Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was the chains that woke her, an uncomfortable weight on legs that were once more part of a full and functioning body. It wasn’t functioning very well, mind you — her head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton balls, and every limb was filled with a strange tingly sensation as if she’d been struck by lightning. But the chain clinked as she twitched herself awake, and the cuff was tight and uncomfortable, and it was that that brought Sumire back to herself.

The chain was familiar. Her brain hadn’t quite gotten the memo and was coming back to itself quite a bit slower than the rest of her, but Sumire remembered the sensation. She felt around and within a few seconds felt her fingers brush cool, round metal.

The area around her was unfamiliar yet completely unmistakable. The landscape in her dreams never looked quite the same. The only common feature lay far in the distance, hazy in the dim light.

Sumire stood up, having regained feeling in her body, and stared at the door silhouetted on the horizon.

A small spot of light appeared near the center, drawing closer until it had assumed a definite shape. The butterfly. It fluttered curiously around her, alighting briefly on her shoulder, inspecting the ball and chain, and circling back to hover before her. 

She blinked, mind still half-asleep.

“Do you want me to go back there?”

Her small guide swooped briefly downwards before resuming its previous hover spot, as if pantomiming a nod.

The butterfly flew alongside her as she walked, a small speck of light that burned looping trails in her vision. She could feel the heat it radiated, like the touch of a warm hand against her skin. It wasn’t painful. The white spots that danced before her eyes with each blink were almost welcome, as if chasing away some darkness that had lingered so long, Sumire had never known its absence. 

The chains were a hindrance, but not nearly strong enough to stop her. The Metaverse may have enhanced her physical abilities, but years of athletic training meant Sumire was plenty strong without the extra boost. The butterfly wouldn’t wait this time, that much was clear. Something about this time in particular was urgent, decisive, and if Sumire fell behind she would never manage to catch up.

Her footsteps made no noise; the dark landscape was utterly devoid of sound. The air itself seemed made to suffocate, a thick, tar-like thing that, while entirely invisible, seemed more than capable of choking so much as the faintest rustle of grass.

Not that there was any grass to be silenced. Not here.

In no time at all she was before the gate. It stood tall as impenetrable as ever, casting shadows despite the distinct absence of a sun. The butterfly circled her head, momentarily alighting itself on her arm the way one might offer a comforting pat, before flitting between the bars and disappearing from sight.

Sumire came to a stop before it. The chains were suddenly very heavy; if not for the fact that they were by all accounts inanimate, she might have guessed they were actively trying to drag her to the ground.

Before this... she had been discorporated.

Even the memory sent a shiver down her spine. Futaba’s terrified screaming, the stark horror on Ryuji’s face as their skin darkened and flaked away like ash, the way that the windy red air had whistled through her form, shoving aside atoms and organs and all the things required of a body until her eyes had gone and she was spared the sight of her own unbecoming… 

Her hand stopped abruptly at the gate, the metal cold until her flesh. That had never been a comfort, but it was an indication that she had flesh, and right now that was the best sign Sumire had that that particular nightmare was over. Convenient as it might have been, to pass through solid metal like some kind of spirit was not a sensation she was keen on experiencing.

She twined her fingers around the bars and shoved. Blue mist leaked between them, chilling her knuckles where it touched; from somewhere further beyond was a faint glow, the same shade as the butterfly’s wings.

The gate rattled but did not give, shuddering in its frame and stubbornly resisting her efforts.

The roadblock did have the effect of letting loose the whirlwind of emotions in Sumire’s chest, and she let out a scream of frustration, letting her head rest against the bars.

Because after everything — after Kamoshida, Madarame, and all the others — this was how it ended?

She sank back, letting herself slide to the ground. The bars were cold against her back, and she had a brief vision of silver bones trying to pierce her skin. They didn’t, just sat there like normal dream-vision cell bars as she buried her head in her arms.

Sumire had known, back at the start, that things might not go the way they’d hoped. Their mission was righteous but risky. She had voiced this worry to Kurusu and Akechi: If the world relied on the Phantom Thieves rather than learning from them, were they truly helping? Or were they just offering another figurehead for people to blindly cast their hopes upon rather than doing anything on their own?

