Chapter Text
The moon was just beginning to rise as Phoenix and Trucy finished their dinner. Despite the muggy heat, Trucy had manage to prepare them a filling and refreshing chicken noodle salad.
“You’re getting pretty good at cooking, Trucy.” Phoenix commented as he slurped up the last of the noodles from his bowl.
Trucy beamed. “My friend Miranda wants to be a chef, so I’ve been making stuff with her. Besides, it’s not as though I have a high bar to clear.” She cast a smirk at Phoenix.
“Hey, I’m not that bad of a cook!”
“How many times have we had convenience store dinners or Eldoon’s when you decided to ‘try something new’?
“In my defense, those recipes were terrible. And I did get better.” Phoenix pouted.
With a laugh, Trucy set down her chopsticks. “Mind taking care of the dishes, daddy? Crystal Kunoichi is on tonight, and I’ve got to be caught up for the episode breakdown with Edgeworth!”
“Go ahead. I’d never make the cook clean up, anyway.” Phoenix waved his hand, and Trucy jumped up from the table to scamper into the living room.
The end of the evening news droned in the background while Phoenix gathered the dishes into the sink. Trucy really was getting good at cooking. Another skill to add to cleaning and managing her schedule—all the things a functional adult was supposed to be able to do. Though she’d always been mature, she was now almost 18, and the impact of her age was sinking in. She’s going to be out of the house before I know it. Phoenix found himself thinking, scrubbing the bowl she’d used to make the sauce. I’ve got to cherish her while I’ve still got her. I can’t take a single day for granted… but I still have some time left! She still needs me for some things, doesn’t she? The thought of being an empty nester made him drop the bowl onto the drying rack with a flinch-worthy clink. Luckily, it hadn't chipped.
“Finally, the final appeal has been denied for Kristoph Gavin, convicted of killing Shadi Smith three years ago. The state will be proceeding with his execution. Gavin was a defense attorney who made headlines back in 2026 when…”
Phoenix’s head snapped up. Kristoph’s finally getting the needle?
Part of the dark age of the law had included a sharp increase in implementation the death penalty, and some judge had deemed Kristoph worthy of joining the ranks of the condemned. Sure, the man deserved it for all of the lives he’d destroyed, but hearing that he would soon be no more was still a shock. Not to mention how fast his time on death row had been… well, in a humanitarian (and budgetary) move, the state had been working to minimize the time inmates spent behind bars.
It was then he noticed that Trucy had gone stock still, her gaze fixed on the screen and her mouth stiff. Shoot, why didn’t I think of her first?! Phoenix cursed himself as he hurried to her side. She didn’t react. “Trucy?” He patted her shoulder.
“Huh?” Her head whirled around. “Oh, daddy…”
“You okay?” He knew it was a dumb question, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Come on, I’m a lawyer. I’m supposed to be good with words.
She lowered her gaze, then gave a small nod. “…Yeah.” She fiddled with the edge of her skirt. “He’s paying for his crime, right? That’s good. I should be happy about that.”
“There’s no ‘should’ here, Trucy. You can feel however you want.”
Trucy was silent for a few moments. “It’s… it’s fine, really. I’m sad my first daddy died, and angry that Kristoph killed him… but he left me forever ago, so it’s kind of like he was already dead. ” She took a breath. “The idea of the death penalty doesn't sit right with me. But he killed other people too, and did a lot of horrible stuff, so I guess that means he should be executed, maybe… I don’t know.” She gave a heavy sigh and leaned into Phoenix for a hug, sinking into his arms a moment later. “It’s not going to bring any of them back, anyway.”
“It won’t.” Phoenix mumbled in agreement, stroking Trucy’s head. The two embraced as the news cast showed clips of Kristoph leaving his appeal. He was as poised as ever, nothing betraying how he felt in the moment. Yet something sent a shiver down Phoenix’s spine—an undefinable yet obvious glint in his eye. What’s that lunatic thinking? He forced the thought out of his head. Come on, who cares about that now?
“…According to prison officials, the execution date is set for August 12th.”
“That’s next Sunday.” Trucy murmured.
“One week left, huh?” Wonder how he’ll make the most of it. The footage cut off, and the news program played its ending theme. A minute later, the opening of Crystal Kunoichi began to play.
“Look, your show’s on.”
“I noticed.” Trucy gave a light chuckle. “Can… you stay with me?”
“Of course.” Phoenix got himself comfortable on the couch next to her. The two watched the program, which quickly lifted Trucy’s mood, and every commercial break was spent exchanging a flurry of texts with Edgeworth. As with all shows set in the Samurai universe , Phoenix didn’t entirely get it, but he found it somewhat enjoyable. Throughout the whole program, Trucy remained glued to his side.
After the show, Trucy went to her room for “some alone time,” as she put it. Phoenix finished up the dishes, took a shower, then went to his own room to do some reading. However, the author’s voice coming through the words on the page was drowned out by the buzzing going on within his head.
Kristoph was going to be executed.
