blue key. It felt cool and comforting in his hand. He walked past Serafall and Azazel, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to Elizabeth, and inserted the key into the air where a door only he could see awaited.
"Good night," he murmured, the words barely audible. He didn't wait for a response. He turned the key, pushed the door open on silent hinges, and stepped through into the welcoming blue haze beyond, leaving the cool evening air and its complicated inhabitants behind.
"I salute you as well," Elizabeth said warmly to the space he had just vacated before turning her gaze back to the two remaining figures.
Her smile was polite but carried a clear note of dismissal. She then followed Makoto, the blue door closing behind her with a soft, final click, vanishing without a trace.
Serafall stood in the sudden silence, staring at the empty space where Makoto had been. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pronounced pout. She slowly turned her head towards Azazel, her eyes narrowing from disappointed to accusatory.
"What," she demanded, her voice losing its high-pitched affectation and gaining a dangerous, level tone more fitting a ruler of the Underworld, "did you do to my Mako? He looks exhausted! Did you overwork him? Did you let someone bully him? I swear, Azazel, if you—"
Azazel held up his hands in a placating gesture, though his smirk remained. "Whoa, easy there, Leviathan. The kid held his own just fine. Better than fine, actually. But more importantly," he said, seizing on a distraction, "why do you keep calling him that? 'Mako'? You barely know him."
Serafall's pout instantly transformed into a beaming, radiant smile, all previous accusations forgotten. "Why, because he's my dear little Sona's special boyfriend, of course! It's only right that her beloved big sister uses a cute, familiar nickname for her future brother-in-law!"
Azazel stared at her for a long, blank moment, processing the sheer, unadulterated nonsense that had just left her mouth. He blinked slowly. The mental image of the stoic, apocalypse-wielding Messiah dating the intensely serious, strategically-minded Sitri heiress was so absurd it short-circuited his usually brilliant mind. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a long, weary sigh escaping him.
"Right. Of course. How silly of me to ask," he deadpanned. He had reached his daily quota for dealing with the bizarre. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have reports of secret things to review. Try not to start a war with the blue lady.
Without waiting for a reply, he snapped his fingers. A magic circle flared to life beneath his feet, and in a flash of light, he was gone, leaving Serafall alone on the dark, empty hilltop.
'I have had more than enough of this for one day,' was his final thought before the teleportation claimed him.
04/12/2012, Sona's Dorm, Evening
The Sitri dormitory was a place of quiet order and disciplined calm. The hour was late, and the building was silent save for the soft hum of a computer and the occasional rustle of turning pages from behind one specific door.
The peace was shattered by a series of rapid, enthusiastic knocks that echoed down the hallway.
"Sooona! It's your beloved, wonderful, gorgeous big sister! Open up!"
Inside her meticulously organized room, Sona Sitri sighed, the sound heavy with a familiar, deeply ingrained exasperation. She carefully placed a bookmark in her textbook, set her pen down precisely parallel to its edge, and rose from her desk.
She smoothed her nightgown and opened the door just a crack, enough to see her sister's beaming face framed in the doorway.
"Sister," Sona said, her voice flat. "What do you need? It is almost 10 p.m., and I have both school and student council responsibilities tomorrow. This is not an optimal time for social visits."
Serafall, still in her full magical girl regalia, beamed impossibly wider. "Oh, I just popped by to say that I approve of it so much! I'm so happy for you!"
Sona's brow furrowed in genuine confusion behind her glasses. "Approve of what? What are you talking about?"
"Your relationship with Makoto Yuki, obviously!" Serafall chirped, as if it were the most well-known fact in the three worlds.
The effect was instantaneous. A brilliant, hot flush of crimson spread across Sona's cheeks and raced down her neck. Her usually impeccable composure shattered.
"Wha—? What is in your mind? What relationship?!" she spluttered, her voice rising an octave in sheer, unadulterated shock.
Serafall just winked, a knowing, infuriatingly smug look on her face. "Oh, don't be so shy with your big sis, Sona! You can tell me everything! I saw how worried you were about him yesterday, asking all those questions. And he's so strong and mysterious, and you're so smart and pretty! It's a perfect match! I give it my full Satan-level approval!"
The torrent of absurdity was too much. Sona's mind, usually a steel trap of logic and strategy, short-circuited under the assault of her sister's delusional fantasy. Embarrassment, frustration, and the desperate need for this conversation to end immediately overwhelmed her.
Without another word of protest, her face still burning, Sona Sitri did the only thing her flustered brain could command. She stepped back and slammed the door shut, the solid thud echoing with finality in the quiet hallway. She leaned against it, listening to Serafall's faint, cheerful promises to "talk more tomorrow!" before the sound of her sister's departure finally, blessedly, faded away.
Alone again in her ordered room, Sona slid down the length of the door to sit on the floor, burying her burning face in her hands. It was going to be a very long school year.