I stopped writing in the journal she gave me. What was next? What happened afterwards? I passed through the Barrier, was attacked by wolves, and then...

???: "Something wrong?"

???: "You want me to detail my memories, but there are still holes in them, even now. In fact, I'm pretty sure..."

???: "You meet people that you're unfamiliar with, yes?"

The woman's voice, still kind and elegant as ever, offered something new to me. A chance to take a break every so often while I collected myself in this strange landscape—no, as my mind's fog cleared away, I began to realize that I was situated in some sort of a library. A brand new record palace of her own creation. An archive of everything that has ever existed.

Even now, I am simply another batch of knowledge for her to sort.

???: "I'll tell you what—"

The angelic woman took the writing utensils from my hands, proposing something new.

???: "It makes it a lot easier if I can sort everything by the time period, rather than one person's view of things. So, how about this? You write everything that happened to you—everything that your soul can remember. While you rest, in between sessions, I'll take the pen and continue the record, filling in the blanks for those that cannot write for themselves, and for those you were not there to experience the memories of."

???: "Meaning...?"

???: "Though, overtime, you'll come to remember everything that happened to you—to all of you—you cannot recall everything that happened to everyone. Not for Daphne, nor Annie, nor even your little brother. In their place, I'll record their memories from an outside perspective, seeing as you'll never be able to do the same."

???: "Like a narrator, rather than the autobiography you're having me write?"

???: "That's it! I'll spend most of my time filling in the gaps that directly affect your next memory batch, that way it'll be easier to connect the dots. Once your done, I'll fill in the rest of your world's records as we understand them—we could technically do the same for you, but..."

???: "But...?"

???: "Oh, it's just such a rare case to have someone actually write it for us! We've never really had any first-person records before, so consider this an opportunity that we won't ever waste!"

???: "...Then, there's one thing I want to know about you, first."

???: "And that is?"

???: "Your name. You've already told me mine—or, at least what you want me to think my name is—but you've yet to reveal your own."

The woman's once gentle smile turned into something a little more devious; seeing her emotions switch at just the one request was akin to watching a doting cat suddenly plot your very demise. Though I doubt she truly has such desires, her expressions gave little way for my mind to process her intentions with these records.

???: "Alright, then. My name is Emma. It's nice to meet you, John."

???: "...And you as well, Emma."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Filling the air was a cacophony of metal clashing against metal. The singing of the two warriors' battle rang throughout the field, echoing the comforting syllables of a sword on a sword—to be more specific, a thin rapier clashing with a thick claymore. It was a song of speed versing with power—dexterity versing strength. At the base of a mountain, which the snowstorm had yet to reach, there were two humans engaged in swordplay as the grass and flowers fluttered around them. 

There was a young man in a snow coat, with heavy-duty garb and a soft face contrasting each other; this one wielded an unwieldy claymore, though his attacks seemed faster than one should normally be able to muster. His messy dark hair flowed in the wind, briefly covering his vision with each swing, though his

In direct opposition to him was a young woman in a flowery kimono, torn below the knees, with bright red dye streaking through her pitch black hair. Her thin frame and rage-filled demeanor worked in contrast with one another, paralleling her eyes—one red iris on the right and the other iris being orange.

In truth, much about these two individuals contrasted not only themselves, but each other and the world around them. Very little about this scene was congruent, forcing the song that they played to seem almost chaotic in nature. If I were to describe it only a few words, I would say...

A remarkable symphony of death.

The duel's end approached, however, and their swordplay would be abruptly halted with one simple gesture.

Woman: "—ghk!"

On one of their closest clashes, bringing their faces as close together as possible, the young man gave a simple smile to the woman, shattering any emotional barrier she had conjured the courage to withhold. Wishing to separate from the man's happiness, the woman bounced several feet backward in an instant, swirling her sword back into its hilt, concluding the desire to battle further.

Woman: "What the hell are you doing?!"

Man: "What, me? Little ol' Steven?"

