Notes: This is a side story in the Struggling Against Gravity universe. It could probably be read as a standalone, but a few parts will likely make more sense in context of the main fic. It's meant to be read after Chapter Eight.
Epitaph
It was the first time Lana actually set foot in the village of Kurain.
She had heard plenty of stories and seen plenty of faded photographs—when Mia had shown her, she retrieved the mementos of her birthplace from a small box on the highest shelf in her dorm room. But in spite of several years of friendship, she had never found the time—and never had the feeling Mia had the inclination to encourage her—to see the place for herself.
Not that she thought she could have ever mistaken it. True to her memory of the secondhand sources, the buildings looked as though they had been transplanted here straight from ancient Japan, and the single young girl within eyesight wandering the area was clad in what Lana could only assume was a traditional ceremonial robe.
She pulled the keys from the ignition of her car and sat back, taking a moment to further absorb the sight. Witnessing the village in reality was as disorienting as merely hearing stories about it a decade ago had been. Despite the open fields that surrounded it, there was a feeling of enclosed seclusion hanging over the area. The only visible acknowledgments of the outside world were a single telephone booth and a run-down tourist's shack across from it.
Try as she might to frame Mia, whose mind was as sharp and quick-witted and even as cynical as anyone Lana knew from the city, always careful to present herself as professionally as she could, against this place, nothing seemed to make it fit.
Lana stepped out of her car, ignoring the building cramp in her legs—dwelling in the city for a lifetime didn't do much to prepare one for a drive that lasted nearly four hours, especially the rough patch near the end—and listening to the crunch of dirt beneath her shoes intermixed with the distant, but unmistakable, rush of a flowing waterfall.
The breeze that touched her face was light, but it cast the world around her through a strange new filter, free from noise and bustle.
Even the air tastes different here.
Suddenly, the span of four hours' worth of distance didn't seem enough for a place so removed from the constant roar of the life she had always known.
As she pivoted back to retrieve the bouquet of flowers lying in the passenger seat of her car, she heard a voice call out.
"Lana!"
Straightening, she turned towards the source—a young girl clad in long, dark robes rushing towards her, one hand stretched skywards as high as it could go and waving frantically. Closing in, the girl finally screeched to a stop, her sandals kicking up a small puff of dust in front of the car's headlights.
"Lana," Maya repeated, breathless, hair beads still rattling around her. "You made it!"
"Yes," Lana replied, smiling. "Hello."
They met each others' eyes.
It was the first time Lana had seen Mia's little sister for herself, too. Somehow, the old images of the small girl crying over shattered pieces of pottery aligned relatively smoothly with the young woman standing before her now.
"I'm actually really relieved," Maya said. "I was worried the directions I gave you were too confusing. I always head down to the city and back by train, so I don't know the roads very well..."
"No, they were clear enough." That wasn't entirely truthful—after Maya had fumbled and corrected herself for the fourth time over the phone, Lana made up her mind to personally look up the information, for safety's sake. Although the majority of the trip had been composed of empty country road, it proved to be a wise decision.
"Still, I kept double-guessing myself all day..." Maya said, rapping her chin with her knuckles in mock distress. "I couldn't get my mind off it. 'Oh no, what if Lana ends up stranded in, er, Kansas or something, it'd be all my fault!' The elders kept telling me to focus and get my head screwed on straight..." Her smile turned slightly sheepish. "But never mind that, you're here! I really appreciate you taking the time. I know it's out of the way."
"It's no problem at all," Lana replied. "I'm happy to be here. I've been curious about this place for a long time."
"There really isn't too much to see," Maya laughed, extending her hand towards the dirt road. "Really, you're probably looking at at least half of all there is to look at right now."
"I have a feeling you're selling your village short," Lana said. "But it's not as though that's the only reason I came. I wanted to meet you at last, too."
"Yeah," Maya said. "Me too. For a long time."
They both fell quiet, and despite what she said, Lana recognized, watching her, that Maya's gaze was unnaturally piercing, flickering up and down in quiet appraisal—searching for something beyond a lawyer who had once been an acquaintance of her sister's. Maya had probably caught her doing the same thing, after all.
They were both looking for traces of Mia.
At first glance, there was little resemblance. No one would mistake the sisters for each other, with the bounce in Maya's step, the sound of bells in her voice, and the youthful flush to her cheeks that belied factual knowledge of her age.
The discrepancy in clothing made it even more difficult—Maya's heavy robes, outfitted with what looked like an endless string of ceremonial beads, starkly contrasted Mia's carefully groomed suits and high heels. But as Lana continued to study, there were faint traces there—both sisters had a similar, slightly stocky build, though Maya was considerably shorter—and the curves at the corners of their eyes were very similar.
In the distance, the shrill whistle of a departing train seemed to break the spell around them. Maya broke eye contact first, folding her hands behind her back.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I'm being rude, aren't I? I mean, you are a guest here, so I have to act a proper host! Can I get you anything? Tea, or a snack, or..."
Her eyes fell to the flowers lying prone in Lana's arms. Her voice trailed off into silence, as effectively as though a noose had been cut.
"Ha ha," Maya said, softly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm playing at."
