Chereads / Reign of the Seven Spellblades Complete / Chapter 35 - Ashbury, Fleetest of Heart Part 2

Chapter 35 - Ashbury, Fleetest of Heart Part 2

"I'll say it again—Ashbury's techniques are flawless. It's only her mind holding

her back. And she's using the broom fights and broom wars to amp up her

competitiveness, trying to get herself where she needs to be. It may look like

madness. But there are some barriers you can't bust down unless you're crazy."

Every student watching Ashbury fly knew. Her way of living was how a mage

ought to be. And it made them ask themselves—could they even be that

insanely committed to their own goals?

"I dunno if the attempt'll bear fruit. But I can say one thing for sure: I'm a fan.

Always have been, am right now—and always will be."

Dustin said no more. He just watched his student fly like any rider dreamed

of. So far, so bright—as if she were burning her light into his eyes before it went

out for good.

Just as promised, she'd wiped out the entire team—and like always, Ashbury

skipped the post-match meeting, not even changing out of her uniform. She

was stalking across the campus, still trailing her mid-match intensity with her.

Students she passed flinched and kept their distance, as if spotting a wounded

beast.

"…Huff… Huff…!"

She made it to the fountain and plunged her whole head in. Too drastic to

really call a cooldown—this was more like a blacksmith cooling heated metal.

Her body and mind were too revved up, and nothing else would do the trick.

As she pulled her head out of the water, she heard a man's voice.

"…Your ferocity scalds the very eye," he said.

Golden locks reflected in the rippling water. She'd known he was there and

didn't bother turning around.

"I don't give a warg shit about the election. Do whatever the hell you want."

"We fully intend to. But there is one thing I thought you should know."

Leoncio took a step up beside her, placing a crystal on the rim of the fountain.

The image contained within began to play, along with a certain voice. A timbre

she would never mistake.

"Proof—that Clifton Morgan is still alive."

Time froze around her. Taking that as the response he'd hoped for, Leoncio

turned to leave.

"Keep it," he said. "You can easily prove the authenticity. That's all I ask for.

I'll be cheering for you, Ashbury."

With that transparent falsehood, he sailed away. Ashbury never once looked

at him. Her eyes stayed locked on the crystal's contents.

That evening, the Wild Geese were holding an emergency meeting to discuss

the outcome of the league's first game.

"The Blue Swallows are trouble," Melissa said, grimly scanning the faces of her

teammates. She was essentially speaking for everyone here; there was no need

to drive home the urgency of the situation. "Or at least—Ashbury is. She shot

right into the heart of the enemy and downed six all on her own. That's just

messed up ! No one can do that!"

"I could scarcely believe my own eyes. Her triumphs are absolutely

outstanding!"

Nanao was all smiles, not a trace of concern. She had the most unabashed

respect for Ashbury here, and that wasn't wavering—a fact that earned her a

lot of winces from her teammates. Melissa moved over, patted her on the head,

and then went back to the fore.

"We try normal tactics, we'll be pulverized, too. We'll need to dig deep on

formations, tactics, and roles. Ideas, anyone?"

Everyone looked lost in thought.

"…Well, really, if we can take out Ashbury—we win."

"Is 'go for the ace' an actual strategy, per se?"

"Nobody else has pulled it off."

"And Ashbury wants us all fixated on her."

"But letting her fly free is worse."

They weren't getting anywhere. Everyone had thoughts and plenty of

enthusiasm, but the discussion lacked concrete details—so Oliver thought hard

and raised a hand. The team captain, Hans Leisegang, spotted that at once.

"Speak, Horn."

"…What if we start at Full Attack?"

A buzz went through the room. It was like a rock heaved into a pond, and

before the ripples could die down, Oliver spoke again.

"It's a drastic measure, but it eliminates the point of having a berserker. If

there's no formation to disrupt, they're just another attacker. It boils things

down to which side can drop the other captain first."

"…Abandon defense for an all-out brawl. It makes a certain kind of sense."

"But…that's still where Ashbury shines."

"Dismissing suggestions based on that would leave us with a big ol' pile of

nothing."

"Is there anything she isn't great at?"

"Teamwork."

"Communication."

"Speaking for five seconds without winding someone up."

These last three were all at once, which got a big laugh, and Melissa smacked

each speaker in turn. Hans had been lurking quietly at the back watching things

over, but deeming it time, he chimed in.

"It's a good idea…but I'm against it."

Everyone went quiet, waiting for what came next. His tone level, the Wild

Geese captain began to elaborate.

"Starting broom wars at Full Attack means abandoning the sport of it. It

leaves us all just fending for ourselves. There's no 'team' left in it. If you ask me

anyway."

Oliver straightened up. This was exactly the response he'd been hoping his

suggestion would provoke.

"I'm not making some grand statement that a cohesive group can overcoming

individual prowess. Mages all gotta rely on their own skills, after all. The Blue

Swallows are getting results by letting their ace off the leash as we speak.

Letting everyone else fly in the wake of their greatest talent—maybe that's

even the ideal formation. But we Wild Geese do things differently. Right?"

Hans paused, looking each player in the eye in turn.

"We aren't as nuts as Ashbury, but we got plenty of trouble right here.

Nobody listens to a word I say, and plans we make before the match frequently

get thrown right out the second we start playing. Most of you will draw your

wands the moment your opinions are in conflict. But even so, there's one thing

we've all got in common. We're all here to enjoy flying."

He raised a clenched fist. His words rang true; that was the heart of everyone

here.

"Players who focus only on the fun of the game are called hedonists. And the

Wild Geese are chosen for their hedonism. You all know that. And you know

that flying in sync with your team is more fun than doing whatever you please.

You know the thrill of having all your roles working together like clockwork." He

then added, "Once again, I don't think teamwork is better than individual skill.

It's simply—we are all of us, together, a single giant goose. Big enough to

swallow up some pissant little swallows, right?"

He flashed a grin, and Nanao's hand shot up.

"Fight not the enemy's strategy but utilize our own greatest strengths. Is that

the essence of your speech, Commander?"

"Good phrasing, Hibiya. Our greatest strength is our passion for the joys of

broom wars. And in light of that—does starting at Full Attack sound like fun? I

bet we can think of something we'd all like better."

Oliver knew this had shifted the focus of the discussion. He need add nothing

more himself—Hans had put it in plain language, and it had always been the

team's alignment.

"Lemme add a rule to this debate. Don't plan how to win. Plan how to have

fun." And then he finished with, "You all know why! That's the plan that'll bring

out our best."

The meeting lasted a good four hours. When Oliver left the clubhouse and

headed toward the arena, the skies were already dark. There, he found an

upperclassman seated on the grass.

"…Captain."

"Mm? Oh, Horn," the man said, looking up. The Wild Geese captain had been

in that same meeting with him. Their reunion was no coincidence—Oliver had

come here specifically looking for him. Hans fired his famous broad grin over his

shoulder. "Sorry about earlier. I kinda used your suggestion as a springboard."

"Not at all. I never expected that idea to go through."

