Gaming Center, Upper Floor

Not many of their formations were created for a two-member setup. By the time they were done, Sara and Avril had already gone through all of them several times.

Staring at the rotating image of a headset on her screen, Sara allows herself a small smile for the job well done. The day has only begun, and they already secured themselves one of the damn things.

“Fuck, I can’t believe nobody ever found our flag,” Zach’s ill-humored voice suddenly interrupts her contentment, causing Sara to turn her chair in his direction and smile at him.

“Hey, at least we won, right?”

Zach scowls at her, doubtlessly about to launch himself onto a longwinded argument about something, but Sara simply stretches her arms and ignores him, reclining on her chair and glancing at the buzzing room around them.

Avril, Zach, Charles, Grace (whose barely contained anger is plain for all to see) and Sara have finished their game, but the others, including a pale-looking Uren, have not.

Hopefully, they’d win another headset on their own, but even if they don’t… Well, the day is still young, and Sara has no intention of losing.

***

Auditorium Four

“Miss Swain, please! We cannot delay things more than this without ruining the entire schedule!”

“Then don’t! I already said I’m fine with going later! Have somebody else perform before me!”

Beatrice instantly realizes she has made a mistake once the man’s expression grows harsher.

“Wait, I’m so-”

“You have thirty seconds to walk on top of that stage, or you’re disqualified.”

Beatrice’s heart stops.

Disqualified? When Seijuro had to pull in favors to give her a second chance she didn’t even deserve?

Tightening her grip over her violin, Beatrice steels herself and calls after the man’s back.

“Wait! I’m… I think I’m ready now…”

Pausing his walk to glance at her, the man rolls his eyes. “I suppose your violin magically tuned itself all of a sudden, Miss Swain?”

Beatrice laughs nervously, unable to come up with anything to excuse her behavior other than an imploring look which she hopes is enough to soften the man’s heart.

After a moment of locked stares, he sighs, pointing at the small corridor leading onto the main stage Beatrice spent the last minutes vehemently refusing to walk through.

“Go. Everybody is waiting for you already.”

Beatrice nods, daring not to test the poor man’s patience further.

And with prickling gazes from many other participants on her back, Beatrice finally sets on walking the small distance, each step forward much awkward and stiffer than it should have been…

Whispered conversations bouncing across the large, dimly lit space filled with rows of seats assault Beatrice’s senses even before she has set foot in it.

She didn’t exactly expect an ovation, but… Skimming her eyes across the many different faces present as she walks toward the middle of the stage, Beatrice wonders how many of them even noticed her presence.

“Beatrice Swain, unranked,” a uniform voice abruptly announces, silencing most of the audience’s clattering once they seem to finally notice Beatrice on top of the stage faced by their seats. “To Fly,” the announcer finishes, naming her melody.

Beatrice thought she was ready, thought she envisioned what was to come enough to withstand it; Still, once silence settles and it is clear she has become the center of the room’s attention…

S-she can’t speak…

Beatrice stares at the violin bow in her hand as it trembles violently.

“Any day now, Miss Swain.”

Beatrice jumps, absently noting the violin bow escaping her grip as it hits the ground.

For the first time, she notices a table of judges, set up at the stage’s corner opposite from where she walked in, four sets of unamused eyes set upon her, one of which she quickly recognizes as Asa Duncan, the man she is supposed to impress, and another she recognizes as one of her old composition teachers, Madeleine Walker, a woman in her late fifties who Beatrice is sure smiles no more than once a decade.

Beatrice watches as the woman approaches some sort of fancy cableless mic to her mouth, producing the same plain voice as before, “I believe you dropped your bow, Miss Swain.”

Needless to say, since Madeleine purposefully used the mic, the entire audience was able to hear her. Snapped back to reality by the sparse giggles in the audience, Beatrice rapidly crouches to grab her bow as she orders the System to connect her instrument to nearby speakers.

Then, ignoring the table of judges as well as her burning cheeks, Beatrice faces the audience once more, positioning her bow and violin while scanning the place for the only person whose presence…

Could she dare to hope?

Seijuro’s last message said she was already on her way, but the distance in between their competitions is far enough the princess might arrive only after Beatrice’s performance has already finished. Still…

Compelled to know, Beatrice orders the System to open her chat with Seijuro, causing a small streak of messages to appear in the air, visible only to her. Although Beatrice knows no new messages have come, since she didn’t receive any notifications, she can still send messages of her own.

