Roland awoke the next morning early, rested, and full of excitement. Coming back to Wonderia after so long had been better than he’d hoped. And baring his heart, sharing his story the day before had also been a very good choice.
I’ve never talked to anyone else about my Teacher. Not even the few friends I have at the Academy or the Tower.
It was… good. Sharing that with them, even though they are, essentially, still strangers. Perhaps “acquaintances” is more accurate at this point. Even so.
Strange, that I felt so able to tell my story to them. And stranger still, that revisiting my grief and guilt was somehow a relief. Like the burden has… lessened, somewhat.
He got up, then, and knelt at the bed, saying his morning prayers. Then he stretched, washed his face, got dressed, and took a seat on the terrace to watch the sun rise.
The Wonderian sunrise was entirely different from the sunrise in Albia. A different world, a different sun, a different sky. There was a warmth here, the way the colors blended with one another, that Roland never felt in Albia.
It felt like home.
And home is a… complicated concept. To say the least. But if I could call a place home, and truly feel “at home,” it would be here.
But “here” was “Wonderia,” and no more specific than that. And Wonderia was an entire world.
So home still eludes me.
“Good morning,” said Enrique, joining Roland on the terrace. He stood, eyeing Roland strangely.
“Good morning,” Roland said. “What’s the matter?”
“Accompanying us here wasn’t easy for you,” Enrique said. “You’re happy to be here, but also carrying a great weight. I… am grateful. That you’re helping us, even though it is difficult.”
“I only hope I can be equal to the task,” Roland said, smiling. “Is Erika up yet? We can go get breakfast whenever you’re ready.”
Enrique didn’t smile, didn’t emote much at all, really. He wasn’t very much like his sister at a glance. Closed off, careful, guarding his heart and emotions. Roland couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. But he could see in the boy something of himself.
You’re carrying a great weight, too, aren’t you?
“She’s a heavy sleeper,” Enrique said. His mouth quirked slightly, a smile that he put away before it fully formed. “But she also loves breakfast. I’ll go check on her.”
Erika was very excited about breakfast, and soon all three were dressed, packed, and out into the town, getting breakfast at Cluillain’s bake shop, since he had served them so well the previous day. Over rich egg-and-rice bowls with a hearty variety of veggies, herbs, and spices, they discussed the road ahead of them.
But the twins also had questions for Roland.
“What kind of work do you do at the Tower?” Enrique asked.
There was an enthusiasm in his eyes and voice that warmed Roland’s heart. “I’m a Second Level Tuning Assistant,” he said. “I work on the upper quarter of the Tower, primarily helping with crystal alignment and, of course, tuning.”
“Your Pact Artes must help greatly with that kind of work,” Enrique said. But a puzzled look came to his eyes. “But, hold on. Only a Second Level Tuning Assistant? With your talents, at your age, shouldn’t you have a higher rank? Or did you get a late start?”
“I graduated from the Academy Canticum Crystallus, and started my work at the Tower, sixteen years ago,” Roland said. “I tested into and succeeded at attaining rank of Second Level Tuning Assistant after a year as an intern, and have held that title ever since.”
“Fifteen years without a promotion?” Enrique asked. “Or did you… did you fail further tests?” He looked down, his cheeks coloring, as if realizing the rudeness of his query.
But Roland didn’t mind it at all. “I have not pursued a higher rank or title,” he said. “I enjoy my work as a Second Level Tuning Assistant, and staying at that rank allows me freedom and time to work on my own projects, as well. I’m well-paid for my work, so I really can’t complain.”
“Your true aim has been to return to the Path of the Eight, hasn’t it?” Erika asked. “You were studying something in the café when we met.”
“Yes, I’ve been… trying to understand my failure,” Roland said. “I believe I’ve made a breakthrough. But I’ll only know for certain if I face down the third Fantasian once more.”
“So you’re only at the Tower as a… day job?” Enrique asked, looking disappointed.
Roland laughed. “It’s not as simple as that,” he said. “I’ve always longed to work at the Tower. And in childhood, I’d always hoped to one day be a Prime Tuner. Maybe even Tuning Maestro. But time… and reality… dulled those aspirations. I am happier than I can say to be working at the Tower. But I’m also… disillusioned. The higher ranks are full of internal politics, bitter infighting, and catty rivalries. I do my best to avoid all of that — while still doing work that is valuable and fulfilling.”