He knew Hans knew that had always been the point of his proposal. Perhaps a

bit too obliging of his teammate, Hans chuckled and turned his eyes back to the

night sky.

"Honestly, if this was just one match in a normal league, I might have gone for

it," he said. "It never hurts to try new things, and it could be a good chance to

reevaluate everyone's offensive potential. That goes double when we stand

little chance of winning otherwise. But the way Ashbury's playing? This is our

one shot at going up against a rider like her. She's at her peak. She won't be like

this next year."

Oliver nodded, saying not a word. This was something any mage could feel in

their bones. Ashbury was burning her life away. It wouldn't last long, and there

was no turning back. Oliver's own version of that might be different in nature,

but he knew only too well how rough it was.

"I don't wanna waste our time flying with her on a strategy that ain't like us.

Win or lose—I'm a hedonist all the way."

The captain smiled like a naughty child. Oliver laughed and sat down next to

him.

"…I think that's what drew Nanao and me to this team."

"Aw, you're gonna make me cry!"

The captain's large hand mussed the boy's hair. Oliver winced but indulged

Hans—his thoughts began turning to Nanao's role in the upcoming Blue

Swallows match.

After the team spent three days running through every possible scenario, the

big day arrived—it was one PM.

"Here it is! Day four of the broom wars league! The Wild Geese versus the

Blue Swallows! The teams are streaming in from east and west!"

The announcer, Roger, was already going full bore. Watching the players take

to the skies, he turned to Dustin once again seated by his side.

"Instructor, how do you see this going?"

"The Blue Swallows have already won two games playing a winning strategy.

Ashbury rockets into the opponents' formation, causing chaos; then her team's

attacks press that advantage, and once they've dropped a few and have

momentum, they switch to Full Attack. Both matches were perfect victories, so

there's no reason to think they'll change up that plan. It all hinges on how the

Wild Geese plan to fight back."

The match itself would show what the two teams had in mind. The Blue

Swallows were hot right now, but could the Wild Geese nip that in the bud?

That thought was on the mind of every audience member. And Blue Swallows

fans were no exception. They loved to see their team win but still craved a good

game. Two conflicting impulses that existed inside them all.

The horns sounded, heralding the start of the match. Both teams' attackers

shot forward, and one Swallow peeled away from the pack. The start everyone

had expected.

"And they're off! Ashbury already charging in, as she is wont to do! What

now, Wild Geese? Got anything that can handle her ludicrous violence?"

"They're not using any unusual formations. I figured there was a chance

they'd go for broke and start at Full Attack, but apparently not. Hopefully

they've got something else in mind, but…"

Dustin had his arms folded, scowling at the Wild Geese. Ashbury had already

slipped through their front line and was in full berserker mode: hitting anyone

she got near, forcing all their attention onto her. Maneuvers so good, no sense

or standards need apply.

"Ashbury's in their camp all alone, wrecking face! Same as the matches

before! And her team's attackers are closing in! The Wild Geese are in trouble!"

"…They're not doing bad, actually," Dustin muttered. It might look like the

same outcome, but he'd spotted a critical difference. "They're all keeping their

wits about them. Ashbury's deep in their pocket—but not causing chaos."

Dustin's take was right on the money. The Wild Geese's strategy was already

in full swing.

"Oh shit! Oh shiiiit!"

Ashbury was hot on the heels of a player known for using his tiny frame to

make tight maneuvers, an asset when running from a faster foe—

comparatively. But here, that just meant it took slightly longer for him to go

down.

"You! Wait right there!" Melissa roared. She'd come in swinging, trying to

prevent that fate. Every bit as experienced as the captain himself, her flying was

notoriously stable—she excelled less at felling foes than avoiding getting felled

herself. Enough that she could go a few rounds with Ashbury and live.

"…I'm up next, eh? Gotta get her after me, then. C'mon!"

The third player was also a veteran sixth-year. He was possibly an even better

fit for this role than the other two. Ashbury had downed him more than

another player at Kimberly—for one simple reason: "I don't like the way he

flies."

"So that's three defenders on Ashbury."

The end of the earlier meeting. The Wild Geese captain had gone through all

the opinions offered and settled on this plan.

"But let's be clear, their job is not to drop her—they're bait. They're trying to

keep her attention on them. Specifically, the three of them will take turns

making her chase them. The four of you will be playing a different game—and

nobody else will pay Ashbury any attention unless she's directly coming after

them. This should help limit the extent of her disruptive tactics."

This drew a series of hmms. Everyone got the logic behind it, but…

"Make her chase us? That's tricky."

"By having three on Ashbury, we can minimize other casualties, right?"

"That's easier than dropping her, I guess."

"But how sustainable is it? She's gonna figure it out sooner or later."

"We're not saying keep it up indefinitely. This strategy is for the start of the

match only. If you can keep her at it for four or five minutes, great. In light of

that—do we have any volunteers?"

The captain looked around, and Nanao's hand shot up first.

"Let me at her!"

"Good answer, but…Hibiya, we've got another role for you."

That was all she needed to hear, and she sat back down. By the board,

Melissa quietly raised a hand.

"…Then I'll go. I'm a good fit. I've gone up against her plenty."

There was a longer silence, and then other hands started going up.

"I'm probably right for it. She's chased me often enough that I've gotta pretty

good idea of what'll piss her off."

"But we'll need variety in that department. I guess I could bring out her

vicious streak…"

The captain grinned at his volunteers. Once again certain that the Wild

Geese's greatest strength was their differences.

"Good work, all three of you," Hans muttered. They were getting the job

done. They had a handful of minutes before Ashbury figured it out, and it was

on him to put that to good use.

"Forward!"

He threw up a hand sign, and the players who saw it—attacker and defender

alike—shot forward.

"…Whoa! That's a shocker. The Wild Geese have Ashbury deep in their zone,

yet half the team's on the offensive!"

"Aha! So that's the gambit," Dustin crowed, leaning forward in his seat, his

eyes glittering at the unexpected turn up above. "That's a problem for Ashbury.

The rest of her team have been forced into defensive positions—her disrupting

the back lines is accomplishing nothing."

The berserker's effectiveness depended on the opportunities they created for

the rest of their team. But with everyone too busy defending to follow up on

her moves, that meant she was stranded in enemy territory. A lost soldier with

no effect on the war at hand.

It didn't take her long to work that out. Dustin saw her glance toward the far

side of the field and muttered, "Yep, you've gotta turn back. But when you

do…"

"…Tch—"

Realizing her actions were getting her team nowhere, Ashbury turned to head

back to her side—but the instant her attention shifted away from the fight at

hand, a club came swinging toward her from diagonally above.

" ?!"

She barely blocked it with her own weapon, but from a less-than-ideal

posture—she failed to fully redirect the force of the hit. Knocked off balance,

she lost speed and altitude while she righted herself. With far less momentum,

she wheeled through the sky below, voices raining down on her.

"Going somewhere, Ashbury?"

"I'm insulted! You're dancing with us, remember?"

"That's right! You've yet to drop anyone."