Her arms fell back to her sides, shoulders straightening, and for the first time she spoke with the quiet gravity of a young woman who had witnessed and survived her family's collapse around her.
"You want to see her... right?"
More than any physical resemblance, it was then that Lana felt Mia's shadow entwined within that of her younger sister's.
"Yes," Lana said, her fingers clasping more tightly around the bouquet. "I would like that."
When she had first heard of her friend's murder, she hadn't allowed herself to properly grieve. There was too much then, having to keep her jaw set and voice cold and anguish suppressed as she executed Damon Gant's orders. It had just seemed like one more sin amongst countless sins to feel guilt for during the darkest period of her life.
The news had broken on the job. She was looking into the documents of some important case in the records room, micromanaging and correcting pithy errors, but primarily rearranging the documents that were deemed necessary to be rearranged by will of the chief.
The details of that specific case had long been lost to her, but she remembered hearing. There hadn't any calls—only a faded television as she walked out, manila folders tucked under her arm and miserable job completed—and then her head jerked up at the sound of a news anchor speaking and she knew, alongside everyone else who cared to know, with all the familiarity and warmth of a stranger, that Mia Fey had been killed in her own office.
The folders had threatened to slip briefly from her hands before she regained her composure and quickly left the area. The world bent surreally before her, just for an instant, leaving her mind blank—but to the outside world, she was sure, nothing appeared different about the Chief Prosecutor's icy demeanor.
But she dreamt that night. Finally, she dreamt of something besides breaking into a darkened room with a storm raging outside and her heart pounding and vision blurring at the sight of her sister crumpled into an unconscious heap on the ground. Most of the other dreams she'd ever had, beyond that single nightmare, had faded long ago.
It was a mixed blessing. Or rather, it was strange and horrible, waking up more peaceful than she had in what felt like an eternity in the wake of her friend's death—grateful, more than anything else, for the lingering ghosts of fond college memories filled with laughter and exchanged notes and family photographs.
But maybe—in spite of what had happened and what she had become—maybe Mia would have been happy to have granted her that one night of reprieve.
She had been different back then, carrying determination tempered with faith instead of resignation. She and Ema might have lost their parents, but they were still alive and they still had each other, and with her enrollment into university, even as their time with each other dwindled due to classes and intensive studies, it seemed certain at last that they had secured a future—together.
Ema had been eight years old, running in circles around the apartment with a magnifying glass and an empty spray can, chattering excitedly about finding traces of the bad criminals for Big Sis to put away once and for all in the courtroom. They would always be together, the Skye sisters, an unstoppable team, a beacon of shining justice in a city full of rotten criminals.
There had been many smiles back in those days. They were living life to the tune of a melody, orchestrated for a tomorrow where she and Ema would be able to work and make things better—make some kind of difference in the world.
Mia had laughed when Lana shared those stories with her. Up against the formidable Skye coalition, she said, she wasn't sure that a simple defense attorney like her would have any prayer of fighting back.
Those had been good times, with every step and breath charged with the assurance of the future. When she had accepted her diploma, Mia at her side and Ema watching from the stands, it had seemed absurd to even conceive of anything beyond the promise of an endless procession of halcyon days.
The world had changed since then. Or rather, Damon Gant and SL-9 had swept into her life and changed her—beyond recognition, she believed, for a long, long time. And then just as quickly, with the intervention of Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright, both specters had withdrawn from her life, leaving her surrounded by the barren walls and vast, unshakable stillness of the prison house.
It was for the best. She'd found that she could still smile and her face would not break, but the prospect of breathing and walking and living in the face of what she had done and the thousand justified grudges that came with it seemed suffocating, intolerable. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to look Jake Marshall in the eye again. She wasn't sure that Angel Starr, her old friend and associate, would ever stop hating her. And she wasn't sure that she could blame them for it.
But that didn't mean she was content to sit by in complete idleness—she had kept up with the news and kept up with some of her contacts. There had been phone calls with Ema at least once every week. Those, and her attempts to come to terms with two years lost and two years' worth of victims felt like a more tangible timekeeper than the rising and setting of the sun just beyond her window.
Yes, the world had changed.
And Mia was gone.
When the door to her cell was unlocked and she was granted her freedom, they told her it had been two years. It felt like far less. She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced into the mirror—her face looked the same. Younger, even, compared to her memories of living in a world overpowered by the oppressive grey cast by Damon Gant.
After exiting the building and taking a moment to breathe in fresh air and wonder at the expanse of blank sky above, her first true act of freedom was calling her sister. Ema answered instantly. She had known what day this was.
"I can't wait to see you again," she said. She was crying. "I've missed you so much. Are you okay? Do you need anything? If there's anything I can help you with..."
It hit Lana then, with a damp, muted sort of shock, that her young sister's voice sounded different, older, almost unfamiliarly so—rather than that of a young girl, she spoke with the more mature cast of a young woman working towards a career. In the grind of passing days lived in confinement, the transition had been gradual, and thus went largely unnoticed—but now the discrepancy seemed the most obvious thing in the world.