But, before Beatrice could mentally write anything, a new message suddenly pops up: ‘Last row, right side, third seat.’

Her heart jumping, Beatrice’s gaze shots in the instructed direction almost instantly, only to realize she’s unable to really make out anything past the middle rows.

‘Deep breaths. You got this!’

She could’ve cried; Sat right there in the middle of the stage and cried like a kid. Instead, Beatrice forces herself to breath, to face the frontmost row of her audience as she finally drags her bow across the violin’s strings for a first time, and then a second.

“Thank for y-your patience, I’ll start now… ‘To Fly’.”

Notes.

Eyes.

Wings.

Slow at first, Beatrice builds her momentum with care, inviting her audience to stare into the white abyss below, to stand at its edge without fear…

In order to fly, one must not fear the fall.

Will they understand her wordless melody?

Will they step forward, embrace the dancing wind, and ride its currents into the sky above?

Gradually, Beatrice speeds up, urging those who have yet to decide.

The promise of a climax, yet far but fast coming, brushes against their skin, speaking of dangers unforetold, until Beatrice herself stands at the edge.

It’s now or never.

The storm waits for no one.

Those who are yet afraid, unable to overcome their fear, are soon to be devoured and forgotten... Beatrice stares into their pleading eyes for one last time and feels no sympathy.

Wind embraces her fall, soaring by faster and faster, until Beatrice’s arm reaches its limit, begging for a pause but receiving none.

Far below, a land filled by wonders appears as the clouds part away, soon to be devoured as well…

For the ground shall offer naught other than a quicker way out. In order to escape, in order to survive, one must go…

Up.

Spread thy wings and fly! Faster and faster and faster and faster!

A storm rages, catching up at a faster pace than any living creature could hope to move. Soon, it engulfs the sky around her, the world below, and all in between!

Beatrice breaths, slowing down nearly to a stop… But for a passing moment.

A dragon’s roar!

The striking thunder!

They shall not halt her wings, for they were made for this!

Created for this moment!

Beatrice smiles, ignoring a drop of sweat as it slowly slides down her forehead. Her music surrounds her, filling the air as her wings soar through the stormy sky, faster than anyone would have believed possible…

Finishing the melody now is all she has left to do.

Thunder strikes all around her, proved dull blades by her speed and fearless flight!

Eyes stare at her from the distance, huge and malicious, but they also, are quickly left behind!

Until…

Light ahead, breaking through the dark clouds like a spear struck from heaven to end such madness.

As such, light and soft are Beatrice’s parting notes, gradually giving closure to her performance like the morning sun’s touch after a stormy night.

…Her own heavy breathing against a silent background, the cold air against her wet skin, and the violin’s shape against her body are Beatrice’s anchors to reality in order to regain her bearings.

Exhilarated, yet afraid of what she might see, Beatrice slowly opens her eyes, only to find herself welcomed by standing ovation.

***

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate her?”

Seijuro considers Kuro’s words as she walks, Beatrice’s euphoric expression after her performance flashing through her mind.

“We’ll talk later,” the princess ends up deciding. Beatrice wouldn’t be able to leave until the results of the competition were announced, and the two of them already texted each other anyway.

“Seijuro.”

Seijuro stops, just short of pushing open the car’s back door. Around them, the school’s old parking lot is as empty as always, save for a lone cleaning bot blipping out the occasional sound.

“What made you change your mind?”

Kuro’s eyes have the same worried glow the man usually reserves for conversations like this. Absently, Seijuro wonders if he’s worried she’ll crash and burn, broken under the responsibility of her position, blow up at him, or both.

“My father connected after he saw what happened at the tournament. Wanted to know if I was okay,” Seijuro nearly spits the word, barely containing a burst of rage that would surely have ruined something in her immediate vicinity. “I’m afraid of what I might do if this keeps on going. I need to know.”

“I understand.” Kuro nods, expression carefully neutral. “Did he explain things?”

“Of course he didn’t!” Seijuro screams, only to stop and force herself to breathe deeply after a moment. “But he gave me an address,” she finishes, eyes daring her bodyguard to deny her.

Kuro sighs. “Then I suppose I’ll drive.”

Seijuro watches with narrowed eyes as he circles the car, taking the driving seat. Apparently, beating up her friend was not enough to quench the fire of her anger. It is clear she is still looking for a fight, perhaps now more than ever.

The princess enters the car as it comes to life.