The three players she'd been chasing. They'd cast off all pretense of being

mere prey and were baring their talons—after stealing the height advantage.

Ashbury's lips twitched.

"Buzz off, gnats!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhh?! The Wild Geese trio going hard! The moment Ashbury tried

to back up her side, they landed a good one! Like they were waiting for that to

happen!"

"They were. They knew full well Ashbury was gonna be forced home there.

Anyone worth their salt would hit her back. The three of them have been

keeping her busy with tight teamwork and waiting for their chance to do just

this."

Dustin sounded deeply impressed. They had to avoid getting downed, keep

her from cottoning on to their plan, and work together to keep her focus going

this way and that—it took real finesse. And the timing for their counter had

been flawless. You likely couldn't have pulled off the same thing with any other

top players in the senior leagues. The Wild Geese were a motley crew of flaky

players, and that had paid off for them big-time here.

"Once you've been knocked to the lower sky, it's no easy task regaining speed

or altitude. She's lost the greatest strengths a broomrider has, and it's three

against one. Even for Ashbury, that's rough. Course, she might still pull through

—"

Ashbury was throwing herself into a clash with her foes, heedless of the

positional disadvantage. Dustin tore his eyes off her a moment, scanning the

other battles on the front line.

"—but it won't be anytime soon. This moment here is all Wild Geese."

Broom wars clashes had a hard advantage to whoever landed the first blow.

For a very simple reason—moving first meant moving faster.

"Aughhh…?!"

"Shit! Why are they attacking?!"

"They're cutting me off! I can't get up to speed!"

The rule every rider knew was working against the Blue Swallows—they'd

been waiting for Ashbury's rampage to give them openings. But before that

could happen, they'd been forced into combat.

"What the heck is Ashbury doing…?!"

"Get back here!"

Even as they fought, her teammates were cursing under their breaths. Getting

forced onto the defensive—that was one thing. They'd accounted for the

possibility of their opposition starting at Full Attack, so they had their response

drilled into their heads. The problem was that Ashbury wasn't with them. If she

could free herself up, then this was a golden chance to hit their foes from both

sides.

Yet, clinging to that idea was dragging them deeper into the bog. An acereliant mindset could not handle this Wild Geese onslaught. Their momentum

pushed them back, two players went down in rapid succession, and a third

player took a heavy hit to their back, lost their balance, and spotted another foe

coming in fast. Their doom seemed inescapable—

"Don't flinch, people!" a teammate roared, swooping in to the rescue. The

Blue Swallows looked startled. They'd all been fighting to protect him—the

team captain, who should have been waiting on the back lines.

"Honestly, what's wrong with you?! Since when are you useless without

Ashbury? Remember our team logo and what it symbolizes!"

A steely glint lit every Swallow's eye. He knew the downside of having an ace

who was too good—and he'd been aware that it could corner them like this. It

was a captain's duty to snap his team out of it, and that was why he'd exposed

himself on the front lines, setting an example.

"We ain't licked yet, Geese. We ain't a friendly flock like you."

And there was a clear symbol of that attitude—the team logo. Where the

Wild Geese and other teams had multiple birds in their logos, the Swallows had

only one. That solitary swallow symbolized the ultimate ace—and that every

member of the team should be striving for that level of excellence. A collection

of players who valued only their own abilities—that had been the Blue

Swallows' ideal since the team's conception.

"Don't wait for anyone else! Carve your own path forward! Each of us is a

solitary swallow, hell-bent on being the next ace!"

His voice echoed in their ears, reminding them who they were—and banishing

their indecision. Vicious smiles appeared on every face, and the unflocked

swallows charged into the flock of geese.

"The Blue Swallows are holding up against the Wild Geese's assault! They've

been pushed back, but not conquered! Way to stand your ground!"

"That captain's rallying cry did the trick. If morale is back, they won't crumble

this easily. There's not a single weak link on their side."

Dustin looked rather pleased, but his smile soon faded. He canceled the amp

spell on his wand. He always did when the matches were in a delicate phase to

prevent his words altering the flow of the game.

"…But this is the opposite of what they thought would happen. They've been

forced to focus on the situation at hand—but that can give you tunnel vision.

Even a veteran flier will find it tricky to grasp the whole of the playing field."

He glanced upward. From the announcer's booth, they could see everything.

Including things not visible from the thick of battle.

"And that leaves you blind. Blind enough that no one has noticed a tiny

second-year is nowhere to be seen."

On the ground below the battle, as the other catchers braced for plummeters,

Oliver alone saw the same thing.

"Yes. Now, Nanao."

Yes, right now—Nanao was in the sky far above the fray, about to swoop

down into the enemy lines.

"Your head is mine!"

Her aim set, she plunged straight down. Turning her height into speed, faster

and faster. At this velocity, the ground was a wall coming up hard, but her eyes

saw only the captain's head.

He sensed her coming just before the hit, and his head snapped up—

"Crap—!"

Too late. There was no way he could dodge it now. Nanao's club was swinging

with overwhelming speed, aimed right at the Blue Swallows' captain. Her one

and only shot at him—so she aimed to down him no matter how he reacted.

That thought alone burning in her heart, her mighty swing took her inches from

triumph—

" ?!"

—and a flash from the stands blotted her vision.

Nanao had come rocketing out of the sky toward the opponent's captain, but

her club missed by a hairbreadth. She barely pulled out of the dive in time,

skimming the surface. The crowd gasped aloud.

"Aughhhhhhhh! Hibiya with a stunning surprise attack from on high! A deadly

chop right at the captain's head! But she came up empty! Did the nerves get to

her?"

"…No."

As Roger roared, Dustin rose to his feet. He upped the amplification on his

voice, bellowing at the field.

"Stop the match! Interference! You there! The piece of shit shining light in

Hibiya's eyes from the stands! Don't you dare move! You can't fool my eyes!"

He pointed right at the stands and saw a speck turn and run.

The horns sounded, stopping the match. The players in flight slowed down.

"Huh? A stoppage?"

"What for? Interference…?"

The three Wild Geese players on Ashbury did the same, gaping at the

announcer booth. The Blue Swallows' ace began swooping away, flying off

somewhere.

"…Ah?! No, wait!" Melissa yelled. "It's a stoppage!"

"…Tch, overplayed my hand…"

Blending into the tumult of the crowd, he worked his way quickly toward the

exit—the "speck" who'd caused the stoppage.

The old student council camp had ordered him to interfere but had no

interest in the actual outcome of the match. Whether Ashbury's team or

Nanao's won, their grudge was with the two girls whose stunning moves would

be all anyone talked about. Their strategy was to ensure that—whatever the

outcome—they would embarrass themselves in the process.

Since Ashbury had been locked up through the opening stages, there was

little point in bothering her; his attentions had turned to Nanao. Her rapid

ascent had made it clear what she planned to do. He had done his best to time

things so his interference would go undetected, but that wasn't happening

under Dustin's watchful eye. His only remaining option was to get out of dodge

before they identified him as the culprit. But as he neared the exit…

"You're not getting away, asshole!"