“Why do people use ‘catty’ to describe petulant, selfish disagreements?” Erika asked, cocking her head to the side. “I rather like cats. They’re so charming and sweet. Using that kind of language gives them a bad reputation.”
Roland laughed. “I share your opinion on cats,” he said. “And I’m grateful for that insight. I shall do my utmost to avoid tarnishing feline reputations further by amending my vocabulary.” That got a lovely smile out of Erika.
“So what exactly is your work as a Second Level Tuning Assistant?” Enrique asked.
“My official duties are maintaining the resonance and tuning purity of the stabilizing crystals,” Roland said, “as well as aiding with and performing directed research into potential improvements with crystal integrity and stability. But official duties are only ever the beginning of a complete job description. I’m often made to be a go-between for messages to and from the Second Level Tuning Overseer and the First and Third Level Tuning Overseers. I also assist with research and reports for the Tuning Maestro, who has his own much higher-ranked team to help with that, but, well…” Roland shrugged.
“It’s because of your Pact Artes, isn’t it?” Erika asked.
Roland nodded. “I’m the only one in the Academy Canticum Crystallus or the Tower who has walked even part of the Path of the Eight,” he said. “It gives me unique abilities and a unique perspective. And because much of the mysteries of the crystals and larger tuning mechanics —”
“Are intertwined with the secrets of Fantasians, both Greater and Lesser,” Enrique said, eyes wide, alert and engaged.
Roland smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “Because of that, my abilities and perspective offer something that no one else at the Academy or the Tower has, and gives me a unique place from which to research the Lesser Fantasians that we work with at the Tower.”
“The Tuning Maestro is that man who was bellowing after you in the halls, wasn’t he?” Erika asked, giggling.
Roland’s cheeks flushed, and he smiled sheepishly. “Yes, that is a… more common sight than I’d like to admit,” he said. “But I suppose I bring it upon myself. I’m not exactly the most reliable with deadlines.”
“You get more wrapped up in your own projects and forget about what you’re supposed to be doing,” Enrique said, and something in his tone and the look in his eyes said he knew exactly what that was like.
Connections were being made, and Roland was grateful for this. He and the siblings would be traveling together for a very long time. Nearly the entire Path of the Eight, and beyond that to Elysia… however long that would take. They needed to establish at least some sort of rapport with each other, something to build on as their journey unfolded.
And Roland thought he should perhaps ask the children some questions of his own. But he hesitated, and in the end, held back his questions for now. They had many secrets, and he didn’t want to pry too early in their relationship. So far, he knew what he needed to know, and that was enough.
Rested, and fed, they picked up a few more supplies — Erika picked up a satchel to carry her journal and pen in, and they got extra sleeping bags for the twins — explored the town a bit more, and then came to the gate from which they would begin their journey properly. A road left Tinton Terrace, winding along the cliffs and then, a few miles out and visible from here, opening out onto a wider, wilder land full of trees and flowers, hills and valleys, and ruins — ruins — galore.
Roland couldn’t help but be excited.
“We’ll do our best to reach Shureen’s Canon in four days,” he said. “Along that journey, we’ll be camping on the road tonight, then staying in the cozy hamlet of Twinkling tomorrow night. There are lovely star-gazing spots there. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“Star-gazing?” Erika asked, her eyes lighting up.
“Stay on task,” Enrique said, taking his sister’s hand.
“Shall we be off?” Roland asked. The twins nodded, and Roland led the way. Out onto the road. Out into the world.
Their journey had begun.
For several hours they kept to a steady, relaxed pace — a pace that suited both Roland and the smaller twins equally well, and one he had accounted for in his calculations. It was the perfect pace to keep them from overexerting themselves, and it allowed them the ability to take in the views, the scenery, to even dart off the beaten path now and then — with Roland’s guidance and direction, of course — to see what wonders Wonderia held for them.