The man was a monster, no doubt about that. He set the building that was Phoenix’s life ablaze and played hero by “helping” him out. The world revolved around him, and the people in it were allowed to exist so long as they played the parts he assigned, as long as they fit within his own very specific set of parameters. There was no room for contradiction or doubt. Those that did would be dealt with accordingly—and for some, this meant death.
But Phoenix knew the truth would be Kristoph’s downfall; it always was with his type. Seven years he’d spent chasing that truth, tracking down leads and putting the pieces together all to bring the man’s crimes to light. Sure, he wasn’t proud of some of the methods he’d used, and he’d hurt his fair share of people (a pang of guilt rang out for Apollo). But the ends had justified the means, right? And it wasn’t as though he’d killed anyone. At the end of the day, Kristoph was put in prison, Phoenix got his job back, and all had been set right. Hopefully once the curtains closed on Kristoph’s life, they would close on this chapter of his life as well.
Phoenix snorted. Yeah right, it’s not that easy. Still, it doesn’t hurt to hope.
The story had stopped making sense due to his inability to concentrate, so he decided to call it quits for now. He set the book on his nightstand and took out his phone. Larry had sent him a link to some video about an elephant doing watercolor painting with the message “hopefully im not out of a job lol”. Sounds relaxing enough. Phoenix tapped on the link. He ended up going down a rabbit hole of animal videos, and fell asleep to a cat playing the piano.
***
It was dark. Impossibly dark and bone-chillingly cold.
Phoenix rubbed his arms and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. A unique sense of weightlessness hung about him, accompanied by something that kept him tethered, like he was a balloon tied to a post.
What is this place? Am I dreaming? He thought as he scanned his environment. Nothing but cold blackness. It’s like I’m in a tomb or something… “Hello?” He called out.
As if on cue, a small blue flame materialized in front of him. He jumped with a small yelp. It flickered in place, neither increasing in size nor moving to attack. Cautiously, he knelt down to study it at eye level. It almost looks like a will-o'-the-wisp. He recalled the apparitions featured in those scrolls in Kurain, and a shiver distinct from the chill ran down his spine.
After a moment, the flame began to float off. Where’s it’s going? Phoenix tilted his head, then started to follow it; partially out of curiosity, but mostly because he felt compelled to do so. The way it moves is kind of creepy… Unease was setting in hard, but there was nothing he could do but continue after it.
The flame continued on until it reached a circle of other blue flames that danced in harmony, then seamlessly floated in to join its fellows' merriment. Unease turned to dread. Okay, this is downright occult. Where’s Maya when you need her? Phoenix regained enough sense to try and back away, but something pulled him, forced him to stumble into the middle of the circle. Now surrounded by firelight, he could see a black hand clutching him by the shirt.
“What the hell?!” He tried to yank it off, but the hand’s grip was firm. The flames around him intensified, turning into a full ring of fire. Searing heat ripped through his flesh, driving out all traces of chill. He pulled and struggled as hard as he could, desperate to flee, but it was futile. The hand lifted him up, his weightless body going along all too easily. The fire rose into a full pillar, and he was burned and torn with an agony he’d never felt before and never would again. That is, if there was anything ever again.
“STOP!” He screamed, twisted, writhed.
The hand turned at an unnatural angle to show Phoenix its back. Facing him was a skull with its mouth stitched shut. The stare from its fleshy sockets bore into Phoenix. It spoke with a loud, clear, and firm voice.
You’re mine, Wright.
Fire engulfed him completely as the hand yanked him upwards, then he knew nothing more.
***
He was lying on a cold, hard surface. Logic dictated that it must be the floor.
Heavy and lifeless, every muscle in Phoenix’s body was drained of all energy. That nightmare had taken him on one hell of a ride. Must have fallen out of bed… He managed to think through the mental fog, which did absolutely nothing to obscure his headache. Ugh, I’m gonna need a bucket of coffee to get through today. With the thought of morning brew motivating him, he forced his eyes open.
He was met with concrete floor and a melted candle.
Adrenaline gave him the strength to push himself upright. Wherever he was, this definitely wasn’t his bedroom. A massive bookshelf, as large as the wall itself, stood adorned with books and posh knickknacks with a purple chair and end table pushed against it. Turning around, he was met with the most lavish twin bed he’d ever seen, with an antique night stand by its head and a toilet at its foot. Most notable, however, was the small barred window and full jailhouse door. Though it had been some years since he’d been here, he knew this location well.
What was he doing in Kristoph Gavin’s cell?
I’m dreaming, was the first conclusion Phoenix came to. I’m still asleep, and this is a follow up to whatever that fire and darkness place was. Hoping to wake up, he slapped himself across the face as hard as he could. Though it stung like hell, he remained firmly where he was.
His quickening breath and pulse flushed out the last of his grogginess. Why am I here?! How?! His flight response leaving no room for further inquiry, he slammed himself into the bars and screamed. “Help! There’s been a mistake! HELP!”
Hold on—his voice didn’t sound right. He put a hand to his throat, only to be met with tan skin and perfectly manicured nails.
