Legacy to Zero

6: Progress as Slow as a Turtle

Lars

I was hoping this was a good idea.

From their perch on the roof of Prismatrix Headquarters, a few lone warblers took off in unison, scattering in a synchronized diversion from the ravens who sat across the building. A momentary pang of guilt rippled through me as the ravens settled into the crook of the windowpanes, fluffing their feathers and jeering at the others.

The colourful, opaque glass tracked downward until it reached the entrance and Aeris' vigil.

Magic hung over it, oddly static even as the light emitted from the tiny firefly flickered, like a satellite blinking in the night sky. Most of the dots around me were in movement; magic always seemed to be on her own mission—going somewhere, doing something.

I wonder if she can grieve.

Harlow would have opposed it, but I'd never really thought of magic as human. It seemed silly—like casting a wish out to a star and expecting it to come true. The logical part of me knew it was only an impulse—an electrical current. That was the only thing I could compare it to, even if right now, it offered little comfort.

Still, I stood, facing the door, feeling the scenarios I'd cooked up getting more and more inane. The portraits of Aeris, drawn in stick figures and a mosaic of art styles, some so realistic it was like dozens of her replicas watched me in return. I must have pulled up my camera roll for the photo I'd taken at the café a dozen times. I'd seen so many others all over Luna in the hours after the announcement, but it seemed wrong to do anything with mine.

For Harlow, I reminded myself. But there was more to it than that. And for Aeris, who deserves better than this.

Moving towards the entrance, I crossed my way to the front reception. A long, curved desk stretched across the space—with at least a dozen employees. The overlap of chattering voices met my ears.

I joined the queue, behind two sorcerers I wasn't entirely sure were in line. Both wore bright mesh fabric—the first in a dusky violet skirt that hung over her knees like petals. Its circumference was wide enough that the other sorcerer leaned against the counter a foot away, a half-smile on his face. He reached over to tap her shoulder and tipped his head in the opposite direction.

"Oh, I'm in your way! Sorry!" the one in the skirt said to me and skipped off, dragging the other sorcerer behind her.

Both of them came to a halt in front of the teleportation pad—a cylindrical platform raised slightly above the floor, formed from thick metal and glittering with lines of magic that almost looked like flames. One after the other, the two stepped into the circle and disappeared into a shower of sparks.

I'm next in line, I guess.

Dragging my feet forward, I approached the desk and shot a small smile at the receptionist in front of me. Though I'd practiced the words in my head, and filed them down to a precise chant, I still stumbled when I said, "I'd like to speak to—to a member of the council."

The receptionist's eyes shot up. "Which? Grant Douglas, Sachiko or Emiya Aida? Alec Muiz?"

"Doesn't really matter which. Sachiko Aida? Doesn't she usually handle the... isn't she usually the publicist... of sorts?"