The greatest of these wonders… well, most would say the flowers were the greatest. And they had a good point, especially if they were from Albia. Flowers didn’t bloom in such a vast variety of colors back in Albia, in such wildly diverse collections that never choked each other out or competed for space. The fragrances were marvelous, and Roland even carefully picked a few petals from umbrella-wools and sad-catchers, flowers whose petals made for wonderful teas with delicious flavor and soothing, fortifying properties. He picked petals carefully, rather than whole flowers, so that he didn’t disturb the beauty of the space. The flowers could grow their petals back, and that was enough.
It also served as a wonderful teaching moment. Enrique and Erika had never seen umbrella-wools, fluffy, fully water-repellant flowers shaped like their namesake, or sad-catchers, beautiful, tiny blue flower clusters that looked like collections of tears. Roland demonstrated his process, explained why and how, and even supervised Erika collecting a few petals. Enrique chose not to participate hands-on, but he clearly found observing the process fascinating in its own right.
And then, when they left flowers behind, they traipsed through Roland’s true passion: ruins.
Both realms were full of remnants of the past. Albia had a rich history, and numerous archaeological sites still housing a wealth of mysteries waiting to be solved. But Wonderia…
Wonderia was another thing entirely.
Where Albia had a fairly chartable history of cultures and peoples, of architectural trends and technological development, Wonderia was not so easily understood, explained, and codified. There were numerous huge teams of archaeologists and other researchers, almost always inter-realm cooperatives of Albians and Wonderians, dedicated to plumbing the depths of Wonderia’s secrets. And in centuries, they’d barely scratched the surface.
So here Roland and the twins were, out on the open road, and as they passed between two hills, it felt as if they passed through a gate, a doorway, with a clear delineation between where they came from, and where they had now entered. Across a vast, grass-less field, bare shrubs sprouted here and there amongst towering stone monuments, great temples and fortresses and homes swallowed up by sinkholes, buried vaults still sealed to jealously guard their treasure. And more, and more, and more. Ships, their massive bulks shattered and warped, suggested that once there had been a great ocean here, but then how did one explain the buildings? There were homes and castles here, too, so were these all from the same era, or scattered from across history? Words — in Elysian and Old Wonderian both — could be found carved onto numerous structures, into tools, into weapons, into treasures.
“It’s incredible,” Enrique breathed, gaping. “But why… it’s so close to a town, and yet… no one’s investigating these ruins?”
“That speaks to just how much history and mystery Wonderia has to offer,” Roland said. “There are vast, remarkably talented research and survey teams all across Wonderia, and there are still huge sites like this that have yet to be extensively surveyed. You’ll see evidence of previous survey teams, and there are a few areas that have been blocked off until they return — hopefully within the next two years — but largely, we can explore as we see fit.”
“Even on our time limit?” Erika asked, gazing at Roland with pleading eyes.
“I’ve accounted for a stop here, and at one other place beyond, in my calculations,” Roland said with a smile. “Come on. Let’s stick together, but I’ll let the two of you direct things for a little while.”
And off the children went, slowing after a bit so they didn’t completely lose Roland. They clambered up through the hollowed-out bulk of a beached, ancient seafaring vessel. They went down cramped, spiraling stairs into a sunken temple, then took a still-functioning ancient lift device back to the surface — into a once-grand art gallery, now plundered and pillaged and emptied, but still grand in scale, with beautiful pedestals and wall-mounts now housing nothing, hollow beauty longing for completion.
Back out on the dusty plain, Roland led the way, showing them inside a spiraling, conical tower that actually wasn’t a tower at all, but a massive instrument played from the inside. Roland handed the twins each a pair of wooden mallets, while he held a pair of his own, and they used them to strike along a series of spiraling metal cables that wound around the inside of the huge, asymmetrical cone. Stairs allowed them to climb to higher or lower portions of some of the cables, and where they struck them offered up different tones.
And each and every note resonated inside the cone, a vibration in the air that they could feel as much as hear. It was never painful, and Roland loved the mystery of this instrument, something that had yet to be named and yet to be reverse-engineered and properly understood.
“It’s to be played by a team,” Roland said when they took a break, sitting in the center of the instrument’s floor, which was spacious enough to allow for a rather decent audience. “No one person could ever bring out its full potential, could ever bring all of the notes and resonances to life in complex, interweaving harmonies and melodies. We’re still not sure what the ideal team size would have been, but I think it would make sense for there to be a variety of compositions that utilize different numbers of people.”
