The massive oaken doors shuddered open. The parochial main floor of the Council Spire made Darren wonder if the great mages thought themselves gods. Grandeur dripped from the vaulted ceiling and cascading glass chandeliers. Marble trunks divided the room into walkways, carved stone fencing in the second-story balcony around the room. The graceful blues and fanciful greens accented the holiness of white light.
But the vision of peace was tainted by a red mark. Dark curls and skin glistening in the ambient light, Thomas Braggard’s caramel gaze fell on Darren’s hot pursuit. His smirk gave away his sadistic nature. “Master archivist, what a pleasant surprise.”
Darren glowered at the younger man’s lilting accent. “I would’ve come sooner had I been told the great news.”
He brushed the front of his red military coat, something that should’ve been a relic. “Ah yes. Quite shocking. It seems my service to our nation had a great impact on the members.”
“They obviously didn’t look too deeply.”
“Come now, don’t be bitter. You didn’t apply for the position, after all.”
“Darren.” Iris jogged along the reflective floor, boots clicking to a stop beside him.
Before he could respond, Braggard’s grin widened. “Oh, good. Your smarter half. Just come home from a hunting trip?”
Her glare burned through his toned frame. “We beat your bet if that’s what you want.” She grabbed Darren’s upper arm with care and urgency. “Not here,” she whispered.
A million memories raced through his mind. But not his. The bear that watched a battalion of red guards terrorize a town. The rabbit that hid while men were tortured amongst fields. The media had painted them heroes during the reset, but nature knew they were murderers.
The room brightened and an orb appeared. A scroll dropped into Braggard’s hand. Expression growing even smugger. “You must excuse me. I have duties to attend to.” Unlike many of the mages who walked with light feet, he marched with intention toward an opening.
Iris coaxed Darren to the exit with a practiced hand. After a minute, she succeeded. The warmth of the sun couldn’t pierce the darkness in his mind. The manicured greenery leading to the door was just as sterile as the Spire.
Only when his eyes fell on their mystery guest did the demons flee. Stalk straight atop a single panel in the cobblestone, she stared at a tree with its leaves shaped in perfect spheres. Expression blank, her dark eyes seemed dead. And people started to notice.
Before Darren could gently tap her arm, her head swiveled to him. He felt Iris shudder beside him, but he hardly flinched. Having connected to many deer and rabbits, the quick shift didn’t startle him. He offered his palm, a silent reminder that he was a friend.
Rather than take it, she followed beside him when they walked. “I don’t understand this place.”
“Sometimes I don’t either,” Darren said mournfully. “You’d think the Reset warned us all of the dangers of conflict, and yet they promote a killer to the council.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” Iris said, lowering the overall conversation volume.
“I don’t care what position he held. He’s an accessory nonetheless.”
“The trees seem sad.”
Iris stopped on the sidewalk, causing the entire party to halt before reaching the road. “Did you connect with them? Are you a mage?”
The girl turned to her, a hint of bewilderment in her brow. “Wouldn’t you be sad if you were cut into some awkward shape?” After receiving no response, her features relaxed. “Trees are meant to grow, imperfect as they are. Defining their shape in such a way may be beautiful, but it’s not what the tree was born to be.”
The archivist and assistant looked back down the cobblestone walkway. They passed it every day to work, marveled by the looming presence of the Spire. But now they saw the trees and shrubs. Perfectly spaced. Perfectly shaped. Perfectly dull. The green held less life than the forest, branches void of energy and movement.
Pristine, yet dead.
“I’m hungry.” They remembered their charge, her small frame caving in with a grimace and fearful eye.
“Come,” Darren said, regaining his senses first. He led the two women across the street, narrowly missing a couple bikes. Despite following the memorized path in his head, he couldn’t shake the view of the Spire greenery. Regardless of its religious symmetry, it lacked the life of imperfection.