Several second-years blocked the door—and he knew his plans were foiled.

"We saw the whole thing. It was your wand that flashed."

"And you broke into a run when Instructor Dustin called you out."

"How dare you do that to Nanao! What if she'd failed to pull out of the dive in

time?!"

Guy, Chela, Pete, and Katie all had their wands drawn, looking furious. The

culprit spun around, seeking other exits…but got nowhere. An upperclassman

stood before him, wand raised—hair over one eye.

"Your side never surprises. This classless behavior did not impress in the

previous election, either."

"...!"

Four underclassmen in front of him, Miligan behind—the culprit was trapped

with nowhere to go. He drew his athame, hoping to force his way through the

second-years—and a club swung down out of nowhere, knocking him to the

ground.

"Guh?!"

Then a hand shot out, grabbed him by the throat, and squeezed. His windpipe

crushed, he couldn't breathe, much less scream—and he was hoisted up off his

feet.

"You're the one who interfered?!"

Hovering in midair on her broom, radiating fury from every inch of her body—

Diana Ashbury. Her bloodlust was so high that even Miligan took a step back.

And the perpetrator learned too late the fate awaiting anyone who spoiled a

broom match while Ashbury was around.

"…Kah…khhh...!"

"Die."

The bones in his neck creaked. Riders carried no wands or blades, and their

clubs weren't designed to do any lasting damage. The only way she could kill

was with her bare hands. Ashbury was clearly hell-bent on doing just that.

Allowed no resistance or protests, the culprit's eyes rolled up in his head, his

limbs dangling limply—

"Ashbury, that's quite enough."

A girl's voice. Ashbury found a hand on her arm, gently soothing her fury.

"I am unharmed. My eyes were briefly dazzled, but that is hardly a concern,"

Nanao said. "Come, let us resume the match. Our battle has only just begun."

Shouldering her club, she flashed a grin—and eased Ashbury's frown.

"…True. Can't waste time on maggots when I'm busy fighting you."

The limp body crashed to the ground. Ashbury spared it no further heed,

wheeling back to the field. Arcing across the upper sky, she barked, "Get this

match back underway, refs! In light of the interference, ensure the starting

positions favor the Wild Geese!"

The refs quickly conferred and announced the restart positions less than a

minute later. Since Nanao's surprise attack would likely have been effective, the

positions allowed them to maintain an advantage, and the Wild Geese were

starting at a higher altitude. Neither team argued with that, and the players

swiftly flew to their start positions—and the horn sounded.

"Here we go again… But let's switch up the dance."

Ashbury was in the same fix she'd been in pre-stoppage with the three Wild

Geese members moving to keep her stuck there. One cut in from the side,

another joined in based on her reaction, and the third was on standby above,

putting pressure on her. A strategy designed to keep her from gaining speed or

altitude. Even for Ashbury, no ordinary techniques would get her out of this.

Good thing her techniques were extraordinary.

She deflected the first blow with her club. That left her slightly off-balance,

and a beat later, the second opponent came swinging in from diagonally

behind. Only way to dodge would be to drop down, speeding up—but that

would only make her position worse. Bearing down on her, Melissa was certain

this placed them one step closer to victory—

"Huff—"

—but as Melissa's club swung through, the back before her dropped out of

sight—and something grabbed her leg.

"Huh?"

She looked down in shock. Her left foot was in the stirrup, and the tip of a

club was hooked onto it. Ashbury dangled from the grip. Deft control of speed

and angle made her a weight on whoever her club had snared.

"Wha—?"

"Hah?!"

"You're kidding!"

This was a stunt known as the backhook. Logically, during a dogfight, when

both players' speeds were aligned, the rider in front could pull this on their

pursuer. As their opponent attacked from behind, they used the same stall

principle as the feather fall to swap places—and as their pursuer passed them,

they used the club to snare them. But the move itself was far too tricky for even

the best broomriders to pull off—it was a move only written about.

"Uh…l-let go! Damn it—"

Melissa sped up, rocking herself right and left, trying to fling her off. But that

club was not just hooked onto her—it was attached using a sword arts

technique—Lanoff-style Sticky Edge. She could try and swing her own club, but

Ashbury was behind her. There was little the others could do—in such close

proximity, any swings they took would let Ashbury use Melissa as a shield.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. Ashbury wasn't merely dangling from

her feet. She was slowly but steadily stealing her momentum.

"Good enough."

When she'd gained enough speed, she swung the hooked club, passing her.

The sideways swipe hit Melissa square in the chest—and her frantic attempts to

escape had left her vulnerable. That hit alone sent her falling headfirst toward

the ground.

"You asshole—!"

Curses followed from below, but Ashbury was too busy to listen. The speed

she'd gained from the backhook was more than enough to let her take on the

other two—but there was already a new foe heading her way from on high.

"Have at thee, Ashbury!"

"Ready for ya."

There was a grin on her face. She'd known this was coming. That was why

she'd used the opening moments of the restart to get herself back to full speed.

Feeling the exhilaration bubbling on her skin, Ashbury threw her entire spirit

against the Azian girl.

"Hibiya turned as the match resumed, heading right for Ashbury! They're

really going at it!"

"A wise decision. Her surprise attack failed, and their captain won't make that

same mistake again. The best thing she can do is switch targets and try to take

Ashbury down. After all, the moment she freed herself from that three-on-one,

the Wild Geese no longer had any advantage."

The two of them were fighting far from the main cluster. Until the two battles

joined together, this match was still up in the air.

"She downed one of her initial trio; then Hibiya joined in. Still three on one.

This is the watershed moment. Can they drop Ashbury before she flips those

odds? That'll determine the outcome here."

"Seiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

"Hahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Their cries echoed across the sky. Their speeds so great, every clash of clubs

made sparks fly. And with each clash, Nanao thought anew—how mighty a

warrior she fought.

They were not an even match. Though it fell to her to land a decisive blow,

her teammates were still focused on slowing Ashbury down. Clash into a turn,

turn into an ascent—at each phase, they stuck their oars in, and her

performance was never at peak. Yet, even under those conditions, the arcs

Ashbury traced were never any worse than Nanao's own. It took the three of

them to match her at all.

"I couldn't possibly ask for more…!"

Nanao was simply grateful. To her fearsome foe, to her worthy allies—to

everyone who allowed this moment to be. Without them, she could not fight

like this. Could not experience the passion and fulfillment of this instant.

"Seiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Recovering, she turned, rising—and at peak height, she threw herself into a

descent. Each stage of that process required the utmost concentration, and yet

she thought, Thus, I must return the favor in kind. To the teammates she shared

a sky with. To the audience watching with bated breaths. To her catcher,

watching from the ground. And to Clifton Morgan, who had asked that she take

on Ashbury in her sky.

To all who had brought her here.

" !"

And Ashbury could tell—this girl was driven by feelings for her own self as

well.

So perhaps…what forced her off her broom on their sixth clash was partly her

own doing.

"…Ah—"

It had been a while since she felt this weightlessness. Not quite fear—a sense

of loss, like sand flowing between her fingertips. The one who caught her when

this happened was no longer down below.