Ema had been living on her own for a long time, continuously growing, beyond her reach. Perhaps her appearance was different than how Lana remembered, too. Maybe she had finally grown into the lanky teenage frame that had so frustrated her when she was still under Lana's care. Maybe she had finally given in, after years of squealing and haughty resistance, and taught herself to apply makeup and perfume. Maybe she had learned to dress in something besides ratty lab coats. Maybe she had become old enough to fall in love with someone.
As Ema continued talking—about flight schedules, about school, about careers, about the future—mostly her own future—a bittersweet tightness formed in Lana's throat.
She'd spent two years trying to come to terms with a present that had already faded into past by the time she was released.
"I'll come in to see you as soon as I can!" Ema declared, oblivious in her happiness. "As soon as tests are done. One way or another... but don't worry, just focus on getting settled back in, okay? Just let me know how you're doing, Sis... I'm here for you."
By the time Ema said goodbye, in order to return to her studies, Lana was on her way back to her old apartment complex and drying her eyes with the loose end of her muffler.
And then the rest of the calls began to pour in. People she hadn't heard from in months, years, almost all ceremonial in nature—expressing relief at her freedom and sympathy for what she had been through. Echoes, mostly, of the same sentiments she had heard from them all when the truth behind SL-9 had been exposed.
She kept them as cordial and brief as possible. Her head was still swimming—it was almost funny, she thought, that the first thing she found herself wanting to do after being locked in a cell for two years was to re-lock herself in her own room, away from the prying questions and concern from colleagues that seemed separated from her by an era.
She never quite made it through the doors of the apartment building. It came within viewing distance—she saw that the bricks were more faded than she remembered, and the sign had was different, signaling a change in ownership since she had been here last—and she turned the phone off and turned directions on a sudden, but commanding impulse.
There was a modest hotel one block away. She went in to request a room for the night, maybe two, maybe more. The receptionist could not quite hide her stare as Lana signed the papers, clearly recognizing the criminal she had seen on television.
As soon as she had finished filling out the last signature, she wordlessly made her way up to the room and sat on the bed without bothering to turn on the lights. She had so carefully considered her atonement and her plans while confined in the prison. It had been easy then.
Everything seemed easy, she thought, when considering them from so far a distance. Without having to be confronted with the real thing. It had been like that before she went to prison, and it would be like that afterwards—it had been like that even before SL-9, back in her college days. She should have seen it coming. Perhaps, even after everything, she still retained some old, silly remnant of naiveté.
Mia would have laughed.
When that struck her, out of nowhere, she found herself holding back a bubble of soft laughter. It was funny.
Keeping that in mind quelled the disorientation, just a little bit—and it was easier to fall asleep after that. The next morning she would plan in earnest.
Eventually she did manage to secure an apartment for herself—quietly, ducking any stray journalists who thought it might be interesting to do a follow-up on the story of the disgraced Chief Prosecutor now that her sentence had been fulfilled. It was about a month after that that she had received the call.
Lana remembered that she half considered simply not answering—but as the fourth ring wore on, sat up from where she had been reading and, with some resignation, picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Pardon my intrusion," came the thick voice over the line. "This would be former Chief Prosecutor Lana Skye, would it not?"
She bit back a sigh. She shouldn't have bothered answering after all. "Yes..."
"Marvin Grossberg," he introduced himself. "Mia's former employer."
Lana blinked.
"It's an honor, sir."
"Not at all, my dear," he said, amicably enough. "I've heard plenty of you from Mia over the years. Enough that it almost feels as though I know you personally."
Lana swallowed. It was hard to say whether more of her unease stemmed from the skepticism of the moment or the dull ache that accompanied confirmation that Mia had kept speaking of her even after they had, for the most part, parted ways.
"But I digress..." Grossberg said, sensing her discomfort and clearing his throat. "It's good to hear that you're finally out of that miserable place. It must have been a difficult time for you."
"No," she said. "Truth be told, I felt more liberated than I had in a long time."
"Yes, I suppose I can understand what you mean. You were put through a terrible ordeal—the likes of which most of us are hard-pressed to even imagine." He paused briefly, then went on, grating sympathy becoming even further pronounced: "I imagine your position at the Prosecutor's Office is lost."
"Of course."
"That is a shame," Grossberg said heavily. "A true shame. Mia spoke very highly of you and your talents. I'm aware we've not had much of a chance to meet, but I did notice you carried a spark in you similar to the one I saw in her, so long ago..."
She knew that he meant well, but it was one of the last things she ever wanted to hear again.
"I appreciate the concern, Mr. Grossberg," Lana said, politely, "but please don't be troubled. What happened is the natural consequence of my own actions."
"Perhaps, perhaps," he rumbled. "What do you plan to do from here on out, my dear?"
She hesitated briefly. This was information she had declined to share with any reporter, or indeed, anyone outside of Ema and briefly to Miles Edgeworth."I was hoping to re-enter the field somehow," she admitted. "Not as a prosecutor, obviously, but I'm sure there's somehow I can make myself useful again—repay my debt to society in a substantial manner."
"Yes..." Grossberg huffed. "Yes, I'm glad to hear you say that. As a matter of fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
"I'm sorry?"
"You are right. If you want back into the courtroom and in the field of criminal law, there are other options available."
"Meaning...?"
