"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