And that sensation drew forth a memory.

"Carve this into your heart, Diana. This is your goal."

She was five years old when she'd first held a broom. Her first flight left her

feeling exalted, omnipotent. And then her parents showed her the footage.

Inside that crystal was a broomrider in flight. Even at her age, she could tell

this rider was going incredibly fast. This was nothing like the fun little jaunt

she'd just taken. A mage who had devoted her life to flying faster, the fruits of

those efforts made manifest. It was beautiful yet terrifying—a spell given form.

"Be like her. Be better. Seek what lies beyond this accomplishment."

She agreed before any thoughts crossed her mind. The blood flowing in her

veins demanded it. She had never once had a choice. This girl's life had been

designed for this, long before her birth. Her body was shorn of all unnecessary

weight. Even fully grown, she would lack the ability to bear a child. The Ashbury

clan had removed everything not needed from their blood, and she was the

result. A single-generation work of art.

Her siblings would carry on that legacy. Her task was to fly. To leave

everything in her wake, flying where no one else had ever been.

" !"

And this crystal showed her where that life would lead.

The rider's body disintegrated. After that incredible, record-setting flight, the

rider's entire body and her broom crumbled away like ash in an inferno,

scattering across the sky. The ashes carried up into the blue, never to touch the

ground again.

The girl sat staring at the sky in the crystal, wondering, Where did she go?

She'd done it all and, seconds later, melted into the firmament. There was

nothing else to strive for, for the first and last time.

So where had her heart gone?

After Ashbury fell, there were no major turns, and the day closed with the

Wild Geese victorious.

At the post-match meeting, Nanao was tossed in the air by her teammates,

and when she escaped that, she was mobbed by the Sword Roses. When she

finally got away from them, she headed toward the Blue Swallows' training

ground, where she found the one she sought flat on her back in the grass.

"Good evening, Ashbury."

"..."

"May I join you?"

Nanao didn't wait for an answer. She sat down by Ashbury, and for a few

minutes, neither spoke.

At last, Ashbury broke her sullen silence. "…You've grown even stronger. I

never imagined you'd drop me."

"It was hardly my power alone. We honed our strategy, seized the

opportunity, and my comrades and I flew as one—and only then could we come

close."

"But you're still the one who finished it. If either of the others had come for

me there, I know I could've endured."

"And had you not chosen to engage me, you might still have."

Nanao was not being modest. If Ashbury had stayed focused purely on her

team's victory, she would never have been in a bullfight with the Azian girl. She

could have kept dodging until her teammates came to help, taking the fight

back only once her disadvantage was gone. That itself was hardly a simple task

—but easier than winning a three-on-one fight.

But Ashbury just shook her head.

"You came in to challenge me. How could I run? That'd just be pathetic."

She snorted; Nanao nodded. Having fought with all her might, she knew

better than anyone the shape of this woman's pride.

"…I have things to discuss with you," she said, shifting to her knees.

"Formal," Ashbury said, glancing her way.

"Morgan yet lives. Will you join me tonight and seek him out?"

This hit so hard, she forgot to blink.

And then her mind began churning again. The crystal Leoncio had given her—

there'd been a voice in the background she'd heard before, calling that name.

"…Huh. So that was your voice."

"?"

"Never mind. So? What about it? He quit being my catcher a long time ago.

Whether he's alive or dead—honestly, it makes no difference to me."

The back half might have been less than honest, but the question was real.

Leoncio had told her this to rattle her and undermine her match performance.

Given his character and the politics of the hour, that was obvious—but the girl

before her would never think like that. Ashbury had no clue what could

motivate this reveal.

But when her eyes met Nanao's and she found that gaze held true—she

knew. This was naught but an act of kindness, done in service of someone she

admired.

"To defeat one's self, one must first know one's self. For you, Ashbury—that

means Morgan."

"…I am me. No one knows me better."

"Nay, Ashbury. You have long averted your eyes from the truth."

"...!"

Ashbury's chest tightened. Nanao was the only person who dared talk like

that to her. No words minced, no holds barred. Eyes unclouded, speaking

strictly from the heart.

She couldn't dodge it. She felt like a sitting duck. But even so—she shook her

head.

"…Maybe you've got a point. But I'm still not going. No matter who says

otherwise," she told Nanao. "Seeing him would make me weak. I'd want to rely

on him. And that would end me. With a heart at peace, I could never reach the

fastest realms. I could never get where I need to be."

"Ashbury…"

When Nanao tried to speak again, Ashbury held up a hand, stopping her.

"But I do have a favor to ask, Ms. Hibiya. Two weeks from now—come watch

me fly."

"Naturally, I would love to," Nanao said, blinking.

Without realizing it, she had kept her promise to Morgan. Their match today

had put the finishing touches on Ashbury's drive.

Ashbury could find nothing lacking. She was sure any more time spent

preparing would be a waste, a delay of the inevitable.

"That's the day I fight. The day I ask why Diana Ashbury was born."

Her mind was made up. She would stake every fiber of her being on the spell

she sought.

The broomsport world record provided preferential treatment based on times

set. This was not a Kimberly preference but a Union one—the better your past

achievements, the more accommodations were made for further attempts at

the record.

Specifically, and most typically, you could summon top riders at your level for

a meet. In other words, you could force other riders to fly along with your

record attempt. Naturally, as long as there were people around to ensure the

course was regulation and witness the record itself, you could make the

attempt alone, but that was purely theoretical; few players aiming for the

throne would even consider it. They all knew from experience, and from the

history of the sport, that having rivals fly the course with you offered clear

improvements to your times.

"…Not long now."

Beneath cruelly cerulean skies, Dustin Hedges gazed up at the course rings he

himself had ordered polished to perfection. Like the throngs of students here,

he was waiting for the star to arrive.

She did not keep them waiting long. Clad in a Blue Swallows uniform, she

came strolling out into the arena. A broom on her back, but no club in hand.

The sport today needed no weapons. Perhaps as a result, today she seemed

disinclined to murder anyone.

Arms folded, Dustin gave her a long look, and she raised a hand in response.

"Here to watch, Instructor?"

"Of course." He snorted. "Who do you think handled negotiations?"

He wasn't exaggerating; it was his hard work that had made this attempt

possible. Even with preferential treatment, gathering this many top players on

two weeks' notice took some doing. He'd been negotiating not just with the

riders themselves but with their schools and coaches, and that had been a real

tug-of-war.

Exactly the sort of thing Dustin usually despised, but the moment Ashbury

asked him to get the venue ready, he'd thrown himself into it without a word of

complaint. No thought in his mind but giving his student the stage she

deserved.

"Thanks," Ashbury said with a brief flicker of a smile.

She knew the truth. Her teacher and coach had bent over backward for her.

All along, behind the scenes or out in the light of day, he'd been toiling away for

her sake.

Awkwardly avoiding his student's gaze, Dustin muttered, "The headmistress

ain't coming. Said it would just stress everyone out. But—you know her. She'll

be watching from somewhere."