“Where to?”

“Ouroboros HQ in the city. Should be easy enough to find, according to my father.”

Kuro nods, and they’re off the parking lot damn near immediately, which Seijuro is grateful for. For the many fights they’ve gone through over the years, Kuro’s driving skills were never in question.

As Seijuro watches her city passing by, she observes celebrations that seem to grow stronger with the rise of the sun; Masks, holograms, music-performing bots… By night, the whole city will be lit up enough to be seen from space, if not heard. Though she seldom joined such events after what happened to her mother, Seijuro still remembers a time she’d have had no problem dancing among the smiling faces of her citizens, princess or not.

“Half of our planet burns, and they have not a care in the world,” Kuro comments, irritation clear in his expression from having to wait for people to clear the way. “Always looking for an excuse to pull shit like this.”

“My family made sure they wouldn’t need to worry about what happens outside,” Seijuro retorts distractedly, “They have not a care in the world because their worries were cared for hundreds of years ago.”

“They live in a bubble.”

Seijuro doesn’t bother denying it. She was often tempted to burst it herself if only so her dear citizens might suffer with her.

“Does it bother you?” she ends up asking him, “The difference?”

“Sometimes,” Kuro admits, “Sometimes I wish… Maybe I’d see your flag atop my hometown if it meant no more starving children.”

“Everything has a price,” Seijuro reminds him softly.

“And the burning scraps of a broken world are hardly worth paying for when you already have all you could ever want,” Kuro completes, no small amount of bitterness in his voice.

The rest of the ride is silent, if broken by the occasional curse or honk from her driver, while Seijuro attempts to calm herself by meditating, though she knows it to be a lost cause. Her anger burns deep, born from the impression of an unjust world, and not something she’ll be able the remediate in a matter of minutes.

Eventually, she notices they’ve left Fioro’s Inner City, and therefore, most of the congregations of people stopping Kuro from stepping on.

Soon, they approach a large, fifty-story tall modern building surrounded by high walls and a security gate clearly not meant to allow a car in, which Kuro parks in front of.

Before the car’s wheels have a chance to stop completely, Seijuro steps outside, ignoring a surprised curse from Kuro as the man hurries to follow after her.

A simple eye scanner bars her way. The building itself and its surroundings seem deserted, most likely because of the festivities, but Seijuro knows the place must still hold something capable of answering her questions inside of it. Otherwise, Liam wouldn’t have sent her here.

“Override related security protocols,” Seijuro commands, giving the barred gate blocking her way a dismissive glance, “Make an exception for us.”

‘Administrator Command accepted. Would Miss Aston like to send a note informing relevant individuals of her unannounced presence?’

Seijuro strides through the still-opening gate in large, determined steps. She doesn’t bother replying. They’ll know of her presence soon enough.

“You know, maybe we should talk about this. Seijuro? You do realize you’re still wearing your kimono, right?”

Seijuro stares at the set of doors leading into the building as she gradually approaches them, unable to stop her heart from skipping a beat; Answers, at last.

Hope, anger, and cynicism fight to take hold of her expression, although she refuses to allow her steps to falter after coming this far.

As such, without pause, Seijuro marches into Ouroboro’s lobby, half hoping somebody, anybody, would step in and attempt to stop her.

Nobody does so. In fact, to her frustration, the large, modern lobby is found just as empty as its outside had been. Noticing the vacant reception table, Seijuro glances around, noticing sparse chairs and a polished marble floor.

“Oh my! We weren’t expecting visitors this morning! Welcome to Ouroboros, how may I be of service?”

Seijuro blinks as a colored hologram of a female receptionist takes form in front of her, promptly performing a half curtsy as it pretends to examine Seijuro and Kuro with a once-over.

Shockingly realistic, the AIs smiles welcomingly as it patiently waits for a reply, mimicking the real thing to damn near perfection.

“The hell?” Kuro murmurs, taking a single half-step back.

“Sorry for that,” a voice calls from the side, attracting Kuro’s, Seijuro’s, and even the hologram’s gaze as an apathetic-looking man walks into the lobby, wearing a long white lab coat over simple jeans and a t-shirt. He waves, and the hologram disappears. “She’s a prototype and was supposed to open the gate for you. A present and a headache.”

The man sighs, meeting Seijuro’s eyes without the usual shame, awe, fear, or respect she often finds in the gaze of her subjects. Much like the first time they met, he doesn’t bother to give more than a dubious nod in her direction before beckoning them to follow.