"A switch to the other side of the bench. It's happening more and more, you know. Even my own Diego Armando pulled it off—right under my mustache, I might add! If Diego found it in him to make the jump, surely there's something available for you."
Lana said nothing for few seconds, but a million different thoughts vied desperately for her attention within that space of time. She spoke cautiously.
"Is that an offer, Mr. Grossberg?"
"Well... to be frank, I doubt I could take you on myself," Grossberg admitted, sounding genuinely apologetic. "Funny I should mention Diego, but that whole kerfluffle's brought a bit of unwelcome scrutiny to my own offices—but nevermind that, my dear. I do have a few friends in the right places I'm willing to contact. It's not right that your career was cut short the way it was."
Lana relaxed fractionally. Of course. No guarantees.
But still. The option honestly hadn't occurred to her. A defense attorney?
True, it would mean working from the opposite side of the bench as Ema—but she had learned in the follow-up from SL-9 it was possible that a thread of cooperation from both sides could accomplish more than a host of detectives and a single prosecutor on one. A defense attorney—saving innocents directly rather than protecting them by punishing criminals. Learning to believe in people by trade rather than doubt them.
What Mia had done.
"Thank you," she said, slowly. "I'll consider it."
"Think nothing of it," Grossberg declared. "I'll arrange the pertinent meetings as soon as I can. It's the least I can do for one of Mia's closest friends."
Even now, she found herself thinking, after hanging up the phone, even now it was as though Mia was still there to push her forward to find her way in a world that, for a moment, she had believed was content to move on without her.
And that was how she ended up at this place.
The office that extended the offer was a modest one—not quite a big name in the field, but a respectable enough one. It was a undeniably step down from the rank of Chief Prosecutor, but here in the cramped cubicle, surrounded by an endless sea of paperwork and ringing phones, where it often felt like she was playing secretary far more than defense attorney, she found she could breathe easier than in all the years locked in Gant's office.
And it really wasn't a bad feeling, she thought, being able to play a part in saving people.
She was organizing her papers and fending off haughty questions from an equally haughty assistant when the phone began to ring. Being occupied, she didn't bothered to check caller ID before answering, and frowned upon hearing an unfamiliar girl's voice filter through.
"Um, hello. Is this Lana Skye?"
"Yes, it is. Can I help you with something?"
"Oh, good!" the unknown girl exclaimed. Lana's frown deepened; it didn't sound like someone desperate enough to ask for her services or calculating enough to hail from the press. "I was worried that I might have gotten it wrong, or maybe Nick wrote it down wrong—he's done that before and it was a pretty embarrassing hassle, so..."
Nick? Perhaps she had just dialed the wrong number.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh! S-sorry!" The apology came out as more a squeak than a spoken word. "I guess I'm a little flustered. You see, I'm calling about... um, how do I put this?" The girl sucked in her breath, and then said all at once: "I'm Maya Fey, Mia Fey's little sister."
Lana nearly dropped the pen that she was holding.
It was strange how life tended to hit one with these things without warning, out of nowhere. A phone call bursting onto the scene, as she had treaded the halls with arms overflowing with paperwork, informing her that a serial killer was on the loose in the same building that held her sister. A phone call, as she was shredding files and listening to the ticking of the second hand of the clock, informing her that there was a corpse left in the back of Miles Edgeworth's car.
And now.
"One second, Maya," she murmured. She placed one hand over the receiver and looked up at the assistant, who was clearing his throat in obvious impatience.
"Alex, excuse me for a second. I need to take this call."
Upon seeing her lifting her head, his mouth already opened to begin reciting the data of another report. His jaw set with the force of a capital offense when she interrupted him.
"With due respect, Prosecutor Skye, these papers need to be dealt with."
"I know," she said, keeping her voice level. "I'll get to them shortly."
His stare became petulant. "We're not taking any new clients right now, you're aware."
"I know. I'll only be a minute, Alex. Please."
His lips pursed together in stormy disapproval, but he seemed to understand that he wasn't going to convince her. Making sure that she heard his indignant sigh as he turned, he dropped the paper unceremoniously back onto the desk and disappeared through the door. As it slammed behind him, she could hear him muttering something under his breath about professionalism—or rather the lack thereof.
Lana shook her head as she watched him leave, with equal parts exasperation and something—not quite fondness, but close to it.
He'd had a bad temperament about him for as long as Lana had known him—an oddly appropriate match with his uneven cut of dark red hair—but he had talent, and passion on top of that. If he could learn to keep his temper in check, she thought, he would probably go far. There were a lot of young people like that who had recently been appearing on the scene, freshly graduated and eager to make names for themselves. The incoming wave of a new generation.
It was a wistful thought, but a comforting one at the same time. To see that the world really was capable of picking up the pieces left behind by she and her ilk and moving on.
But it wasn't until after she had surprised the firm by agreeing to take him on as her assistant in court that she realized that what had really drawn her to him, despite his sour countenance, was recognition of that particular spark of youthful energy. That grimace. The fire blazing around someone who would stop at nothing to achieve their goals. It was an echo of a time that was lost to her now, when things had been easier—no, not easier, exactly. But simpler for sure.
She had seen it in someone else, long ago.