Ashbury glanced toward the school building. She'd better be watching. The

headmistress had relit this fire under her; she had to see it through. That

"You've gotten slow" was still ringing in her ears. Ashbury was here to prove

that wrong forever, burning the truth into the headmistress's eyes.

But Ashbury never doubted she was watching. The headmistress was out

there somewhere—and secure in that belief, she put it out of her mind. Her

eyes turned to the faces on the field. Refs from the broomsports committee,

timekeepers, catchers, a huge crowd hoping to see history made—and more

vital than anyone, the lineup of top players from across the Union.

"The gang's all here."

A row of the world's best riders, all dressed in the liveries of their schools.

She'd called them here. Ashbury had the best time among them, but the riders

here were the broom races' top twelve. Three were Kimberly students and the

remaining nine from other schools. The top reaches of broom racing was a

narrow little world. She'd faced every one of them at prior meets; there were

no strangers here.

"Faster than I thought. I had money on you pushing it off till next year."

"You've got your sights set? You brought us all here. It better not have been in

vain."

They were all glaring at Ashbury. She savored the prickling of her flesh, then

issued an ultimatum.

"Thanks for coming out. I want one thing from you: Come after my life, or I'll

be taking yours."

And with that, she turned her back and headed for the course itself. The

players behind her looked furious…and then started laughing.

"…Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha, and we're doing her a favor."

"I came all the way from Lantshire, y'know. And I hate Kimberly."

"Sorry. Our girl there ain't got nothing in her head but flying fast."

"Clearly. But still—you can tell she's ready."

The last speaker was the oldest player there. His lips curled arrogantly.

"Don't gripe about her attitude. You're all thinking the same thing. Everyone

else here is to make you better."

The exact same smile appeared on every face. Of course. They weren't the

audience. This was a meet. Every one of them had a shot at the record. That's

why they'd come. Historically, players invited like this had actually set new

records—and more than a few times.

Ashbury's attempt had them all feeling competitive and motivated. And

Dustin knew it.

"No one's missing. Nothing comes up, we'll start on time. First three, on the

course."

He drew his white wand, waving at three players. Two of them boarded their

brooms and flew off, but Ashbury first did a flyby of the stands.

"Ms. Hibiya, hold these."

She took her wand and athame off her waist and handed them to Nanao

where she sat with the Sword Roses. This pair was the hallmark of a mage and

the final anchor on a broomrider. Given only to one you trusted—Nanao

clutched them tight.

"…Mm. They are safe with me."

"Good."

Ashbury headed up to the start line. Three riders were waiting above.

"All players in position!" Dustin roared, his voice amplification active. "Thirty

seconds! Countdown will start at ten."

He took a small sphere from his pocket and had it hover at the tip of his wand.

Horns and whistles were never piercing enough, and signaling with a spell was

at the mercy of the chanter's voice. Broomsport events had long made use of

these specialized burst orbs. The count itself was done by a nearby ref, and

Dustin pumped magic into the orb in time with it.

"…Three, two, one—zero!"

A crack echoed across the heavens. And three shooting stars took off.

Broom races were a very simple sport. The course was a series of rings in the

air, and the players flew through them in order. As long as no one skipped a ring

or obstructed another player, the winner was determined just like any ordinary

race—by whoever reached the final goal first.

Since this was a world record event, it used a standardized course, an

extremely orthodox layout involving three straightaways, four corners, and two

windings, and they'd compete for time on three laps. Unlike ground-based

courses, this one turned in three dimensions, so the riders were forced to make

tight turns up, down, right, and left.

"Hoo…!"

"Phew—!"

Their launch speeds had already been tremendous. Their acceleration down

the first straightaway made the crowd doubt their eyes. They hit the corner on

a line that suggested they'd run a con on inertia, and they blazed through the

winding that followed with dizzying maneuvers. The first lap was over inside a

minute, and they headed into the next with no loss of speed.

Everyone here could ride a broom, but most had never seen the top riders fly

before. And all thought the same thing—this was insane.

"First down! Time?"

"2:26:47!" the timekeeper called.

"Starting in the twenty-six-second block?" Dustin muttered. "Not bad. Second

try! Everyone but Ashbury swap out! Next two, take your places!"

The riders flying with Ashbury swapped out on the regular, and the first ten

minutes went by with tension rising.

"…Ten-minute break! Come on back, Ashbury," Dustin called.

It was part of his job to make sure they got the rest they needed. She

collapsed on a bench he had waiting for her.

"…Huff, huff…"

"Drink up. Sip at a time. Like it's nectar from a flower."

He handed her a potion with a straw stuck in, and she gulped away. He'd

made it just for her, from the ingredients to its viscosity. She caught her breath

and focused on recovering her strength.

"…You're on the right track," Dustin said. "Here's where the fight really

begins. Don't let your focus waver."

"The hell do you think you're talking to…?"

Her canine punctured the straw. Dustin knew he'd picked the right words.

This was where the fight started.

"Three, two, one—zero!"

After that brief break, they headed into the fourth attempt, the crowd

watching with bated breath. There were benches behind them, but no one took

a seat.

"…I can't…breathe…"

"Don't force yourself to watch, Katie."

The curly-haired girl had a hand to her face, taking short, shallow breaths.

Oliver looked rather alarmed. She was far too empathetic; this spectacle was a

bit too much for her.

"…This is a broom races world record attempt," he explained. "These riders

have trained for this day, trimmed everything else away—they're all flying past

their own limits. The intensity is so high, it's not at all unusual for racers to die

in the attempt. Not even from a fall, just dying in midflight."

"It is not an event you enjoy watching. Yet, that is what makes it so

compelling," Chela added. "What is the nature of a mage's life? What does it

mean to risk your life for something? The way they fly forces us to ponder those

great riddles."

She never once took her eyes off the fliers. Oliver had his own thoughts on

her comments and glanced toward the Azian girl at his side.

"…Think she can do it, Nanao? Break the record?"

He wasn't sure why, but he felt like only she could give an accurate read. And

it took her a long moment to respond.

"...…The time is not yet ripe."

Six more attempts. Thirty minutes of excruciating flight and a third short rest.

Ashbury reeled to the bench, barely conscious, and Dustin grabbed her roughly.

"What's wrong with you, Ashbury? Is that all you got? Is that your limit?!"

"...Hah... Hah..."

Dustin was desperately trying to keep the last light in her eyes from going out.

She couldn't afford to pass out here—that would spell the end to her

concentration and the end of her attempt. They would never again assemble a

lineup like this. Even if they did, it would be after Ashbury's abilities had

peaked. This was her shot. The one chance she had at achieving her goal.

"I know it isn't! You're not done yet! You can't be…!"

Before he knew it, there were tears rolling down his cheeks. There was

nothing he could do to help her here; he was up against the hard limit of what a

coach could offer. His voice reached her ears but seemed so far away; despite

his best efforts, her mind was slipping into darkness.

"Gah-ha-ha, you finally made a teacher cry!"