“A fully collaborative instrument,” Erika breathed, lying back on the floor, still awestruck by their improvised performance.
“Have any compositions from the past survived to the present?” Enrique asked.
“None that we are aware of so far,” Roland said. “But people keep looking. And there are plenty of theories that some songs now played on smaller, personal instruments — or by full orchestras and bands — were once written for this instrument, and then passed down and subtly modified over the ages.”
“But why abandon an instrument like this?” Enrique asked. “It’s fascinating. Beautiful. And completely unique to anything we have today.”
“There is one that is not a ruin,” Roland said, “in the Royal Concert Hall of Keyarch. There are several composers there who have written modern compositions for it, to impressive results.”
“They need to understand this,” Enrique said. He stretched his hand overhead, peering through his fingers at the high ceiling ornate with spiraling tracery. “They need to learn how to build more, and discover what songs were originally written for it.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Roland said.
When they finally left the unnamed instrument behind, Roland took them beyond this plain of ruins, out onto a hill where grass began to grow again. “If I remember right, it was somewhere around here…” he murmured, walking slowly, peering through gaps in the trees and among the more overgrown patches of flora.
“What are you looking for?” Erika asked. She and Enrique now walked on either side of Roland, not always determined to be hand-in-hand.
“There was a smaller, rather curious site that I was intrigued by years ago,” Roland said. “It had gone completely untouched, as far as I can tell, by modern surveyors and scientists. I had hoped to return one day…” He stopped as they exited the overgrown road out into a clearing, and sighed. “Ah, well. I seem to have lost it.”
“But what was it?” Enrique asked.
“It was…” Roland started, then trailed off. On the far side of the hill, there was a tall, thick-trunked graceleaf tree all by itself. That wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary — graceleafs tended to want their own space, with ample sunlight for their long, rounded leaves and deep soil for their extensive root systems, which helped produce the curative sap that gave the trees their name.
But this graceleaf was next to a bush. Which was out of the ordinary. Normally such a shrub would be choked out by the graceleaf’s need for space, unable to coexist with the very specific needs of the graceleaf’s sap production, which could have a rather toxic chemical effect on other types of flora.
Roland approached the bush, and before he was twenty yards away he could already tell it wasn’t ordinary at all. It may not even be truly alive.
It had been planted specifically there to hide something. And it had been planted a long, long time ago, judging by the undisturbed nature of the soil, but grass growing healthily around it.
How long ago? That was a question for someone more well-versed in geology and botany, but Roland could at least guess, and his most conservative estimate — especially when he got up-close and could investigate more specifically — was around one hundred years.
One hundred years for an at-least-partially-artificial bush to survive next to a tree that shouldn’t let it live.
And behind that bush…
“Oh, my word,” Roland murmured, gazing in awe. The twins poked up on either side of him, staring at his find.
There, embedded in the earth, was a stone door veined through with metal. Along its surface were flowery carvings, elegant and ornate tracery that all intertwined around and through a musical staff that combined Old Wonderian and Elysian in a song that Roland knew at a glance.
“What is it?” Erika asked.
“A Symphonic Vault,” Roland said. “They were used ages ago to house symphonic crystal hatcheries. And this one is sealed, which means… oh, but this is a momentous find!”
“Are you going to open it?” Erika asked, her eyes sparkling.
“I am indeed,” Roland said with a smile. He stepped back, put down his pack, and knelt to rifle through it, to find what he would need to venture into the Vault’s glittering depths. As he did so, he shifted aside a mirror, and it caught the light, revealing a perfect view over his shoulder.
His heart skipped a beat. His blood turned to ice.
And an instant later, he was grabbing both of the children and diving to the side as a bolt of superheated crystal energy lanced towards him. It narrowly missed his pack but blasted apart the (possibly) artificial bush and impacted against the earthen wall beyond it.
A masked assailant, like those at the café, had found them. And he wasn’t alone.
Two of them stood at the entrance to the clearing that Roland and the twins had come from, gauntleted arms raised, metal cages crackling and steaming with heat and energy over the crystal contained within. And those two were accompanied by two more emerging from the opposite side of the hill, and three more looming atop a high ridge above them. They were dressed in blue instead of the café assailants’ scarlet, but there was no doubt they were from the same organization. All of them wore full-face masks stylized like grotesque snarls of horrifying beasts.