The college lecture hall held something like five hundred students. Awash amongst a sea of innumerable faces but still driven by the high from earning the scholarships that allowed her to attend university in the first place, Lana had been determined to distinguish herself from the masses. It was easy to pick out those who had coasted here on virtue of their parents' money, but she was different—succeeding here meant nothing less than ensuring her future. It meant ensuring Ema's future. The alternative was unthinkable.
So she took care to pay painstaking attention to detail, making sure her professors knew how eager she was to grasp what they lessons they had to offer—not just through regular attendance and constant questions, but through volunteer work, through extracurricular activity and through perfect test scores and painstakingly accurate reports that came back with glowing words of praise emblazoned next to her name.
Her confidence had built.
It was a good thing, in retrospect, because she couldn't imagine meeting the force that was Mia, much less befriending her, if she had been lacking in self-assurance.
The site of their first encounter was one office visit of many—Lana made a point to find whatever reason she could to build connections amongst the faculty, whether to secure her performance in an upcoming exam or simply to hear more stories of their personal experiences in the field. That time, she had been seeking revision for a paper on some legal technicality. Her face was turned downwards towards the pages, still trying to identify typos at the last minute, as her fingers curled around the bronze doorknob.
Her head rose as she picked up the sound of voices on the other side. That wasn't unusual—in a classroom that held so many students, it wasn't unusual to find her appointments undercut by more spontaneous visits from her classmates.
But this was different. It sounded like an argument—a particularly heated one. Lana picked up the sound of her professor's voice, old and dusty, beyond the door, along with that of an unfamiliar female. She stopped outside the door, wondering if she should just leave and try again for another time—but I did have an appointment arranged...
She pushed the door open in increments, first a crack, then enough to slip a foot into, then the entire way, so that the knob collided briefly with the side wall. The other student, standing with both hands flattened against the professor's desk, turned her head at the sound of intrusion.
Lana saw her own profile darkened against the drapes of the office window. For a split second, it felt as though the world had turned upside down, and she wondered if she hadn't somehow stepped through the doorway into a bizarre sort of fun house, filled with mirrors.
Then she forced herself back into the land of reason and recognized it was simply another student, her age, who bore a striking but ultimately superficial resemblance to her. Staring for a moment longer before recalling her manners, Lana could not recall a time when she had seemed a single step away from engaging in frustrated violence, much less let the sentiment write itself so openly all over her face.
"Miss Skye," the professor called from behind the desk. The tone of his voice suggested that he had just been thrown a lifeline. "On time as usual."
The other student straightened, face flushed, visibly attempting to recompose herself.
"Excuse me, then. We'll continue some other time?"
"If you like, Ms. Fey, but as I said, there's little I can do if he doesn't wish to speak to you."
Lana stared after her until the sound of the door slamming behind her pushed her briefly back into reality. Trying to remember why she had come here, she turned back to the professor, uncertain if it was appropriate to express her curiosity. He shook his head, sighing.
"Honestly," the professor mumbled as he gestured for Lana to sit across from him, "Sometimes I just don't know what to make of the passion you young people have. You could all do to be a little less stubborn."
Lana barely heard him beyond registering the implied dismissal. Her mind was still on the young woman named Fey and the lines of hardened resolve engraved along her mouth as she had turned and left. It was a strange, striking kind of steely fire that she didn't think she had ever glimpsed before—not in anyone else and certainly not in herself.
After that, no matter where she went, Lana detected Mia, or at least traces of her presence, everywhere—as though a blindfold had been forcibly removed from her eyes. She often caught her walking through the hallways in confident strides, many times exiting the professor's office when she arrived, or arriving just as she exited, the same determined expression on her face. And in the minutes before class began, it was often Lana in one corner and Mia in the other, both of them occupied in reviewing notes, before the rest of the waves of bodies began to pile in. And she heard people talking, students and professors alike, about the irrepressible first year who looked set on becoming a lawyer at any cost.
Lana continued to wonder.
She never took the initiative to approach Mia on those days when they were alone together in class, but it was something like five office visits later—about three weeks—that introductions were forced upon her regardless. It carried the unmistakable feeling of inevitability about it.
The professor was late when she entered, but sitting with gaze fixed rigidly in front of her in the chair before his desk was the unmistakably form of Mia Fey, long dark hair draped over the back, intermingled with the length of her beige muffler.
Lana stood awkwardly for a moment, beyond the other woman's detection, before speaking.
"He's not here?" she asked. Her face flushed immediately after the words escaped from her mouth—that much was obvious.
It didn't seem to bother Mia. Her head turned upwards, looking back towards Lana, and a frown ghosted her expression, before settling back into neutrality. She nodded. "I've been waiting here for about..." She checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes now." She eyed her. "Sorry. Is what you need to talk to him about important?"
"Well..." Lana began. Was it important? Compared to the stony expression on her classmate's face, she suddenly wasn't so sure. "To me, it is. I wanted to ask for help researching something for my term paper."
"That sounds like it'd be pretty important, no matter who it is." Mia paused. "He might be avoiding me. My apologies."
"I'm sure that's not the case," Lana said. "And even if it was, that's no way for a professor to act."