If this was still a dream, it was more messed up than it appeared.
A guard banged his baton against the bars. “Quiet, Gavin. It’s too early for this crap.”
Gavin? Did he just say Gavin? His stunned silence lasted only a moment before he shook the bars. “Sir, there’s been a mistake! I’m not Kristoph Gavin, I’m Phoenix Wright!”
“That last appeal broke you, huh?” The guard snorted. “Happens all the time. Playing crazy’s not gonna work, you know.”
Phoenix’s jaw dropped. Is this guy blind?! “Just look at me!” He slapped his chest, desperate to make his case. “I’m Phoenix Wright, defense attorney!”
All the guard did was roll his eyes. “Uh huh, sure you are. Do us all a favor and keep your meltdown to yourself.” With that, he walked away.
Cold tremors ran through Phoenix’s entire body. He once again looked down at his hands, and was met with the same far-too-perfect nails. This time, though, something else got his attention: a braid of blonde hair hanging off of his shoulder. Upon grabbing it, he discovered it was connected to his head.
No…
He needed a mirror. Now. He scrambled about the room (which he only now realized was fuzzy around the edges) for anything to reveal his appearance. On the wall by the toilet, a small cracked mirror glinted in the cell’s florescent light. Phoenix nearly pressed his nose against the glass to get a good look.
What greeted him was the terrified face of Kristoph Gavin.
Phoenix wasn’t sure what happened in the minute after this revelation, but it was some combination of screaming, hyperventilating, and prayer. He may have even thrown something. By the time he finally achieved something resembling composure, the horrifying, sickening reality had set in: he was in Kristoph’s body.
Alright, alright, calm down. Nothing’s going to get solved by freaking out. Phoenix closed his eyes, lowered his head and began controlling his breaths. In, one two three four five, out, one two three four five. After several of these, his frazzled mind began to quiet down. Now somewhat composed, he opened his eyes. Beside his foot was a white line with a strange mark.
He furrowed his brows and followed the line. Soon, he realized it was part of a large ornate circle on the floor, comprised of painstakingly drawn symbols and lines with candle stubs placed at certain points. Some faint smudges in the middle indicated where he’d been lying, along with a crumpled piece of paper.
Phoenix knelt down to inspect the paper, and found that it was a photo of himself clipped from a newspaper. Creepy… He swallowed, then took a closer look at the sigils. Though they were mostly foreign, one familiar shape stood out. A magatama? He instinctively reached for his breast pocket, where he kept his handy gemstone. A familiar lump was present. It took a moment to register that it shouldn’t be there.
Huh? He took out the object. Sure enough, it was a magatama, though gold instead of green. Why would Kristoph have one of these?
The floor yielded no further clues, so Phoenix turned his attention to the rest of the room, analyzing it as he would a crime scene. Nothing seemed out of place, save for one open letter on the end table. At least he’s not here to yell at me about reading other people’s mail. Though I AM him right now, so technically it’s for me. Got to find the humor where you can, in situations like these. He picked up the letter and found it a bit too blurry to read. A pair of glasses (Kristoph’s, of course) lay beside it, so he put them on. To his dismay, they fixed all the problems with his vision. And here I hoped I was just getting old. Ignoring the queasiness in his stomach, he read the letter.
Dear Mr. Gavin,
It is my pleasure to inform you that I have obtained a magatama, which is enclosed in this envelope. Along with it is the diagram necessary to perform the Living Channeling. Do take care to ensure every sigil is drawn correctly. Should you err, I cannot guarantee the safety of your soul.
Perform the ritual under the next full moon. Place and light candles at each of the designated points. Kneel in the very middle with the magatama and photo of W on your person and meditate whilst you recite the chant I sent in my previous letter. Allow yourself to be completely lost to the trance, for only then will you be able to traverse the dark of dreams. Keep thoughts of W in your head all the while. Once you find him, all you need to do is grab hold of him to complete the ritual. You will awaken in his flesh, and he in yours.
I pray for your success.
Regards,
Morgan Fey
Phoenix’s heart began to hammer in his throat. He reread the letter, confirming he hadn’t missed a single detail. This is… this is a blueprint for body snatching! And it’s from Morgan Fey? How did Kristoph get in touch with her?
Vertigo crept up on him, and he slumped into Kristoph’s chair, rubbing his face. Two horrible things had become crystal clear. First, the reason he was in Kristoph’s body was because Kristoph had stolen Phoenix’s—the dream last night must have been the act. Second, Morgan Fey had given him instructions on how to do it, which meant that this was Kurain magic.
A distinctive bun and purple kimono popped into his mind. Maya. If I can just talk to Maya, I can figure out how to fix this!
The rattle of the door caught his attention, and a tray of food was pushed through its iron slat. Phoenix rushed over. “Excuse me! I’d like to make a phone call!”
“Death row inmates have no phone privileges.” Came the grunt of the guard before he left. His receding footsteps brought a new wave dread crashing over Phoenix.
That’s right. He was Kristoph Gavin, death row inmate.
Due for execution in seven days’ time.