All but one. Up on the ridge, a more slender, female member of the assailants wore a blue mask designed like a noble eagle’s face, beautiful and dignified. She was the only one of the seven assailants not pointing her gauntlet at Roland and the twins, instead leaving her arms at her sides, watching.
“You could have made this easy by just dying, Tuning Assistant,” one of the masked assailants said, his voice slightly muffled by his choice of facial fashion. “But we’ll give you a chance, since you managed to escape the first attack. Hand over the children, and you may just be allowed to leave with your life.”
Roland’s mind raced as he held the twins close. Six gauntlets pointed at them from three different directions, all primed to fire.
It’s at least three seconds for me to activate Vi’s wind, and that would only be a medium, targeted gust like I used at the café. I could take out two of them, but that leaves three more to shoot at me from other directions. And they’re clearly confident in their aim, or they wouldn’t threaten me when I’m holding the children so close. Not as if I would ever use them as human shields, but still.
They can definitely fire faster than I can act. Which leaves me…
Precious short of options.
His heart hammered in his chest, and his mouth grew suddenly dry. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d been through martial arts training with his Teacher, but that had been largely for close-quarters combat. “In case they get past your Pact Artes,” had been the reason. He’d never been fully confident in those skills.
And while he’d also had training in combat with his Pact Artes, one very important truth held him back: he lacked experience. Training, he wasn’t lacking in. Even sparring — he’d had plenty of grueling sessions with his Teacher.
But actual experience against actual foes, in the face of actual danger, was new to him. He’d been able to handle the café assailants because they hadn’t even been paying attention to him. But now they knew who he was, and knew the threat he posed.
And they caught us completely unprepared. That’s… rather unfortunate.
Think, Roland! Kirin, Viatos… there must be something I can use to stop them, some solution I’m not seeing.
“Your Pact Artes are too slow,” came a woman’s voice — the voice of the one in blue, with the eagle mask. Hers was a clear, commanding tone in a Cyril accent. And young, if Roland wasn’t mistaken. “You don’t have any options, Tuning Assistant. Hand over the children.”
Roland clenched his jaw over an immediate refusal. While he was of course not going to hand the children over, saying so up front would probably only accelerate his imminent demise. He needed time, to think, to stall, to open up some new option to him!
Thankfully, the children didn’t fight his protective embrace, or speak up in return. Erika leaned into Roland, wide-eyed, clutching her satchel with her journal and pen tightly. Enrique stood a little more detached from Roland, one hand finding his sister’s, his eyes hard, eyeing the assailants with defiance, if also a resignation that they didn’t really have much of a chance against them.
Then, a new voice. A voice so close, so quiet yet sudden, that Roland nearly jumped. “Take the two on your right. I’ve got the rest. When I go, you go.”
A woman’s voice. Confident, and a bit playful. But from where…? There was nowhere to hide behind Roland, he was sure of that. No one could have spoken to him.
Trust her? Do I dare?
Really, Roland, what better choice do you have?
So he thought fast. What would be the best way to take out the two masked men to his right? They were on the edge of a cliff, so… well. That made his choice easy.
“Three seconds, Tuning Assistant,” Eagle-Mask said.
Roland hummed softly, so softly he barely formed the notes — but form them he did. Three seconds to bring to life Viatos’ song. Just enough time.
He hoped the voice wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
Eagle-Mask sighed, shaking her head. She raised her non-gauntleted hand…
“Not so fast, villains!” came a loud, triumphant shout — a shout from the same voice that had spoken so quietly to Roland a moment ago. And it didn’t come from behind him, but in front, where two masked men were guarding the path Roland and the twins had come from.
That shout was accompanied by a blur of motion — a yellow jacket flapping out like a cape, dark hair tied in a ponytail, and a stout, strong leg whipping around in a flying, spinning kick. That kick caught both of the two masked men at the wooded path in the face, knocking them off their feet so hard they careened back down the road, out of sight.
Their attacker landed neatly in a poised fighting stance. Her jacket settled around her, and she looked up with bright green eyes settled in a determined glare at Eagle-Mask.
