Persona - 1
Daydream — Spring's most representative power.
A mind-magic that rocks the psyche of anyone who falls into its dreams, turns them into a puppet, and finally drowns their consciousness forever in a pink torrent. Unless the cherry tree that serves as its source is destroyed, or the target possesses exceptional willpower, it can subdue and control anyone without so much as lifting a finger — a magic without precedent.
And that magic was now being activated not by Spring's will, but by the Saintess's.
Still trailing black filth from the unhealed hole in her gut, staining the clean floor of the tent, Spring realized that power was continuously draining from her body. From the moment the Holy Sword had pierced her, her defeat had been sealed. She despaired at the knowledge that no escape remained — and yet she clung to a fragile hope.
That frail child might have a favorable matchup, might for some reason be aggressively wielding her starlight, and might even possess a twisted nature — but how long could any person keep their guard up around the clock? Sooner or later a gap would appear. Spring soothed herself with that thought and waited for a chance to slip free.
The torture, carried out in a manner so horrific it could scarcely be called the work of a Saintess, stretched on for a long time. The Saintess's starlight and holy arts could restore even a demon — their polar opposite — to its original state. Again and again Spring endured the bizarre experience of her body being repaired even as agony wracked it, holding on through sheer force of will. It was the kind of mental fortitude only a mage who specialized in controlling the minds of others could possess.
But even a great boulder erodes when it is worn away long enough.
In the end Spring told herself she was merely watching for an opening, brainwashed herself into compliance, and agreed to heal the Saintess's mind. At the same time, a question arose: what exactly was being healed? The Saintess's disposition was warped somewhere, and Spring's curiosity stirred — she wanted a look. Alongside that curiosity, she recalled the strangeness she had glimpsed in the Hero and Saintess's past.
A tiny cherry sapling sprouted above the Saintess's head and drew her into a pink illusion — into Daydream.
While the Saintess slept, Spring recalled the dreams the Hero and Saintess had dreamed.
Even a power's own user does not fully understand the peculiar traits and laws that govern powers and unique magecraft. Unique magecraft is the path — the Way — a person walks across a lifetime, and something related to that life emerges from it. A power is something granted from birth; even its bearer does not know what it truly is. They simply have it.
Spring was nothing more than a beast born of filth, mimicking a human — and though she had been given the peculiar power called Daydream, she did not know what kinds of dreams it actually showed. That was why she had been so curious. After long deliberation she had succeeded in creating a magic that recorded dreams.
And through that magic, the dreams of the Hero and the Saintess had looked exceedingly strange.
The Hero was seeing the future. The Saintess was seeing the past.
Spring understood Daydream's power to a certain degree: it showed things one had personally experienced. Daydream never broke the rule that it showed only what had been experienced. Every dream she had ever observed followed that law.
But then — why had the Hero experienced the Saintess's death? Why had the Saintess looked upon her own past and treated it like a stranger's, as if she did not remember?
Spring's mind filled with confusion. The humiliating memory of being gutted by a human, of retching and weeping as she granted a request, had already faded. In its place, a mage's eyes bright with curiosity fixed on the sapling growing above the Saintess's head. One arm was gone, but a mage's curiosity was more than enough to kill every other sense and lock onto a single point of focus.
And so Spring tried to steal a look at the Saintess's mind.
"What is this place?"
Everything was jumbled together. Enormous steel structures were colliding with the buildings of the Imperial Capital she had once attacked. From the sky, gray rectangular constructs of a peculiar design — all the same color, all looking similar yet each somehow different — were raining down. Simply put, they looked like the square castles she used to build out of mud. Massive rectangular buildings plummeted from the heavens and smashed into the Imperial Capital, a spectacle so grand and beautiful it was like watching the end of the world in advance.
An inverted world colliding with the original one!
Honestly, looking at that sight, Spring felt as though her own dream had come true. She had always wanted to bring the stars crashing down.
