Circumspection evades the truth. / It restrains the seeing soul— prunes the budding leaf, / and only brings it to withering.

"You really have a knack for mentioning plants into all of your writing, Alan. It's almost creepy. Your Art isn't even related to plant life at all, or any living thing for that matter," a cheery-toned voice of a man echoed throughout the room, along with the sounds of turning pages as he casually flipped through the disorganized mess of research papers on his fellow Archivist's desk. Haphazardly, he tossed and turned the marked and written-on sheets, under a bright light, illuminating part of his face. "You know, there's a lot more to life than writing poetry and fiddling with your little data chip over there."

"Is there something wrong with what I've been spending my time on, Alistair?" a gentler, more relaxed voice responded from a dimly lit corner of the research laboratory, accompanied by the musical popping of electricity arcing as the hunkered-down man continued his experimentation. Sparks fly and fizzle past his figure, casting his shadow on the walls as the bright stars of technology shine on him. The sounds of electricity paused for a moment, as Alan glanced at his colleague flipping through the collection of notes at his desk, and noticed Alistair's sweptback red hair, his black-rimmed circular shades that he's oh-so well-known for, and his disgustingly charming smile that sat right on top of his half-shaven chin. After a few seconds of silence between the two Archivists, the symphony of electricity returned.

Having lightly examined the scribbled papers and heard the song of volts that his colleague was conducting, Alistair looked up at the thin back of his friend. "No. Well... it's just that—" he objected, before cutting himself off in restrain.

"It's just that what, Alistair? What were you really here for?" Alan asked, with a slight tone of annoyance accompanied by an undertone of hostility.

"We're just— We're just concerned, Alan. I'm concerned for you," Alistair says, lacking his signature cheeriness. "I know it's been a difficult time ever since what happened seven months ago," he continued, immediately being followed by the sound of a tool being dropped from the opposite of the room. "But you know this can't be good for you. It wasn't any of our faults, and neither was it yours, Alan," Alistair pressed on, conducting a tone both of care and frustration. "Besides, you've been cooped up in here for far too long. You have a public face that you need to maintain! You've even neglected your duties as an Archivist," he added.

As Alistair finished speaking, the room became still. Only the sound of voltage coursing through Alan's equipment could be heard, and the two figures sat in the darkness and under the light respectively. Alistair could see the silhouette of Alan become visible every now and then as the remaining sparks of Alan's Art began crackling into darkness, Alan's enshrouded head turned slightly towards him.

Standing up from his now-uncomfortable crouch, Alan stood up and began to slowly walk from across the room towards Alistair. Gradually with each step, Alan's worn-down face and sunken eyes became visible to Alistair. He wore a tiredness beyond what anyone could perceive, his lips cracked and his hair dishevelled. But, what Alistair immediately took note of was his colleague's piercing yet dull and indifferent gaze.

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Alan looked at Alistair as if he were air for a moment as his unfocused eyes became accustomed to the light, quickly matching Alistair's stare immediately after, "Alistair. I can take care of myself. I know that the rest of the Archivists are worried, and you know I could give a damn about maintaining my amicability with the public. All that I do is for them, and that should already be enough for the Concord. What I'm working on is far more important. This needs to take precedence over everything else," Alan said with a glacial gaze yet frustrated voice before extending his arm out and opening his hand. On his palm was a data chip, with a golden liquid running through a small chemical pipe on it, a trait recognized by Alistair to be affected by Alan's Art.

"And what is this supposed to be?" Alistair asked, pulling his sunglasses down to examine the chip. He gently picked up the chip from Alan's hand. "Is this supposed to be for the market? Or is this a personal project of yours?"

"It's a way for mistakes like mine to never happen again, Alistair. A way to truly know the going-ons of the world! The leaves, Ali. We can't let humanity wither the way plants do in autumn. This is what we need. The world can be understood in a way that we can immediately recognize in the blink of an eye," Alan raved on with a crazed passion in his voice. "With this, people with talent can be recognized, and those without be directed to futures they can be prepared for. That way, we can—"

"Alan, please, calm down!" Alistair subconsciously raised his voice. "You have yet to explain to me what this does. Let me understand what you're talking about before telling me about its potential. I'm sure you worked hard for this, but I can't listen to you speak incoherently about something I don't understand," he insisted. "Take a seat, and I'll get you a glass of water and some food," Alistair said before placing a hand on Alan's shoulders gently.

Staring at the hand on his shoulder which always felt like it carried half the weight of the world, Alan felt an unbridled anger rise from his chest. "What? After all that I've said to you, you tell me to sit down and wait for you while you get me a fucking meal?" Alan shouted, and slapped Alistair's hand away. "Know what, Al? Why don't you come back another time? Like you always do. But next time, come when you're done with your politicking and when you're ready to actually listen to me."

"You can't be serious, Alan. I'm just trying to calm you down! You're being unreasonably upset!" Alistair retorted.

"If calming me down was your plan, then maybe you shouldn't have brought what happened up, Al. I'll be back to my duties in three weeks. Tell everyone not to bother me until then," Alan responded with a returning feeling of indifference on his visage.

With a swift motion, Alan flicked his wrist and golden particles began to flow out from the tips of fingers towards the floor of the laboratory, as well as swiftly grabbing the data chip from Alistair's hand. The deceptively simple design of the floor began to glow and golden vein-like lines began to become golden on the ground. As Alan began to channel Potentia into the ground, Alistair looked at him with an expression of shock and exasperation.

Alistair shouted as the sound of electricity began buzzing all around him, "Alan, you can't keep turning us away like this. You know I can't do anything in your Demesne! Can you please at least give me a moment?" He implored, "Listen, I did come to tell you about something that matters to you. We found the person you were looking for. I know you thought they disappeared with the relic but Cerulean found both of them yeste—" Alistair said before vanishing from the laboratory as Alan's Art finished its job. The sentence he had spoken echoed throughout the now empty laboratory, amplified by the quiet stillness of the now solitary room. The light that barely showed Alan's face flickered on and off, before staying on.

As he digested the words Alistair suddenly left to him, Alan fell down to his feet. His face had become torn, and his smile melancholic. "You were alive, huh?"

For a moment, he stared at the ground before he began to weep.