Roland didn’t spare another second gawking at his hero. He let go of the twins, turned, and flung out his arm towards the masked men to his right. A gust of wind issued forth, so powerful that it ripped the men off their feet and tossed them over the side of the cliff. They screamed as they fell, and Roland tried not to wince at the precipitous drop he’d just condemned them to.
That took only a second, but by the time Roland spun back around to confront Eagle-Mask and her comrades on the high ridge, the girl who had kicked the first two masked men had already leapt atop that ridge — a height of over twenty-five feet — subdued Eagle-Mask’s subordinates, and was now facing off against Eagle-Mask herself. The girl fought with numerous fast, aerial kicks, but she also had in each hand a tonfa — a weapon from a school of martial arts in Fuyuo, the land of always winter, suited for a combat style that was as much whirling offense as it was measured, tactical defense.
And Eagle-Mask wasn’t up to the task of fighting this new arrival. She fired her gauntlet three times at point-blank range, but all three times the martial artist batted it aside with her tonfas, following up with strong kicks that Eagle-Mask blocked with her free hand — but not well. The newcomer had Eagle-Mask outmatched, her insanely strong kicks far too much for a one-armed block.
Eagle-Mask brought up her gauntlet a fourth time, and this time, the martial artist hit it so hard with her tonfas she smashed the housing, freeing the crystal inside — and Roland realized, as he saw the triumphant grin on the girl’s face, that it had been a targeted strike. She hadn’t been just blocking the gauntlet from firing on her.
She’d been fighting to free the crystal.
She planted a powerful spinning kick in Eagle-Mask’s chest, and the blue-clad woman went sprawling. But for all that power, Eagle-Mask still sprang back to her feet. The newcomer was closing the distance fast, but…
Not fast enough.
“Until another day, then,” Eagle-Mask said. She threw some capsule at her feet, and a bright flash of light burst forth.
When the light was gone, so was Eagle-Mask.
“Always so quick to run,” the martial artist said, rolling her eyes. She knelt and picked up the freed crystal, bouncing it lightly in her hand, making a startled face. “Oh, hot, hot! Okay, there, that’s better.” She held it up to her eyes, closely examining it. “Oh, but you’re beautiful, aren’t you? They didn’t complete their corruption of your core. Your resonance remains intact.” She grinned, tucked the crystal into a pouch on her belt, and then looked around the ridge, and below. She pursed her lips, made a little “hmph” sound. “The rest got away too, huh? Well, there’ll be other opportunities.”
And finally, she looked at Roland and the twins. She smiled again, a smile that could brighten the sun. In a single bound, she leapt down from the wall, landing in a neat crouch, and then stood. She twirled her tonfas before sheathing them at the back of her belt, and started towards Roland and the twins.
Now that Roland could get a good look at her, she was rather young — in her early twenties, he guessed. And she was quite short, Roland noticed — mainly because he wasn’t very tall himself, so height was something he was used to noticing. Barely more than five feet tall, she had her jacket’s sleeves rolled up to the elbow, revealing tautly muscled forearms. Her jacket was open, and she was wearing a buttoned shirt that left her midriff bare, exposing chiseled abs, and also wore short shorts that showed off her powerful legs. But there was a softness to her build, too, a balance to her well-honed athleticism, and she had a very approachable face, full of kindness and joy.
“Nobody’s hurt, I hope?” she asked. She knelt in front of the twins, smiling at them. “Oh, good. Everyone’s fine. I’m glad I wasn’t too late.”
“Were you following us?” Erika asked. That question immediately put Enrique on guard, and he held his sister a little closer.
“Following the Masks,” the newcomer said. “I knew they were after someone, so I wanted to make sure I knew who it was before I struck. I like to know that I’m properly protecting people when I can.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Tsubasa. What are your names?”
“I’m Erika,” Erika said, shaking Tsubasa’s hand with the one that Enrique wasn’t holding. “And my overly-cautious brother is Enrique.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tsubasa said. She looked at Roland and stood, sizing him up. “And your impressive defender has a name, too, I trust?”
“Roland,” Roland said, shaking her hand. Tsubasa had a strong grip, and he didn’t try to match it. “You called them ‘the Masks’? Is that the name of their organization, or…?”