Mia laughed. Lana blinked at first, then felt herself relaxing, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth of its own volition.
"I think it, you say it," Mia said, her own lips quirking upwards at the corners. "That's handy. He might listen to me if it's coming out of someone else's mouth."
Lana couldn't think of anything to say to that. She settled in the plainer chair at the side of the room, close to the bookshelf.
"You're Mia, aren't you?" she asked. "Mia Fey?"
"That's right," Mia answered. "And you're..."
"Lana Skye."
"That's a good name," she remarked. "Easy enough to remember. And it suits you."
It seemed intended as a compliment. The room fell back into a quiet—a quiet that seemed to strike Mia as comfortable, as she was clearly occupied by thoughts that had nothing to do with Lana. Lana, for her part, watching her, found the old ember of curiosity that had ignited when she had first caught the tail end of her argument with the professor begin to flicker actively again.
"A lot of people talk about you..." she began.
"Oh, really?" Mia raised an amused eyebrow.
"No, no," Lana said quickly, momentarily flustered. "Not in a bad way. You just make an impression."
"I've heard of you before, too, actually," Mia said. "Though I was never any good at remembering names. But I've heard of you. It's hard not to. You're the top student in the class."
"The way I hear others telling it, that's you, actually."
"The way I hear others telling it," Mia said, "I practically had a doppelganger in there with me the past three months and never noticed it, so we might as well split the title between us."
Lana smiled.
"So if you don't mind my asking," she said, "what is it you keep coming here for? I've seen you talking to the professor before. It sounds like you're dealing with something urgent..."
"Urgent?" Mia echoed. "Probably not from his perspective. But it is sort of personal."
"You don't have to tell me," Lana said. "I'm sorry. I know it's none of my business."
Mia studied her for a long moment, and Lana shifted briefly with the prickling unease that came with suddenly becoming an object of intense scrutiny. Finally, Mia seemed to judge her trustworthy, and spoke.
"There's a man—a lawyer—I've been trying to get into contact with," she said. "The problem is, he'd rather not talk to me if he can help it. So I've been trying to use the resources here to get closer to him, but it's an uphill battle."
"What's his name?" Lana wondered, intrigued. "Maybe I've heard of him."
"Marvin Grossberg."
Yes—that name was familiar. He was perhaps the head of what was perhaps the top defense firm in the area with a long history. They had read some of his essays in class. The sheer of volume work was impressive enough that Lana had heard him cited more than once as the most impressive defense attorney in the region until Gregory Edgeworth had appeared on the scene.
But that was all she had, and it was nothing that any student couldn't find out with five minutes of quick research.
"Why do you want to talk to him?"
Mia gave a dry laugh. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."
Lana opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut short by the sound of a door opening and weary, plodding footsteps. She straightened her shoulders back to attention and saw Mia mirroring the action from the corner of her eye.
"Ms. Fey," he said, not bothering to keep a note of exasperation from his voice. "I apologize, but I do have an appointment scheduled with Ms. Skye about scholastic matters, but I'm afraid..."
"It's all right," Lana broke in. "I won't take long. She can talk to you as soon as I'm done, right?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she detected Mia flashing an appreciative grin—so fast that she almost missed it, and she was certain that the professor had.
Once their respective business was taken care of—Lana had a part of the previous day's lecture clarified and Mia had a strained reassurance that everything reasonable was being done on her behalf—they continued talking as they made their way back to the dormitories, where Mia lived. And Lana couldn't shake the feeling that, although they had just properly met in the past half hour, there was a comfortable, worn sense that came with speaking with Mia Fey that made her feel as though she had been there for years, a lifetime—mysteries and all.
With Alex and old memories successfully dismissed for the moment, Lana turned her attention back onto the phone.
"Maya? Thank you for waiting."
"Oh, no!" Maya answered quickly. "Don't worry about it! I'm just glad I managed to reach you... ha ha, my hands were practically shaking when I was trying to dial..."
Lana leaned back, recalling experience with equally skittish interns and fresh employees.
"I've heard so much about you."
"You, too!" Maya exclaimed. "I can't believe Nick didn't tell me sooner that he met you, let alone defended you!"
"Nick?"
"Oh! Phoenix, I mean. Phoenix Wright. We call him Nick. I mean, I do."
Lana smiled. Mia had been funny about names as well—not seeming to hold any particular shame at approximating when her memory failed to accurately match them with someone's face.
"But seriously, that jerk..." Maya chided, in spite of his absence. There was wry laughter contained beneath her words. She sounded a little more at ease. "It really hit me like a truck when he mentioned it and I remembered hearing about you before, but I'm sure you know how he is..."
"He does strike me as a little oblivious," Lana admitted. "But well-meaning."
Maya chuckled. "Yep, that's Nick, all right. Well, like I said, I'm just glad I managed to get a hold of you now! Better late than never."
"Absolutely. I'm glad to hear from you."
"Yeah, you too!" Maya paused. "So, um... well..."
"Yes?"
"I... um... well, I feel sort of dumb," Maya admitted. "Now that I've called, I can't seem to think of anything to actually say..."
"Well, that's--" Lana began. Natural, was her intention.
