May 4th, 2012, Land of Oz, Night Time.
The corridor's torches crackled softly in their iron sconces, their flames casting dancing shadows across the marble walls.
The light played across Vali's impassive face, illuminating the sharp planes of his features before retreating into darkness, only to return again in an endless cycle of revelation and concealment.
He leaned against the cool stone, arms folded across his chest, his silver hair catching the firelight like tempered steel—bright one moment, shadowed the next.
Makoto had finished explaining. The words had spilled out in that calm, measured way of his—Nyarlathotep, the Shadow Selves, the nature of the Universe Arcana, the threat that loomed not just over this world but over the fragile membrane between realities.
He had spoken of Ophis and her compromised memories, of Izanami and her corrupted domain, of Shalba Beelzebub and the experiments that birthed the Reverse Phoenix.
Vali did not flinch.
He merely tilted his head, a subtle motion, his pale eyes narrowing in thought. The torchlight caught the silver of his irises, making them gleam like chips of ice.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm—so calm it seemed almost inappropriate for the magnitude of what he had just heard.
"I see. What can I do to help you?"
'I SEE...? I SEE!?' Albion's voice reverberated through Vali's mind, sharp with disbelief, the Vanishing Dragon's usual composure cracking like ice under pressure.
'Partner. Vali. Do you grasp the sheer magnitude of what he has just revealed? The foundations of our reality—of all reality—are being undermined by an entity beyond comprehension, and your response is a casual offer of assistance?'
Vali's mental response was a shrug, calm as still water, undisturbed by the tempest of his Sacred Gear's reaction.
'Great Red guards the boundary between worlds, does he not? You told me this yourself, countless times across our partnership. It fits with Makoto's claim of coming from beyond the Dimensional Gap. And it explains our doubts about that Odin—the real one would never have been so... accessible. It explains all the excuses Azazel has been manufacturing for weeks.'
Albion's spectral form shivered within the Divine Dividing, scales that existed only in the metaphysical realm glowing faintly with agitation.
'But... this...'
The Heavenly Dragon trailed off, his usual arrogance fraying into something rare: uncertainty. The Vanishing Dragon, who had faced gods and heroes across millennia, who had been hunted and feared and worshipped, found himself momentarily without words.
Makoto watched Vali, his blue eyes widening almost imperceptibly—the closest his stoic features ever came to expressing surprise. "You're taking this... well," he remarked, his tone neutral but carrying an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.
'We need to locate both Ophis and Shalba,' Kohryu reminded within Makoto's consciousness. 'Time is not our ally in this.'
'Is Horus not still monitoring Ophis?' Apollo asked. 'The Attendant dispatched him days ago.'
'We must conclude this matter quickly,' Lucifer interjected, his voice carrying the weight of command. 'Find the Shadow, Universe. End this.'
Makoto pushed aside the mental chatter, focusing on the present. "Do you have any idea where Ophis or Shalba might be?"
His fingers tapped idly on his thigh—a rare tell, a sign of the urgency coiling beneath his calm exterior.
Vali remained taciturn for a long moment, his gaze drifting to the flickering torches as if the answers might hide within their flames. When he spoke, his voice was measured, each word carefully considered.
"Shalba is likely holed up in the Old Satan Faction's primary base of operations—a fortress somewhere in the devul realm's wastelands, heavily fortified and warded. As for Ophis..." He shook his head slowly. "I do not know. She has been... erratic lately. Unreachable."
The Divine Dividing wings manifested behind Vali in a pulse of bright light, their ethereal form casting prismatic reflections across the corridor. Albion's voice became audible to Makoto for the first time—deep, resonant, echoing through the stone space like the tolling of an ancient bell.
"Greetings, Makoto Yuki." The dragon's tone carried something unexpected: a note of almost-apology, as if addressing Vali's friend required a deference the Heavenly Dragon rarely afforded anyone.
"I am Albion Gwiber, the Vanishing Dragon. Regarding your inquiry about Ophis..." A pause, weighted with centuries of accumulated knowledge. "I suspect she has sought the Dragon Apples in Tannin's domain within the Underworld. It is the only place they grow—a grove hidden deep within the former Dragon King's territory, protected by ancient pacts and older magics."