Those hated things — the parents who had tried to create a vast forest, failed, abandoned them, and hidden away in the woods; the ones who, without listening to their children's stories, had simply sealed the southern road with a demon realm and tried to wipe them out. And last of all: the first Saintess and her companions, who had once purified the demon realm where Spring and her family lived, and the star that had returned to the sky.
She hated them all. So of course she rejoiced at the sight of the sky falling and colliding with the earth.
Then Spring remembered why she had come here and went looking for the Saintess. This was a dream she controlled, and she had entered with the purpose of healing — yet somehow the current of cherry blossoms raged like a wild river that refused to flow as she intended, sweeping her toward the distant place where a consciousness existed.
In midair, Spring saw the Saintess — and the Saintess.
Wait. What?
Spring frowned. Even in a dream, two of the same person existing at once was impossible. Two consciousnesses, then? Twins?
…No. That wasn't it.
A faint smile touched Spring's lips. She knew, instinctively, that she had found the Saintess's weakness.
"The Saintess has a dual personality!"
She had seen it before — two consciousnesses sharing memories, fighting for control. If she threatened to tell the Hero, she could seize the initiative. Buoyed by that belief, Spring left the dream-world in high spirits.
The Saintess looked at the Saintess.
"Hello."
"Hello."
Each girl confirmed that the other's eyes were dead.
"You've become just like me."
"Yeah."
Their conversation — identical as if facing a mirror, yet subtly different — produced a sense of dissonance.
"But not yet."
The other girl denied it.
"For now, I am still me."
And the other girl smiled as she denied it.
"My, can you remember your name?"
"What, Theas?"
"No. Your original name."
"Well, of course that's…"
She couldn't remember.
…Why?
"See? You can't remember, can you?"
"You've become just like me."
Nonsense.
"I'm not you."
"I won't become you."
"I want to go back to my original world in one piece, lie in bed with my legs stretched out, and read web novels in peace."
"I'm going to take my ordinary life back."
Hearing that, the girl murmured softly.
"…Liar."
"What?"
"I said you're lying."
The girl continued.
"Right after you possessed this body, didn't you say life here seemed far better than your original one?"
"How do you know that…"
"You felt fulfillment in saving people. You grieved when someone died in front of you. For a whole month you believed this world wasn't a game — that it was real."
"Wait—"
"No. There is no such convenient arrangement. I will not wait for you."
And the girl, watching herself being dragged outward, kindled a white flame.
"But honestly, this thing that bastard stuck on is disgusting."
"It's a gift."
"Once you're out, check your condition."
The free-speaking time inside the dream ends now.
I drifted away from the faintly audible voice and woke.
Ah. I can't speak anymore.
It was stifling. My body in the dream had been better, frankly — setting aside the masculine way of talking. No: having a masculine way of talking is the normal thing. I keep getting confused.
Erosion Rate: 70%
Madman's Notebook — Destroyed
Lifted
Huh.
So that was the "gift."
I upgraded my internal evaluation of the Saintess — the one I'd written off as a useless little brat — to "a little brat who at least has one use." A crude expression unbefitting a Saintess, perhaps, but personally I had never liked her. Starting with that "don't touch the Hero" business and running straight through to the end.
Something about it felt off, but this was normal. I had drawn a proper line and distinguished myself. We hadn't mixed yet.
The lifting of the brainwashing was genuinely welcome. That voice constantly nagging me to become a star had been thoroughly unpleasant — especially since it was a brainwashing planted by that old fossil who wore the appearance of a little boy. Acting childish at that age? Know some shame.
I poured curses into my thoughts, contemplated how I would eventually kill the Pope, and looked at Spring. That smug grin of hers was so irritating I found myself considering grinding her horns off next time.
Spring was still smirking. Noticing I was awake, she finally opened her mouth.
"You've got a dual personality, don't you?"
No, I don't.
"What do you think happens if I tell the Hero?"
Nothing at all, probably.
I couldn't speak, so my mouth stayed shut, and without pen or paper in hand I remained silent — which she freely misinterpreted however she liked, still grinning away.
What is this. Was I too harsh? Has she actually gone mad?
I felt a sudden, unexpected twinge of pity.