Both of their voices, so smooth and calming, yet put to different uses. Whereas the woman voiced only anger and confusion, the man attempted a demeanor of playful taunting. To put it simply, the kindness that their voices held were being put to waste, forced to play up an emotion that didn't suit them.

Steven: "I'm not doing anything, Connie! What's the matter?"

Connie: "You know what you're doing! Don't even try to waste any breath with that!"

Steven: "Alright, alright, fine!"

Still with a smile, the man—Steven Shomer—waved his hands up in playful defeat, pretending to have been cornered. The woman—Connie Kaze—seemed unrelenting in her fury, however, rushing towards Steven with an open palm and delivering a resounding—

Steven: "—GYOWWW!"

An aggressive duo...It's always difficult to comprehend the reasoning behind their relationship—both the reason why it became so complex, as well as why it formed in the first place. Such uncertainty is precisely why I seek the information that John Ordano can provide. While he may not be able to write down their precise thoughts, the people that he meets throughout his lifespan are all unique in their own ways, and his memories are our best chance at trying to understand those people.

Connie: "Come on...let's go."

After the mighty—thwack!—Steven received, Connie extended a hand to him, her expression now far calmer, though still without kindness. It seemed as if this whole process had exhausted her to the point of only being left with actions, rather than faces. Steven, though confused as he was, firmly grasped her hand, allowing himself to be pulled back to his feet with a slight imbalance as he stood.

Though there was compassion between them, it was a rare sight to see—even for they themselves. Perhaps it was because of the underlying complications that they each held. Perhaps something had happened that affected the way they saw each other. Perhaps, it was nothing at all.

After packing up anything they left behind, such as cleaning material for blades, leftover food containers, and other such nonsense, the duo began their trek up the mountainside. They remained in silence throughout the march, with Connie occasionally turning back to see if Steven was keeping up with her—after all, due to his strength, he was the one to carry most of the heavy bags.

By the time they reached the peak, the sun had begun to set, bringing a close to the day as night approached. Even the peak of the mountain itself had excluded excitement, as a flat plateau of sorts, and miraculously being a spot safe enough for a campsite to be set. Three decorated tents and a fourth tent unset—they encircled an active campfire where two women sat by, preparing an unknown meal. 

Sat there, a woman with—

Connie: "Jessie! Tell this dumbass to stop ruining our sparring matches!"

Jessie: "Excuse me...?"

With a somewhat monotone voice, a woman with long blonde hair, clothed in a short white dress with flat scrap metal acting as armor, responded to Connie's inane statement. Her bright blue eyes scanned the two for injuries, and upon confirming that neither of them were hurt, she promptly ignored Connie's pleas and returned to the brewing pot above the campfire.

Connie: "Wha—don't just ignore me!"

???: "If the three of you don't mind—"

A young brunette spoke up—in fact, her age seemed even younger than the three folks she surrounded herself with. A difference of two or three years, to be fair, but the missed growth between them was apparent. Her pants were tattered, she wore no footwear, most of herself was covered in a long black cloak, and her pink irises with strange white pupils glared daggers into the argument unfolding before her.

???: "—You could start by helping with the food! You had your little sparring session already, so get over here! No excuses."

Despite clearly being the youngest, her demeanor was that of a mature woman; the white-pupiled visage acted as a sort of mentor to the trio, putting a verbal end to the dispute rising between the blonde woman—Jessie Leider—and Connie.

Steven: "Alright, Annie! Whatcha need help with?"

Annie: "A few things, here and there. Grab a seat!"

A woman with fiery red streaks in her black hair, and heterochromatic irises of red and orange; a blonde haired woman with bright blue eyes and a monotone voice; a warm-smiled man with impressive strength and deep brown eyes that could calm a lion, with a sense of pacifism to his actions; and finally, the bandage that wrapped the three of the them together—the tattered visage of a teenager with pink irises, white pupils, and dark brown hair tied into a ducktail.

Connie Kaze, Jessie Leider, Steven Shomer, and—

Annie: "Hey—Come on, Jess! I know you're the little sister and all, but you're technically older than me, you know? You should seriously know how to do this by now..."