Dave, Seijuro remembers, recognizing the man’s small, lifeless brown eyes from the school opening a couple of days prior.

It seems so long ago she stood on that podium…

“Wait!” Seijuro calls after him, barely containing her temper once Dave lets out another long, painful sigh.

“Please, Miss Princess, I have a job I was forced to abandon.”

“Then explain as we walk,” Seijuro orders, leaving clear by her tone and gaze she isn’t asking as she settles to walking by the man’s side toward an elevator, “I assume my father briefed you on the purpose of my visit?”

Dave measures her over his oversized glasses, then shrugs. “Eden is the work of my life. As I’ve explained to your father, bringing you up to a decent level of understanding about its inner workings would take more time than I care to lose, so close to its premature release... But I suppose having a better-informed Beta Tester who isn’t directly involved in the project wouldn’t hurt.”

The elevator’s doors close, leaving the group uncomfortably close as Seijuro gives Dave’s small brown eyes a look.

“Eden is a masterpiece,” Dave continues, though his expression doesn’t exactly showcase the glee or pride Seijuro would have expected from someone who helped create said masterpiece. “A wonder of modern technology. More than a toy. Certainly, more than a simple game. A failure, in all accounts, considering what it was meant to be… But a masterpiece nonetheless.”

“And that is?” Seijuro asks, watching as the numbers rise displaying their ascent.

“At first? Just a game. Full sensory immersion and whatnot… Something to kick things up a notch, innovate the field, blah, blah, blah… Then, your father caught wind of the project, and as kings do, he decided, against my personal advice, that it should be something more, that it had the potential, and deserved to be more.”

The elevator stops softly at forty-two, its doors opening to reveal a large corridor buzzing in activity as men and women wearing similar lab coats walk from room to room, talk to one another, or swarm coffee machines.

Many of them carry big smiles plastered on young faces Seijuro might’ve expected to see on one of her classmates. Many of them throw the trio surprised glances as Dave walks by them through the corridor and continues his plain tone explanation, “Then, your mother’s accident happened, and more was no longer enough.”

Dave stops a couple of rooms in, gesturing toward the inside.

“See for yourself.”

Seijuro’s heart skips a beat. Sound fades. Someone might have grabbed her arm, or at least tried to, but she was already running, pushing people out of her way with strength enough to send them crashing against walls.

But for all of her strength and intelligence, there’s nothing she can do. She doesn’t even recognize many of the machines surrounding her mother’s sleeping form, mostly submersed in liquid… But she recognizes the headset.

“Seijuro!”

Then Kuro is on top of her, desperately holding her waist from behind and barely stopping her hands from tearing the accursed object away from her mother’s body. Somebody is screaming, wordlessly, and Seijuro scarcely recognizes her own voice midst the chaos.

“Seijuro! Stop! They’re trying to help her!”

Help her? She knows. She knows, damn it all!

And the realization of how powerless she is, has always been, consumes all of her strength, leaving in its wake a sobbing, pathetic husk.

Kuro embraces her then, stopping her knees from crashing to the ground and shielding her from most of the looks. Though for as warm he is, Seijuro feels cold, cold enough to shiver, cold enough to wonder if she’ll ever feel warm again.

At some point, she realizes Kuro has been whispering to her, rocking her form back and forth in the oppressive silence of their surroundings.

“Who said you could take a break? The show’s over! We’ve got a game to release!”

Atrocious brown running shows step into her field of vision, and Seijuro follows their legs to find small brown eyes staring at her mother’s naked body with the same apathy they seem to reserve for the world at large and everything in it.

“I’m no doctor,” Dave says, matter-of-fact, “And now I’ve more of them working for me than names I can remember.”

What is she doing? Kneeling on the ground? She? Crying in front of all of these people? Losing control?

Limbs shaking, Seijuro stares at herself in horror. What has she done?

“Hey, it’s okay. Easy. I saw a couch on the way here. I’ll help you there, all right?”

Seijuro doesn’t resist. She doesn’t much of anything, really, as Kuro supports her into a nearby room through wide stares and shocked whispers and palpable tension, or as he sits by her side, grabs her hand, squeezes softly, still whispering words she’s too lost to find comfort in.

“Sir…”

“Later.”

Seijuro realizes they were followed by Dave; A very impatient looking Dave, a very annoying looking Dave, a Dave who was followed by one of his employees, worried looking, and promptly shushed her.

