The Ripple Effect
The news spread like wildfire in every direction.
The first person to speak of it said they had seen something huge and immense north of Nordfjord.
The next person said a great, tree-like thing had suddenly appeared, only to burn away; the third swore it was a miracle anyone had survived at all.
And so the rumor, impossible to pin down to any single fact, rolled from city to city across the northern reaches of the Equatria continent.
News like that was rare in the continent’s northern half, where little ever happened, and for a while the gossip passed from mouth to mouth as curiosity. Then, little by little, it began to accrete truths and lies no one could separate anymore.
People said it was a corporate weapons test, or the appearance of a colossal gate, or a harbinger of a mass invasion. Some even mixed in the conspiracy theories of those who were buried deep in talk of the long-forgotten return of magic.
And so the rumor of the north fused with stories that were little more than phantoms.
Once it became a ghost story, it lost its power as abruptly as it had begun.
The people inside the cities built behind high walls were indifferent to whatever lay beyond them.
For them, tomorrow mattered more than rumors from some distant place.
Words like omens and magic held no value worth their attention.
For ordinary people, that was only natural.
But those who could look down from higher places were different. Those hidden behind shadows, and those who stood on the surface of the world.
The Golden Dawn Society and the Administration Bureau.
Deep within both of them, something began to stir.
▼
The headquarters of the Golden Dawn Society.
Marble and leather-soled shoes struck against each other with a heavy sound.
The people walking the hallway stopped in their tracks and whispered to one another.
Faint, indistinct murmurs bounced off the walls and reached the girl’s ears.
It made no difference to her. She did not even turn to look at them.
Sunlight slipped down from the ceiling into the corridor she was crossing.
Her golden hair, left hanging down her back, glittered in the light.
Her white lab coat fluttered faintly in the draft moving through the old hallway.
A black sweater cinched over her unbuttoned white blouse.
Below her checked skirt, the pale line of her legs moved with cool indifference.
Within the shaft of light, dust drifted slowly through the air.
Her dull, lifeless golden eyes watched the floating specks, then lifted to the ceiling.
The hallway’s ceiling was supported by a series of arched pillars.
Between them, the walls were crowded with paintings depicting the world of old.
Sunlight, faintly reflected off the marble, breathed life into the artwork.
The golden age. An era not of the barbarism that ruled now, but of order. An era when magic had flourished.
She had seen it every time she came here. As always, the girl gave a single, derisive snort.
“What a nasty way to make people reminisce.”
Those obsessed with the past were nothing new.
After a moment of staring at the ceiling, her gaze returned to the end of the corridor.
As she began walking, the arches and paintings slid overhead one after another.
The farther she went, the gloomier the images between the arches became.
At the end of the corridor, the paintings were at last depicting the fall of magic.
With a flick of her hand through the air, the heavy wooden door swung open.
“Hah.”
Even after all this time, the suffocating atmosphere was unchanged.
Thick smoke from the smokers drifted over the table at the center of the council hall.
The sunlight was sharp through it, made vivid by the haze.
On the tiered benches on either side, mages from all over had claimed their places and sat down.
Most of them seemed uninterested in the world outside; they only watched one another and talked.
The second floor was no different. The faces seated on the benches behind the jutting inner railing were similarly indifferent.
Her eyes moved to the table ahead.
She passed the seats of the three scribes and looked straight to the chancellor seated behind them. The elderly gentleman stopped speaking with the mage beside him and turned his head.
“Linne Jernenfeld.”
Even after her name was called, the girl only gave a light nod.
At the long-absent name, the murmuring stopped and every gaze turned toward her. The girl known as Linne Jernenfeld answered in a light tone.
“Oh, Chancellor Ferdinand. Have you been well?”
“As you can see.”
She let the eyes slide past her. Some were openly hostile; others were relaxed, as though it had nothing to do with them.
A few were interested, but only a very few.
Linne sat down on the nearest bench, the one closest to the table. No one sat beside her.
“Looks like everyone who was meant to come has arrived.”
The drifting atmosphere shifted slightly. The chancellor’s voice was deep and dignified.