"No, give me a second, I'll think of something!" Maya protested. "I'm not as airheaded as that. Okay," with a deep breath, "So... you were Chief Prosecutor, right, Lana? That's really amazing! You know, for being Mia's sister, I really didn't have any clue what was going on with the district or any of that stuff..."
"Not many people do, honestly," Lana said. Trying to drag Mia's descriptions of her sister back from the recesses of her memory, she added, "And I'm sure you had your own things to worry about."
"Still, it doesn't make me a very responsible citizen, does it?" Maya said.
If we're talking about my time as Chief Prosecutor, Lana thought, it's not as though I have any room to criticize about responsibility.
"But, being Chief Prosecutor... so, hmm..." Maya dragged the sound out, audibly searching for some way to connect that subject to another possible topic. "That means you worked with Mr. Edgeworth, right?"
"Yes, I did."
"Wow," Maya said. Then, more slowly, "Mr. Armando too...?"
It took Lana a moment to connect the name to the news reports that had surrounded it, but when she did, she spoke with a softened voice.
"No," Lana said. "I was already dismissed when all of that happened, so I never had the chance to meet him personally."
"Oh." Maya sounded vaguely chastised. "I'm sorry. I just heard about all this not too long ago, so I'm still not sure what all happened when, exactly..."
"That's all right. Honestly, sometimes I'm not sure myself."
"Well, that's that," Maya said. She hummed briefly, then clarified, "But you still talk to Mr. Edgeworth, right?"
"Yes, sometimes."
"Um..." She took another deep breath, signaling a breaking down of reservation, and said in a near rush: "Is he doing okay? The last time I saw him, when he was talking about the Prosecutor's Office and stuff, he seemed really, really stressed. Nick's useless when it comes to knowing about that, of course, so I was wondering—I mean..."
"I don't work there myself any more, obviously," Lana began.
"I'm sorry!" Maya said. "I didn't mean to..."
"No, it's all right. I do still have contacts there, after all—in fact, he's one of them. But if you want to know my opinion..."
"Y-yes?"
"The main problem is that the public doesn't have faith in us—them, now, I suppose—anymore. You've seen a lot of it unfolding yourself, as Mr. Wright's assistant, I'm sure, the troubles the prosecutors seem to keep falling into each year... in Mr. Wright's first year alone, he nearly wiped out the establishment with Chief Gant and Prosecutor von Karma, after all." It seemed prudent to avoid being too specific with events that happened beyond that.
Maya sounded thoughtful. "Yes..."
"But amidst the shuffling and the attempts to save face, there's a lot of people who need help who are falling through the cracks. Miles—Prosecutor Edgeworth, that is... he's working to make sure that that doesn't happen when he can help it."
"It reminds me a lot of Kurain," Maya said.
"Kurain?" Lana repeated.
"Oh, just, you know... having to deal with bad public opinion. It's not a big deal, just something that struck me. But I feel badly for him. It must be hard... and it's a shame. It's not like it's even really his fault... or yours."
"I don't think it's quite that simple," Lana said. "Since there are still people dealing with the repercussions even now. But... he's doing his best to move forward. I am, too."
"Yeah!" Maya exclaimed with renewed enthusiasm. "Nick said you became a defense attorney! That's really amazing. I bet you're more professional about it than he is. Honestly, he can be so... really, if you could give him some pointers about running an office, it might make my job a little easier..."
"Maybe," Lana said, laughing quietly. "You called just as I was in the middle of reviewing some paperwork, actually. I don't blame him for avoiding it when he can."
"Oh, I didn't realize I was bothering you! Even though I'm calling during Nick's office hours, too... well, not that it matters much, since he never actually takes cases, he's always too busy sleeping or watching television or... or chasing after Mr. Edgeworth or something..."
Chasing after Miles?
"Anyway, I'll let you go. But, um..."
"Yes?"
"Would you like to come up to Kurain sometime?" Before Lana, slightly astonished, could answer, Maya quickly went on, "I'd really like for us to meet face to face, and..."
Lana waited.
"And... and I'm sure Sis would, too."
If Lana had felt initial reluctance to the suggestion, it evaporated with that.
"I'd love to."
"Great!" Maya exclaimed, sounding more relieved, somehow, than outright happy. "I'll call back and we can work something out, okay?"
"Yes, that sounds fine."
"And, um..." If such a thing as a verbal fidget was possible, Maya had clearly mastered it.
"Is there something else?" Lana asked.
"No," Maya said, quickly. "It's just, well..."
"Yes...?"
"...you really remind me a lot of her."
Lana startled. "Maya..."
"So, I'll see you later!" Maya finished, voice booming through the phone in an unnaturally high pitch. She seemed determined to leave the conversation at that, and hung up the phone.
As Lana followed in suit, withdrawing from the replaced receiver to return to the papers Alex had left, she felt a familiar heaviness, like an old, nearly-forgotten ache, set upon her hands in its place. She'd heard the comparison many times before, but it sounded as wrong as ever to her—even moreso, coming from one of the last remnants of her family.
I'm nothing like Mia.