Ashbury's eyes snapped open. That distinctive laugh was like a kick in the

pants to her flagging spirits.

"Mor…gan…?"

Her blurred vision and bleary mind both snapped into focus. She was lying on

a bench, and a man was looming over it, looking down at her.

"…Looks like we got here in time. Barely."

This came from the smaller man next to him: Kevin Walker, the Survivor. He

was helping the larger man stand: her catcher, Clifton Morgan. In the flesh.

"Will you not pay Ashbury a visit?"

It was the night they had been attacked on the second layer. Morgan had

come to save them, and Nanao had sat face-to-face with him, pleading with him

to change his mind.

"I am aware of the difficulties. Yet—this cannot stand. Ashbury is wagering all

that she is and has been and yet finds herself unable to commit the last

reserves of her strength."

She sounded very certain. And that got his attention.

"…Why do you think that?"

"She has lost the place her heart lies. That is separate from one's goal—but is

a thing we all need when we are racing toward a far-off destination. A journey

with no home to return to is little more than drifting."

Nanao had lost her home to war. Though brought to Kimberly, she had spent

a long time adrift before finding a new place with the Sword Roses. That's why

she knew. Though Ashbury herself might be loath to admit it—this was what

she needed.

"Ashbury has deemed the desire for a home a weakness and is attempting to

dismiss it. But as long as she is human, that can never be. Yet, as a result, I fear I

may not be able to bring her here. Much to my chagrin."

Nanao's fists were clenched tight. She got down on her knees, bowing her

head low and placing her palms on the ground. A gesture from a different

culture, yet the polished movements and the intent behind them were painfully

clear. This stance was the highest expression of sincerity that she possessed.

"Clifton Morgan, I beseech you. Step once more into the halls of our campus

—for the sake of the broomrider you love."

He'd thought about it for days and finally acquiesced to her plea.

"I can't do much. Can barely hold a wand. I'm just part of the scenery."

It'd been so long since they'd seen each other, and he was just putting his

condition in plain words. There was a reason he hadn't left the labyrinth. He

was preparing for the worst, of course, but also because as long as he remained

in the labyrinth with its high magic-particle density, the tír fire's ravaging was

somewhat suppressed.

On the second layer, he'd still been able to fight. But on the first layer, that

had swiftly deteriorated, and by the time he'd reached the school, he couldn't

even walk without assistance. He'd known this would happen; that was why

he'd asked for Kevin Walker's help. The Survivor had agreed immediately.

They'd had plenty of problems along the way but had somehow made it in time.

"…But will that change anything?" Morgan asked, looking right at her.

Ashbury slowly peeled herself off the bench.

"Dunno. Maybe not."

Yet, despite those words, there was a smile on her lips. She got back on her

broom and flew away. The next pair of competitors joined her at the start line.

Feeling a change in the wind, Dustin glanced at the ref and timekeeper, then

readied a burst orb.

"Three, two, one—zero!"

The countdown to the tenth attempt. Three stars shot across the sky. And the

start alone sent a stir through the crowd.

"Yo, is she…?"

"She's flying differently."

"Yeah, gaining more speed out the gate."

The racers left on the ground could all tell. And their read was soon obvious

to everyone—Ashbury had pulled away from the competition. As she tore out

of the corner into the bend, the riders gasped again.

"Is that shit real?!"

"It can't be—at that speed?"

"This ain't funny. It's like water coursing down a canal!"

Their faces were a fright: impressed but also jealous as all hell. Her strong,

aggressive maneuvers had always been there—but the tension behind them

was gone. She was no longer desperately trying to push something out of mind,

and the power that gave her was compelling her onward. She could fly straight.

"…Nanao, is she—?" Oliver began.

Nanao nodded. "Now the time is ripe."

He'd suspected as much. Nanao had always seen what he saw now.

At last, Ashbury realized the truth. She had never been afraid of falling or

dying.

The pressure of the incoming age cutoff, the fear that she might not set a new

record before then—neither of those was what had ravaged her heart so. In

fact, she'd always been certain she could do it. She knew she could put the

work of a lifetime to the test and reach the realm beyond.

2:20:87.

The thing that scared her—to her chagrin—was what lay after that. Running a

course at the cost of her life, surpassing the limits of her flesh, and after that—

the idea planted in her head by the footage her parents had shown her. That

scant few seconds before her body disintegrated—that was what she feared.

2:22:16.

She was certain those seconds would be devastating. Once she'd fulfilled the

duty Ashbury blood demanded of her, reached the realm she strove for—what

would be left to her? Where would her heart go? She feared she would vanish

without knowing, without direction, her heart adrift in an empty sky. Even as a

child, she'd been certain that moment would arrive—and she had been terrified

of it.

2:23:58.

What she'd needed was somewhere to go when that time arrived.

There had always been just one option. She hadn't wanted to admit it. Relying

on someone she'd lost—that was a weakness, and she was so mad at herself for

it, she'd unconsciously shifted the goalposts. Told herself having someone like

that would stop her from achieving results. Told herself he was long since dead.

She let those thoughts loop through her mind, attaching convincing logic to

them—until she had herself fooled.

But he'd been clinging to life, holed up in the labyrinth for two whole years.

And she'd been unable to deceive that nosy samurai. That girl was the kind of

dumb that saw right through you.

And the moment the two of them met—that was the time for it all to catch

up with her.

2:24:37.

She was through the winding, into the final straightaway. At speeds this great,

her peripherals were gone. All she could see was the final ring. And she was

fine. She wasn't scared. Once she passed it, her heart would not be lost.

She knew exactly where to go.

He was waiting for her down below.

"…Heh."

She was bound for what lay beyond that ring.

There was nothing left to fear. No more reason to hesitate. To the fastest

speed she'd seen and one step beyond—

2:24:98.

The timekeeper's count stopped on that figure. A silence settled over the

arena.

"…You did it…," Dustin gasped. A moment later, tears fell down his cheeks.

"...…You're the fastest ever, Ashbury."

When those words echoed through the arena, the crowd leaped to their feet

with a titanic roar. The judge, the catchers, the timekeeper—everyone raised

their hands to the sky. Only the riders who'd flown with her did anything else:

Their eyes went to the skies above, wrestling with the tumult within. This was a

key moment in all their lives.

"…She did it, Morgan. She actually did it," Walker whispered. Morgan was still

leaning on his shoulder. They'd feared Ashbury would die setting the record like

the previous holder had, but she'd clearly escaped that fate—she was still

looping through the air above, gradually slowing herself down.

Eyes on her and her alone, Morgan croaked, "…Gah-ha… Always did…have a

simple mind. One change to the scenery, and she—"

But even as he grumbled, deep down—he was glad he'd come. Grateful to the

Survivor for bringing him here and the kids who'd talked him into it. Glad his

final task had helped one great broomrider.

" !"

And even as the thought crossed his mind, the thing keeping him together

snapped.

"…Whoops… N-not good…"

His body shook with an unnatural heat. Uncanny flames spurted out, escaping

from within. Walker saw that and gasped.

"Morgan!"