Jessie: "I-I'm trying. I haven't had to cook this dish in a long time..."

—Annie Leider, the mysterious big sister of Jessie Leider, who, despite her supposed elder age, was clearly the younger of the two—nay, the entire group.

These were the four individuals that made up a party of freelancers within the Great Barriers. One covered speed, one strategy, one strength, and the last acted as the bandage that wrapped everyone together into one synergized team.

With these four individuals—these friends—this family, it was very likely that any Monster put into their path would last nothing more than a minute, if that much. And this was why, as total darkness consumed the landscape, and all the light left in the area was that of a slowly dwindling campfire, with a dangling pot of stew above it, they were not afraid to confront the noise befalling the darkness.

THWMPFAHF—!

The sound of scraping against stone, followed by two bodies crashing into the soft snow—that was what echoed in the pitch black darkness of the night. Without uttering a word between one another, the party took a readied stance, personal weapons in hand, and began walking towards the unidentified sound.

In the front was Jessie, heading the quiet trek with a short-sword in her left hand; following behind her was Steven, wielding his unwieldy claymore as well; a few steps off to the right, almost as if ready for a flank, was Connie with her thin rapier; an unarmed Annie brought up the rear many steps back, lurking just out of sight for even her own friends, perhaps as a potential ambush that nobody could predict.

When Jessie finally made it to the source of the noise—a seven foot drop into the lightly snowy ground, coming from the forest just ahead—a strange sight began to mess with her interpretation of the scene, and the potential danger at hand.

Jessie: "It's...a kid?"

In a surprised monotone, she relayed the information to her friends who may have been just out of view of the motionless child, laying near-death on the floor. His breathing was sparse, harsh, and yet he seemed utterly unconscious.

Steven: "THAT'S A—big freakin' wolf!"

Solving the conundrum of how the unconscious child made his way to this small drop out of the forest and onto the plateau, there stood a gray wolf, somewhat smaller than most, than quietly looked up to the emerging party of four. It did not bark. It did not howl. It did not snarl. It had not been making any attempt on the boy's life—in fact, it seemed to be protecting it.

Connie: "White hair...pale skin...just one black glove? Really?"

Steven: "I can't say it's the strangest get-up we've ever seen."

Annie: "Is all of that...blood?"

The young boy with skin as pale as the snow he laid in was, in fact, covered in blood. It didn't seem at first glance that it was his blood, however, as the boy appeared without wounds. No obvious cuts, gashes, or even a simple bruise to be found on him. He was spotless, and scarily so.

Connie's first observation of the boy had been mostly correct, though emitting a few details of his appearance: hair as white as the snow, skin as pale as a sickness, and a single black glove covering his right hand. 

Continuing on, they would find that his eyes shined an emerald green—eerily similar to the glow of a small crystal in his right pocket—as well as white pupils, just like their dear friend Annie. He wore worn out snow boots, dark jeans which began to unravel at the ankles, and a black short-sleeved shirt which had been covered by a thin hoodless jacket. The jacket itself was of light brown color, though bisected in the top third, changing color into a solid black to match his shirt.

Additionally, and most alarming to the weary group, was a dagger of dark metal which, due to the discoloration throughout the entire blade, had definitely been used recently.

Connie: "I don't like this. Something's screaming danger in my ear!"

Jessie: "...Annie, Steven. Treat him immediately."

Connie: "Wh-what?!"

Jessie's sudden and immediate dismissal of Connie's worries shook a dissociative head spin into all three of her comrades. Jessie, who was prone to overprotective safety measures, avoidance of dangerous areas, and even obsessive treatment of minor wounds like papercuts, was now proving to be the opposite of what she built herself up to be.

Steven: "I guess—if that's what you want, I'll get it done."

Annie: "Move him over to the campfire, I'll set up the spare tent for his treatment!"

Steven: "Right away!"

Jessie: "It's simply a gut feeling, that I decided to save you."

Her cold eyes slowly filled with warmth, though that emotion was shaken apart almost as suddenly as Connie had thought it appeared.

Jessie: "Do not disappoint me."