But in the end, they’d been nothing more than utterly inconsequential, and somehow that felt worse.

No. No, that couldn’t be true. Despair was pressing at the edge of her consciousness as it had so many times before, searching for a way in. Once upon a time Sumire would have been content to let it, to curl up overwhelmed by that awful feeling of uselessness. 

But here, now… if she allowed herself to succumb, it really would be the end.

She tried to drown out her thoughts, breathing slowly as her heartbeat sprinted along. The chill of the bars was grounding as she twined her fingers back around them, letting the cool sensation seep through her skin.

Shido’s change of heart had, for whatever reason, failed to shake the public’s faith in any way. The masses had been steadily losing faith in them since the disaster with Okumura, effectively erasing any impact their previous missions might have made.

Her resolve threatened to falter at the thought. Try as she might to deny it, the lackluster response to Shido’s confession had made some things clear. The Thieves had had their chance and wasted it. After all they’d suffered to get to that point, the friendships and losses forged in the fire, nothing had changed.

Sumire buried her head in her arms, a sob stuck in her throat.

Caroline had called her their ‘champion,’ but what kind of champion was she, really? A hasty replacement for Kurusu’s untimely demise? Some leader she was – a little girl who could barely get through a Palace without one of the others holding her hand. Had Sumire walked a little slower that first day, she might have missed Ann entirely, and this whole domino effect of disaster might never have happened.

But if that never happened…

Kamoshida would have gotten away with it.

A shiver ran down her spine. Without their intervention, would anyone have stepped in to curb Kamoshida’s reign? How different things might have gone, if not for that one chance meeting, and how awful a possibility it was.

The same fears that plagued her now had plagued her then, too, but she had kept going because she knew failure was not an option.

She remembered how Ann had cried, the night after Kamoshida’s confession, with Sumire and Ryuji on either side of her in an awkward attempt to offer support. But then Ann had smiled and pulled them in tight for a hug. She laughed, a joyous sort of relief on her face, and said simply, it’s over.

She had seemed freer after that, always burdened by their self-proclaimed role as vigilantes but safe in the knowledge that a hellish chapter of her life had come to a close.

Ann, Ryuji, Yusuke, Makoto, Futaba, Haru, even Morgana… None of them were the same as the first time Sumire had met them. And, the more she thought about, neither was she.

This isn’t my doing. You imbeciles are about to disappear from the people’s cognition.

The panic having subsided some, Sumire was beginning to doubt how true that really was. The constant fear of discovery, the paranoia of being treated like a criminal… All of that had been plenty real. The Phantom Thieves had been celebrated, then condemned by the public they had tried to appease.

And it had been about the public, at least partially. But, Sumire was beginning to see, they had never been the ones who mattered most.

They might never know the details of those whose lives they changed indirectly. They might never have the amazing, life-altering impact they had hoped for.

But they had made a difference. The proof had always been right there.

Their ‘meaningless’ actions had saved at least six people. Given the chance, Sumire wouldn’t do anything differently.

Call your thieves together, Caroline had said. Sumire had never learned the full truth of that room, or Kurusu’s connection to it. Still, there could be no question about it: the gate she had seen in her dreams, the one whose bars now dug into her back, led there.

Without the others, Sumire never would have come even half as far as she had managed to do.

But now, truly alone for the first time in ages, she could find the strength to stand on her own.

Something inside her stirred, renewed conviction sparking to life. The bars had grown hot, and Sumire hastily withdrew her hands. They were gloved, though they had not been a moment before.

Her Thief outfit was back. Gingerly, she removed her mask. It felt warm, a flash of familiarity in the vacant blue landscape.

Cendrillon’s voice rumbled through her mind.

A most admirable resolution, little one. Do not be afraid to let yourself feel fear, but do not let that fear hinder your determination. Her voice took on a gentler tone. The heart may falter, but yours has stayed strong despite it all. 

Slowly, Sumire got to her feet. The glow from beyond the gate seemed to have strengthened; her dark costume was awash with its light.

She reached out a hand to push it open, only for the whole thing to burst into a scattering of blue light.

The display left her blinking spots, but when her sight was restored the way forward lay, for the first time in ages, unbarred.