"…Get away from me, Walker!"

He gave the Survivor a mighty shove. With the last of his strength, Morgan

stumbled away from the crowds. He'd had his eye on that space from the start:

toward the center of the course, where no one now flew. He'd fulfilled his

purpose.

"...Morgan, you're…," Dustin said; one look and he knew what this meant.

A safe distance away, Morgan turned back, his last smile on his lips.

"...Sorry, everyone. Looks like my time's up," he said. "Gah-ha…

Instructor...handle the cleanup, plea—"

His voice died in a croak. The flames around him billowed higher.

"Morgaaaaaaaaan!"

What followed was a massive, raging sphere of fire. Flames lashing so high

they swallowed the ring above, like a sun upon the ground.

"Waugh…?!"

"Yiiikes…!"

"Get back! Don't touch that fire!" Oliver yelled, pushing his friends away. The

man's time had come. Oliver had known that was possible, but that knowledge

didn't make it any easier. "…Morgan has been consumed by the spell. That's the

tír fire he summoned and failed to control."

He gritted his teeth. Those flames moved as if they had a will of their own,

and just feeling that heat made his skin crawl. Every instinct screaming this fire

was wrong. It was literally not of this world. It had lurked within Clifton

Morgan's body since he'd summoned it from Luftmarz and was now rampaging

out of him, seeking release into their world and turning its host's mana into

kindling.

"Sadly, there's nothing we can do here. Leave this to the faculty and evacuate

—"

He pushed his friends farther away, forcing himself to make the rational

choice. But the Azian girl was already on her broom, rising high into the sky.

"Nanao?!"

"Escort them to safety, Oliver. She's calling for me."

She had a wand and an athame clutched to her chest. Before Oliver could

stop her, she was headed to their owner, as fast as her broom could carry her.

She'd just waved a hand, knowing that would do the trick. And she wasn't

wrong—not twenty seconds later, Nanao was in the sky by her side.

"…Are these what you seek, Ashbury?"

"Yeah. Glad you're quick on the uptake."

Nanao held out both, but Ashbury took only the athame, leaving the empty

scabbard in the girl's hands. She no longer needed it.

"Do you require anything further from me?"

"Nope. Getting this to me is plenty. You go back to your friends."

She waved her off. Nanao's lips tightened. Ashbury noticed that—and smiled.

"Don't give me that look. I've gotta be his Final Visitor. He's my catcher."

Nanao's head was down. She forced back all else she wished to say and

nodded.

"…Very well."

By the time she spoke, the matter was settled within her. She looked right at

Ashbury, her expression now unclouded and cheery—as if seeing a friend off on

their journey.

"Enjoy your journey, Lady Ashbury. 'Twas a pleasure knowing you."

"Likewise, Ms. Hibiya."

Ashbury put a lot in those few words. And on that note, they parted. Nanao

turned in the air and flew back to the ground. Ashbury alone remained above. A

whim washed over her, and she laid a palm on the handle of the broom.

"Sorry, you're gonna have to come with me. But you don't mind, do you?

You'll be flying with me."

It had been a long time since she'd spoken to it. She'd been with this broom

ever since her first flight. As she strove to be better, faster—the division

between them had faded. It became a part of her. Her broom felt the same and

would hardly argue that point now. It flew where she wanted to fly. That was

all. To Diana Ashbury's broom, that was always the best flight around.

All preparations complete, she ascended upon high, gazing down at the

blazing fireball below. Even from this towering height, she could feel the heat of

it. As more time passed, the walls of fire expanded farther. And beyond them,

she could still see her man.

"…Sheesh, so demanding. You finally show yourself around here, and this

happens."

She snorted. He never had been remotely considerate. She had a laundry list

of gripes saved up. Especially the part where he'd gone two whole years

without letting her air them.

"Don't worry. I'll be right with you."

She was high enough now. She made her turn and aimed for the ground. Her

sights set on the center of the fireball—she dropped like a stone.

"Ashbury—!"

Dustin saw her coming and let out a scream. He knew exactly what she was

doing and knew he had no way of stopping her. This was all he could do.

He might be one of the best riders in the world, but brooms were his sole

area of expertise. His skill set gave him no way of quickly subsuming a tír

incursion of this scale. His one chance would have been to cut Morgan's head

off before the spell consumed him, but the depth of his emotions had stayed his

hand. He'd been Morgan's instructor, too. And Morgan had been Ashbury's

catcher. Even as his student was consumed by the spell, he'd hoped there was a

way to save him. All while knowing perfectly well there was none.

And the real problem lay beyond. If Morgan's salvation was impossible, then

Dustin needed to deal with the fallout—given time, there were any number of

approaches. Even now, other teachers would be racing toward them, aware of

the issue at hand. The headmistress herself would almost certainly be here

within ten seconds. The rest of the faculty would contain the incursion before

Dustin himself took any action.

But that was too late.

He could not wait. Ten seconds was an eternity with the world's fastest

broomrider—!

Less than two seconds into her descent, Ashbury's body would be enveloped

in those flames. At the three-second mark, she'd hit the center of the fireball,

and mere moments later, there would be nothing left of her. She was perfectly

aware of that fate.

Ashbury was a broomrider. She knew no means of taming tír fire. She'd never

even considered attempting it. To her eyes, the matter was a simple one: the

distance to her destination and the time it would take to reach it.

She knew her catcher stood at the heart of that fireball. The tír fire was fueled

by his mana, so that was a given. If the host died, the flames could no longer

absorb his strength. In other words, even consumed by the spell, Morgan

himself was the core of this phenomenon.

So stopping it was easy. If she could reach him, she could end this.

She need merely pierce his heart. And before her own body burned away, at

that.

"Ngh—"

She plunged into the flames. The heat grew astronomically worse. In the first

instant, her eyes burned away, and she was blind. A moment later, all sounds

disappeared, and then all sensation from her skin was lost. She heard nothing,

saw nothing, each of her five senses vanishing in turn as she plunged through

the inferno and into darkness—yet none of that rattled her at all.

Her left hand stayed locked upon the handle of her broom. Her body leaned

forward. The tip of the athame in her right hand aimed dead ahead.

The damage was no detriment. Seen or unseen, she would reach her goal.

To the one she loved the most. Her heart now freed from the duty of her

blood, she was headed to her final abode.

To those burly arms that had held her so painfully tight.

" !"

Her blade hit something. The impact traveled up her carbonized arm,

shattering it, and kept going through her entire body. It was over in an instant.

She knew she'd reached her limit.

In the moment before her mind gave way to darkness, she felt those big arms

catch her.

The swirling flames abated. They died down so swiftly, it was as if that

madness had never existed to begin with.

With the fire gone, only a large, scorched circle remained. What had been

there had burned itself out, leaving nothing behind but pure white ash. And the

mages who'd witnessed it watched, stunned.

" "

"..."

Nanao's tears fell in silence. Oliver's eyes were closed in reverence.

He found himself asking—where had their hearts gone?

None could know the answer. But wherever it might be, he knew one thing

for sure.

They were there together