“Since this matter is what it is, I invited those of you here because I believed everyone should hear it. There are even unexpected ties among us, and faces I have not seen in a very long time, so I trust this meeting may yet yield a truly constructive result.”
When he said unexpected ties, Chancellor Ferdinand’s gaze briefly touched Linne before moving on.
Having caught the meaning, Linne folded her arms as if it were nothing.
“Before we begin the meeting, I must first bring some unfortunate news. Our dear mage, William de Havilland, has died in Nordfjord. He sacrificed even his own life for the great cause, and I believe we should honor his nobility.”
I would ask that we observe a moment of silence for him.
At Chancellor Ferdinand’s words, everyone lowered their heads.
Linne Jernenfeld, meanwhile, looked dumbfounded before letting out a dry laugh under her breath. Her golden eyes met Ferdinand’s.
So you really did go through with it.
“Now then, let me speak of the matter before us. Some of you may have already been informed, though others have not, so I ask for your understanding.”
“…”
“The reason I gathered you here is to announce that, thanks to William de Havilland’s sacrifice, our ‘great cause’ has taken another step forward.”
Her golden eyes sank, deep and still.
▼
I listened to the nonsense being spouted from far away through one ear and let it out the other.
With a bored expression, I surveyed the council hall.
No one contradicted the mage standing at the front of the table as he delivered his grand speech, nor did anyone pick a fight with him. As I’d expected, it seemed they were speaking with the conclusion already decided.
That was even more obvious when I saw the mage who was supposed to be the leader of the opposition simply sitting there in silence, listening to him from the other side of the hall.
“—Therefore, if we can simply control Yggdrasil, it has been proven that a connection to the ‘Sea of Mana’ is also possible.”
“Unbelievable.”
My mutter of exasperation was swallowed by the tide of murmurs and vanished quietly.
For mages, magic was the means and the foundation by which they maintained ability and power.
And the foundation of that magic was the countless mana that had soaked into heaven and earth.
If mana could be maintained, then mages could enjoy absolute power and ability.
More than a thousand years had passed since that power and authority were taken from them, so it was only natural for them to be growing impatient.
So I could understand them searching every possible way to reclaim it.
There had been a time when even Linne Jernenfeld herself had wandered in search of that method.
There wasn’t a single mage alive who would willingly admit that magic had retreated into the back alleys of history.
And yet, even so, this?
Could they all have lost their minds?
With that ridiculous suspicion in my head, I looked around again. Not one person here had a relaxed expression.
In other words, most of the mages here really did seem to believe Yggdrasil could be controlled.
“I’ve listened carefully.”
A heavy voice cut through my thoughts. When I turned my head, Chancellor Ferdinand was rising from his seat and looking down over everyone in the hall.
“As all of you here will remember, we poured everything into preserving this world. Our history, our magic, even our lives. And through it all, we gifted this land more than a thousand years.”
But.
There was a sharp edge beneath the gravity now, and heat.
“A thousand years since our shameful fall. During that time, what have those who inherited the places we surrendered done? Do they truly possess the power to shield the world from the storm approaching? The foul omens have already begun appearing across the world, and yet can they truly unite, stand together, and resist them? We have discussed this matter repeatedly since long ago, and each time we were forced to arrive at bitter conclusions.”
“…”
“It is truly regrettable. We sit in positions where we must attempt anything at all if we are to break this situation. Even if the means is Yggdrasil, the very thing that once brought about our ruin, we must still prevent the world’s destruction at any cost.”
He looked slowly across the room. At his gaze, everyone except Linne Jernenfeld lowered their eyes a little.
“And so, because we are the only humans capable of protecting this world, because this is our manifest destiny, I, Chancellor Ferdinand, fully support this Sea of Mana project.”
No one found fault with Ferdinand’s words. Old eyes blazed with a yellowed fervor.
Only one person did not.
A single, lonely clap echoed through the council hall.
“That was an excellent monologue, Chancellor Ferdinand.”
A thin, mocking smile curved Linne Jernenfeld’s face.