“Oh, no, just what I call them,” Tsubasa said, waving a hand. “I’ve been onto their organization for a few months, now. Been trying to work out their name, their hierarchy, their overall mission, all that stuff. Haven’t gotten as far as I’d like. But I’ve been able to dismantle some of their abominations, which I count as a win.”
“Abominations?” Erika asked.
“Their gauntlets,” Roland said, and he saw Tsubasa’s eyes light up with recognition. “They use powerful heat conductors to force-activate a symphonic crystal’s core, pulling out the resonance within and focusing it as a beam of superheated energy. But that kind of method is highly corrosive and destructive to symphonic crystals. It was outlawed after the Great War for a reason.”
“A man of culture, I see,” Tsubasa said, and she stuck out her hand again. Roland shook it, as odd as it was to shake someone’s hand twice in the span of thirty seconds. “I’ve destroyed thirty-two of their gauntlets, and managed to rescue twenty-seven crystals before they were corrupted or destroyed.”
And then Roland’s eyes lit up. “Wait,” he said, realization dawning on him. “You’re… the Dawn Rider?”
Tsubasa’s eyes widened. “Oh!” she said, stepping back. “Hold on, then. You must work at the Tower! I haven’t used that name except for my deliveries of the rescued crystals.”
“Yes,” Roland said, his mind whirling. The identity of the “Dawn Rider,” a mysterious hero who had made multiple anonymous donations of “rescued” symphonic crystals to the Tower, had been a mystery among the Tower’s staff for six months. “I’m a Second Level Tuning Assistant.”
“A Pact Artist is only a Second Level Tuning Assistant?” Tsubasa asked, gawking at him. “But no, wait, hold on, Tsubasa, put your assumptions away. Let me think…” She put a finger to her chin, bobbing her head for a moment. “You’re still that rank because…” And then she looked at him, expression softening. “Because you like being that rank. You don’t want to advance.”
Roland smiled, nodding.
“Are you a detective?” Erika asked.
“Sometimes I like to think so!” Tsubasa said, grinning. “My parents were, and my grandparents were, and my great-grandparents, and… well, I come from a long line of detectives! Me taking up martial arts was a bit of a shock to the whole family.”
“But you also know crystals quite well,” Roland said. “Your reports on ways to purify crystals that hadn’t been fully corrupted, corroded, or destroyed were eye-opening to many of us.”
“Oh, I dabble,” Tsubasa said, shrugging. “I really —” And then she stopped, gasping so suddenly that if Roland hadn’t seen where her eyes had gone, he would have worried they were under attack again.
But no.
Tsubasa had only just now seen the entrance to the Symphonic Vault.
“Is that —?” she asked in a taut, hyper-excited voice, pointing at the door while staring at Roland, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“It is,” Roland said, smiling.
Tsubasa let out an excited squeal, and then raced to the door, kneeling down and studying it. “Oh, but this is beautiful!” she cried. “It’s in perfect condition! I don’t think it’s been opened since it was first sealed, pre-Fracture! Ooh, and it’s Ercutian, you can tell by this spiraling pattern in the corner, that’s a dead giveaway. Oh, oh, and look at this! Combined flower motifs! It’s a —” And she stopped, gazing expectantly, hopefully, up at Roland.
Roland smiled, her excitement on this subject contagious. “Royal Berlenian Sigil,” he said, nodding.
“A Royal Berlenian Sigil!” Tsubasa cried.
“What’s a Royal Berlenian Sigil?” Erika asked, but Tsubasa was on a roll, too excited to hear her.
“I can’t believe it!” Tsubasa said. “This kind of combination is a dream! And look here, look here, this song! It’s the Duet of Sealing that Grigonnio the Fourth composed, and it looks original! Not the modern revision!”
Roland knelt down beside the Vault door, taking in Tsubasa’s excitement and responding in kind — though, well, more subdued than her. It was hard to be as outwardly excited as she was. This girl was bursting with energy, an endless font of excitement and joy.
And all Roland could do was smile.
It’s just like you always said, Teacher. When the time comes for my own journey, I can’t predict all that will happen. The best I can do is embrace the unpredictability of it all.
I certainly never could have predicted this. But as far as surprises go…
It’s a very welcome one.