A Dave, Seijuro realizes, she has been keeping from doing his job; From helping her mother, from changing the world.

“Miss Aston?”

A woman approaches them, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and smiles hesitantly.

“Thank you.”

Kuro accepts the cup, offering it to Seijuro, then frowning when she shakes her head. Warmth can wait.

“You.”

Seijuro rises, attracting Dave’s gaze as well as Kuro’s, the woman who brought her coffee, and the one fidgeting next to Dave with discomfort written all over her face.

“Finish your explanation.”

“Seijuro…”

Kuro sighs, but doesn’t protest. Dave shrugs, gaze pointedly descending toward Seijuro still shaking hands as she approaches.

“I already finished.”

Seijuro clenches her teeth. It is hard to stop herself from blowing up again, from demanding real answers out of him. However, Seijuro resists the urge, considering the information the man has already provided her instead.

“My m-mother. What exactly are you trying to… Accomplish? You said something about a cure?”

Dave stares at the woman next to him, a stare which Seijuro promptly follows.

Eyes widening slightly, the woman smiles, although the expression seems to carry in it enough tension to shoot an arrow across a thousand yards.

“Are you a doctor?”

“A nurse, technically…” the woman hesitantly corrects while shooting glances between the two of them.

“Go on, tell her,” Dave encourages, an entire universe of flatness in his tone. “And for the love of all sacred things, technical terms to a minimum.”

It doesn’t seem to be the answer the woman was expecting. “But the king-”

“Has changed his mind. This very morning, in fact.” Dave gives Seijuro a look indicating he has a good guess as to what caused her father to change his mind. “We are to put Princess Aston up to date on the project.”

The woman blinks, then frowns. “Sir, you could’ve said so sooner. Or broken the news differently. The poor girl-”

Seijuro snarls, a deep noise from the back of her throat which is all she can do to stop herself from hurting one of them.

To his credit, Dave faces Seijuro murderous glare without as much as a flinch.

“You might want to start explaining sooner rather than later,” Kuro advises warily.

“O-of course.” Though a couple of tones paler, the woman only hesitates briefly before finding Seijuro’s gaze and maintaining it. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Miss Aston. But you needn’t worry, Mrs. Aston has suffered no harm.”

Impatiently, Seijuro nods, encouraging her to continue.

“I don’t how much was explained to Miss Aston prior. Your mother’s state is… Delicate. The nanomachines have failed to awaken her, and so have many other methods we attempted. Externally, we fail to detect any remaining damage in her brain tissue…”

“Then why is she still asleep?!” Seijuro screams.

The woman takes a deep, unsteady breath. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Seijuro repeats, incredulous. “You don’t fucking know?! And you’re treating her like a fucking lab rat?!”

“The decision was your father’s,” Dave interjects, as unapologetic and uncaring as he has always been. “My game was never intended for such a purpose, and I made as much clear to Liam. Many times.”

This is a joke. A bad, bad taste prank someone will profoundly regret having played on her. It has to be…

“If I may speak in His Majesty’s defense, the nanomachines do little to stop Mrs. Aston’s body from aging, for as much as they delay the inevitable. His haste for a solution is understandable, and the risk of undesired side-effects was minimal in this case.”

“It failed, didn’t it?” Seijuro interrupts, shaking her head as she absently blinks away tears she’s no longer able to keep at bay. “Irwin pulled out, and my father rushed this… Thing’s release. Something went wrong… Whatever you were hoping to accomplish here, it failed to awaken her. It went horribly wrong.”

“Well… Not exactly.”

It hurt. The glimpse of hope, dangled in front of her face as if only to lure her onto its treacherous embrace one last time, opened more wounds than Seijuro could’ve possibly imagined. Words escape her. Even as the nurse proves herself unable or unwilling to continue, her hesitation obvious in her expression as she takes in Seijuro’s.

Dave shrugs. “Go on. She’ll find out sooner or later, and we might as well wrap this up now.”

The woman shoots him an annoyed glance, but ends up sighing after it becomes clear he has no intention of apologizing. “I’m sorry for him, Miss Aston. As I was saying, Eden wasn’t exactly a failure. We hoped the headset would stimulate Mrs. Aston, force a consciousness of sorts by awakening her inside the game world.”

“And?” Seijuro asks, barely contained tension strained in her voice.

“And… Well, we suspect it might have worked, if not for certain… Complications.”