July 31, 2025

On that sunny day Dasnor entered the downtown riding his chic old-fashioned cruiser bike. He was skilfully tacking in between the lanes to miss a typical New Tokyo traffic jam. After he profusely cursed a pack of fellow drivers, he stopped by crystal white gates of a garage, hidden on the ground floor of a sky high apartment block.

Viktor was the king of his castle. He’d been interested in moto tech even before the army, and upon return he decided to make his living by doing repairs. The premise was small and suspiciously tidy for a garage: Viktor hated the things out of their order, so he crafted a row of automated drawers where he stored the essentials. All tools were hung around with precision of unexplainable logic, and posters of Sakura S kept them company.

The guys pushed the bike into the diagnostic area. Dasnor took out his black helmet and put it on a desk, while Viktor grabbed his tablet.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, tapping the scanner.

“Something’s making noise near the front wheel. It jerks like hell.”

Viktor launched a full panoramic projection of the bike and turned around a 3D model. There were suggestions underlined by the program of where the problem might have been.

“Congrats, seems the bearings are dead,” Viktor diagnosed. “Since I don’t have enough funds to buy an auto-repair system, I’ll go check with my own hands.”

“That’s for the better.”

While the mechanic was busy taking off the front wheel, Dasnor were telling him the latest news he got from his father.

“The cops increased Violets bounty.”

“How so?”

“Too busy to operate. Haven’t you noticed the amount of the Cursed rising significantly?”

“Like I could compare. I was in the army. Thanks to Goddess, no Violets there. The Southerners were crazy enough.”

“There used to be like… say, one tenth from all wizards. Now it feels like the streets are swarming with the Cursed.”

“Could they really be produced artificially?”

“This is… anti-science.”

“Do magic and science have that much in common?” Viktor began pulling parts out of the wheel. “It’s just trendy to explain everything with biochemistry and big words. You can wake me up at night and I will quote the textbook.”

He parodied a generic Academy professor, “The dominant nature of violet cells instigates their uncontrollable reproduction, which entails irreversible changes in an individual’s body and… blah blah blah, whatever else is in there.”

“Impulse control disorder.”

“Whoa, who of us has the degree? I wish I knew such smart words!”

“Basically, one just goes mad. And then dies.”

“And who would want to become like that? Can I be a wizzy, just for a while? These close-minded magicless folks…”

“Freaks are everywhere,” Dasnor shrugged. “Mages or not, there’s no difference. It is sick just to explain things by presence of spectrum cells.”

“And science still doesn’t explain how they appear in the first place,” Viktor hummed, spinning the bearing. “So the version of Violets born out of an amplifier or a spell doesn’t strike me as complete nonsense.”

“Only a fool would deny anything is possible in this world.”

“Das, can you imagine that? If it’s true, it will shake the society to its core! The hell will break loose. You can become a mage by your own decision, how does that sound?”

“PRISM won’t allow that. And we should be cautious. We have a newbie in our squad.”

“Fiber will protect everyone. He is strong as a mountain.”

“He is not fading out yet, but it won’t be forever.”

“By the way, what do you think of a new girl? I think she has her secrets.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

“Guess you’ve got to know each other well enough. Do you train every day?”

“Yes… sort of.”

“How is it going?”

It was not a training but a massacre of the innocents. They met each day in M.A.G.E. HQ where Dasnor showed Niji different techniques. She was quick enough to learn firearms, but the melee was obligatory as well. Dasnor never gave her a head start, and Niji felt infuriated. Time after time she was beaten hard, and she almost fainted after the sparring sessions. The mage guy didn’t behave like that out of self-assertion: he wasn’t pleased after winning another fight. On the contrary, he was dissatisfied with Niji, although he noted a few times that her skill level was higher than some of the Ambers, his own class.

Dasnor remembered how he had stood in Fiber’s office and watched through a window how Niji was training with Rebecca. He and his father had a very intense conversation back then. Everything started with a deceitfully casual phrase dropped by M.A.G.E. leader.

“Her progress is very impressive for three months, isn’t it?”

“There’s still a lot of work to do.”

“Pity she doesn’t have the greatness of her samurai family. Just a name.”

“She’s one of those who rely on perseverance… not some legacy or strains.”

“Oh, you admire it.”

“Yes.”

Dasnor saw how Niji hesitated for a second in an attempt to activate a new firestarter mechanism on her glove, and got immediately punished with a punch from the right.

“She won’t keep her secret forever. It will be revealed, sooner or later,” continued Fiber.

“And then what?”

“Hecate will come and take her away. Leaving the money, of course.”

“You treat her like merchandise. That’s disgusting.”

“What else can I do? The Sisters are well aware that I won’t miss a bargain while possessing something they desperately need.”

“Why do they want her, anyway?”

“I haven't the vaguest idea. I also figured out they are not completely sure Niji Murasaki is the one they’re searching for. That’s why they just wait.”

“And if they don’t need her, in the end?”

“She must be gotten rid of before it’s too late.”

There had been a lot of deaths on Dasnor’s account for the past ten years, but none of them were a part of his own crew. He knew he’d manage, although this heaviness in his heart would be difficult to handle with. The mage clenched his fists. They had so little time, so little to…

“Are you still hoping to help her?” Fiber seemed to read his mind.

“You know I am very stubborn.”

“And silly.”

Viktor’s voice dragged Dasnor away from his memories.

“So… how is it going?”

“Could be better… but I am thinking of taking her to her first raid. She is quite well-prepared…” the Amber felt uneasy. “Viktor, can I have a smoke here?”

“Over my dead body.”

Dasnor gave out his usual ‘tsk’ and left the garage. After having a drag, he threw back his head to see the clear sky—and felt an incredible energetic resonance. Dasnor never told anyone he was able to sense arcane trails, like the Lacklusters do; the fewer people knew about that, the better. But as a setback, he always experienced a severe headache while tracing, so he used his ability only in extreme circumstances. That time he didn’t even have to concentrate, as the purple aura was so thick he couldn’t possibly miss it.

“What the hell is that?”

He floated up in the sky with his magical wings and landed atop the apartment block. Two wizards were moving nimbly on the roof of a next building. One of them was exuding the cursed energy so profoundly that he was easily identified as a Violet of pre-terminal stage. They were smart enough to choose such a sophisticated means of travelling—everything to avoid the scanners. Without second thoughts, Dasnor took out his gun and landed a clear headshot on the Violet. His partner in crime was quick enough to assess the situation, covered himself with a magical barrier and created an icy path between the houses to slide on. In a blink of an eye Dasnor shortened the distance and fired a few more shots, breaking his protection so the Elementalist got wounded. Yet when the Amber got closer, the enemy unleashed a spiky blizzard around him. When Dasnor’s eyesight cleared, the mage had disappeared.

“Tsk, why can’t I just smoke peacefully?”