Closer to the End

“Come in!” sang a cheerful voice. Airi twisted the lamb's-head doorknob and stepped into the rosy glow of the flower-shaped lamps. Marianne had several maps laid out on the desk. She swept them aside and beamed. “I had a feeling it was you! So, how’s your room? Not too small, I hope?”

The room was ridiculously small. “It’s nice.” Airi sat across from Marianne. Upon closer inspection of the maps, she saw that Marianne had drawn large red Xs over several locations.

“What are the Xs for?” she asked.

“Buried treasure,” Marianne whispered. “Only joking! I’m monitoring the progress of our monster-hunting expeditions. Lately, we’ve been flooded with reports.”

“Monster hunting? That’s what I was going to ask you about,” Airi said.

“Aha! You came to the right person. Ask away!”

“Well, it’s like this...” Airi explained her intent to hunt monsters.

“Goodness gracious!” Marianne said, eyes wide. “Did Feldspar put you up to this?”

“Um, not exactly.”

Marianne looked unconvinced. “Oh, the nerve of that man. This is why I never go to Lower III. Airi, you know I have to say no. Only a mage would stand a chance against a monster.”

“I killed the Mother of Plenty,” Airi said.

“Yes, with Nestor, and it’s a miracle you’re both alive! Nestor told me what happened. If Tale of Flight hadn’t worked, you would've died. That's no fun, is it?"

"No, but—"

Marianne shook her head. “Denied! Final answer.” She laughed. “If only every mage was as eager to fight monsters as you.”

Airi got up to leave, chair scraping wood.

“Wait!”

Airi turned back.

“Have a sugarplum!” Marianne shook the candy jar on her desk. ‘Goodies for Good Students,’ it said.

Airi left the office in a sour mood. The day’s efforts had yielded her a box of dead crystalwings and a sugarplum.

When she got back to Mildred’s room, sucking on the sugarplum, she found Mildred asleep with the covers pulled over her head. The remains of a meal lay on the desk, along with an open book.

Airi ate half of Mildred’s sandwich. Then she crawled under the bed to her makeshift cot of robes.

Several floors above, in the Astronomy Tower of the Upper Palace, a group of mages hadn’t slept in a week. They trained their bleary eyes on the night sky.

As they watched, a green star fell in a blazing arc and landed beyond the distant mountains. The floor of the tower was a map of the stars; a mage hurriedly marked the star that had fallen in chalk. No one gasped. They had stopped gasping after the third star. Three stars could no longer be a coincidence.

“It’s all in the first quadrant,” said a mage with a ghostly-white jelly cut. She smiled serenely. “It’s obvious now.” She pointed at the small patch of empty sky, an inky blob of blackness that stained the purple sky. “All six stars fell from there, radiating out from the original blue star that fell. Every time an additional star falls, the emptiness grows bigger.”

Her twin sister tugged at her fiery orange locks. “Mage Prometheus, do you think... the manasphere could be damaged?”

A hush fell. All the mages turned to look at the withered mage kneeling in a pile of books in the center of the room. He was the only one with a gold crest among them.

Prometheus tore his eyes from the book and gazed at the sky. His eyes betrayed exhaustion and urgency. Then he looked at the mages, who waited with bated breath.

“It is possible.”

Even the calmest of the mages sucked in a breath. “Mage Prometheus, that’s ridiculous,” someone said. “The manasphere has been getting stronger every year since the Legendary Mages created it. Our annual reports proved that; the records in Lower III prove that. You yourself said—”

Prometheus shook his head in frustration. “It doesn’t matter what I said. Something has changed.” The squabbling mages fell silent. “Some irregularity, or external force...”

The room was dead silent.

“External force.” The fiery-haired twin swallowed. “Mage Prometheus, you can’t mean...”

“Yes.” Prometheus’s voice shook a little. “Perhaps the One Who Ends has grown impatient.”

There were cries of horror. One of the mages dropped her spellbook.

“We don’t have time to fret. The manasphere grows weaker by the day. Return to your spells. We must strengthen the manasphere as much as possible.” Prometheus turned to a child in a puffy red pinafore and headband. She wore no crest. “Lucy, tell Marianne that she must modify the curriculum to hands-on spellcasting, as much as possible. We need all the mana we can get.”

“Yes, Grandpa!” Lucy ran off.

“Wick, Tallow.” He beckoned the twins. “Arrange an audience with the king. His Majesty must know about this.”

The sisters exchanged looks. “Mage Prometheus, sir. You know he’s not likely—” said white-haired Tallow.

“—to listen,” Prometheus finished. “Yes. I know. But we must try.”

They all avoided looking at the sky and the blackness spreading across it. On Lower I, Airi stirred in her sleep, her dreams haunted by teeth and darkness.