'Albiiiiion!?' Fafnir's mechanical screech rattled through Makoto's skull, the metallic dragon's voice rising in pitch with excitement. 'That is Albion? The Albion? But he is supposed to be a—'
'He is supposed to be a Giant, hee hoo!' Jack Frost interrupted, equally astonished.
'Silence, scrap-heap,' Odin snapped, his voice a thunderclap that silenced both Fafnir's screech and Jack Frost's exclamation. 'This is not the time for your prattling.'
Makoto ignored the mental cacophony, filing away the information. "The Underworld. Thank you for letting me know." His gaze remained fixed on Vali, assessing, calculating.
Vali pushed off from the wall, his movements deliberate, each step measured. The torchlight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the intensity in his pale eyes. "We will go tomorrow. I will inform the others."
"Vali, you do not—"
"You are part of my team now." Vali's interruption was firm, his tone leaving no room for debate. The words carried an authority that transcended mere leadership—they were a declaration of alliance, of loyalty, of choice made and path set. "Which means I decide our direction. And we are going to help you."
'How kind of him, hee hoo!' Jack Frost trilled, his voice carrying genuine warmth. 'Like old times with SEES, is it not, Universe?'
The Demon Doll's observation hung in the mental space, weighted with nostalgia. 'Friends standing together against the darkness.'
'Indeed,' Messiah murmured, his voice warm as sunlight through stained glass. 'Trust begets trust. This is how bonds are forged—not in the heat of battle, but in the quiet moments after, when choices are made and kept.'
For a heartbeat, Makoto's mask slipped. A flicker of something passed across his features—nostalgia, perhaps, or relief, or the ache of memories long buried. The ghost of another time, another team, another set of faces that had once stood with him against impossible odds.
Then it was gone, smoothed over by years of practice, of survival, of being the one who carried on.
"Thank you, Vali. Really." The words were simple, but they carried weight—a rare admission from someone who rarely admitted anything at all.
The White Dragon Emperor turned away, already striding toward the stairs that led to the upper floors. Over his shoulder, a smirk tugged at his lips—brief, fleeting, but genuine. "Do not mention it."
With that, the two separated, each retreating to their assigned apartments for the night. The corridor fell silent save for the crackling of torches and the distant whisper of Oz's eternal wind.
Later, in the dim solitude of his bedroom, Vali lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. The stone above him was carved with intricate patterns—Grecian motifs left by the Wizards who had built this place—but he did not see them. His gaze was turned inward.
Albion's voice hummed in his mind, softer now, stripped of its earlier agitation. 'Vali... What is it that you truly seek from this alliance?'
Vali's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "To help Makoto. Obviously." The words came automatically, but even as he spoke them, he knew they were incomplete. "We are bound to this now—we do not actually have much choice. And it is not so different from spying on the Khaos Brigade. Same work, different target."
'And after?' Albion pressed gently. 'When the Shadow is destroyed, when the threat is neutralized—what then?'
He sat up abruptly, the motion sharp, almost violent. His fist clenched against the sheets, knuckles whitening. "Next time I see Azazel, I am punching him in the face. That is certain."
'For concealing the truth?'
"Yes. Obviously." Vali's eyes blazed—not with the cold fury he usually carried, but with something hotter, more immediate. "It has been a month, Albion. A month, and he never once thought to tell me how things actually stood. He probably asked Makoto to keep silent, to protect whatever fragile operational security he had constructed."
He rose from the bed, pacing the small room with restless energy. His bare feet made no sound against the stone. "I should have realized something was strange. The inconsistencies in Azazel's words, the careful omissions, the way he redirected conversations whenever Makoto's origins arose. I should have known."
Albion's presence shifted within the Divine Dividing, something approaching pride bleeding through the ancient connection.
'You have grown, Partner.' The words were quiet, almost reluctant—as if the admission cost the Vanishing Dragon something to voice. 'You do not seek only fights and revenge now. You consider loyalty. You weigh choices against consequences.'
Vali paused at the window, staring out at the violet sky of Oz. The stars here were wrong—arranged in patterns no earthly astronomer would recognize, constellations that told stories from another world entirely. A small, fleeting smirk touched his lips.
"Says the Heavenly Dragon." His voice carried wry amusement. "That sounds a bit hypocritical coming from you, does it not? The dragon who spent millennia hunting rivals and hoarding grudges?"
Albion remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—softer than Vali had ever heard it.
'You are not wrong. But I mean it, nonetheless.'