They had both marveled at how much they had in common. Mia never did tell her the full story—it was only in the aftermath of her death, with Phoenix Wright's emergence onto the scene as her successor, that the details finally began to etch in—but they had both lost their parents, and they both had, if the other's stories were to be trusted, excitable younger sisters. And they both had the same drive to carve out unlikely successes within the city limits.
Everyone else saw the similarities, too. Fey and Skye, at the top of the class—anyone could have sworn they were sisters. Born with the same brain. Practically sharing a face. You wanted to stay on their good side—even the authority of the professors seemed to waver before them.
Lana found the attention somewhat discomforting, honestly—but it was hard not to be at least a little flattered when her classmates greeted her with a mixture of awe and empathy in their eyes. And she did think that it was an honor to be considered on the same level of intelligence and determination as Mia. She really did.
But the longer Lana knew her, as the months dragged on and they talked together and studied together and even covered for each other when sicknesses or family emergencies arose, all she seemed to be able to see, with deeper and deeper clarity, was their differences.
She wasn't perfect. She'd always known that. But in some of the moments lingering by Mia's side—following in her shadows, it felt, at times—were the first occasions she found herself thinking that she was a coward.
Mia's assault on the faculty never wavered. In fact, it only seemed to increase with intensity, arguments escalating behind closed doors. Lana began to hear various members of the staff, from tenured professors to student assistants, muttering under their breaths about Mia Fey, her unreasonable demands, and her relentless temperament.
None of it seemed to faze Mia. In fact, their stubborn resistance towards acquiescing with her demands only seemed to drive her further forward.
Lana was at a loss to think of any instance where Mia was willing to give ground once she had made her mind up—not only in her strange task of being placed in contact with Marvin Grossberg (although she had the increasing impression that the requests Mia was making went beyond that—into riskier territory, dangerous territory, territory that had their professors avoiding eye contact and adjusting their collars to disguise a faint tremble of the hand), but in any disagreement of fact or principle.
There had been a day when she and their professor had engaged in an ideological argument right in the middle of class, before the eyes of everyone else. Mia was unflinching, standing and declaring bluntly that the attitude he was expressing in regards to potential clients and contractors—in the structure of a business model—was wrong.
Lana had stayed silent in her seat, watching the spectacle with the rest of the student body. There was nothing she could say. She had nothing to say—not in the face of something so uncontainable. Not for Mia, and not for herself, who was deluded enough when she had first stepped into this lecture hall of five hundred to think that she was the one who was different.
"I'm worried about you," Lana told her once—the day after finals, when most students were chattering excitedly about vacation plans. "Do you even sleep anymore?"
Even Lana had been distracted all day, thinking about being able to spend proper time with Ema again at last—and maybe even get to introduce her to Mia. Those plans had been quickly dashed by Mia herself. Her last test had wrapped up two days previous, she had said, and yet she was still chained to her desk, poring over reports and taking laborious notes, with apparently every intention of remaining on campus over the summer and continuing whatever it was her personal inquiries were.
Mia sighed and set her pen down. In the flickering light, Lana could make out the word suicide scribbled in her handwriting across the article in front of her.
"Not all people are like you, Lana," Mia said.
Lana blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Mia chewed briefly on her lower lip, gazing at the wall across from her rather than meeting Lana's gaze. It was clear that she was finally giving voice to ruminations she had been sitting on for a while. "It's just like you said—you're here to make a difference. To be together with your sister, working for a better tomorrow—you know, that's a noble thing. Most people are here because they've heard law pays well. You're a good person."
"And you're..." Lana began, bewildered.
"No," Mia interrupted, "I'm not the same as you. I'm not here to help anyone."
It never even crossed Lana's mind that Mia might be here for personal profit as well. It was out of the question. But it was also beyond her to see what it was that she was trying to imply.
"Then, what are you doing here?"
"I'm..."
Mia hesitated. She always did, whenever this came up, and even though Lana still remained unprivy to the specifics, but the unspoken signals were enough for Lana to understand that perhaps she would never be privy—whatever demons laid in Mia's past and her motivation now were that heavy.
But this time, Mia's eyes drifted slowly to the wall to Lana—and she abruptly shook her head, Lana had the impression more at herself than anything.
"There's a man in this city who tore my family apart," Mia said, flat disgust dripping from her words. "And he's still living on the fat checks he was rewarded with for it. I have to find him and see what he gets what's coming to him."
Lana stared.
"You mean, to take revenge...?"
Mia turned towards her friend fully with a jerk of motion that could almost be mistaken for a flinch.
"Yes," she said after a moment, sitting back, a strange, unamused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "That's what it seems to come down to."
They stared at each other for a moment, before Lana crossed the room and sat down in the spare chair. Mia followed her movement with her gaze. She seemed to be waiting for Lana to react. For the first time Lana could remember, she even seemed uncertain.
Lana thought for a moment.
"I don't know," she said, thinking out her words as she said them, "if that was supposed to make me run away screaming or not, but it fell a little flat. I'm sorry. I still think you're a good person, too." Another pause. "You'll have to endure it."
Mia burst out laughing—raucous, uncontrollable laughter, and Lana found herself unable to keep from joining in.
"You really are something," Mia said, once they had both calmed down. "When I find him, you'll bring him down for me in the courtroom, won't you, Lana?"
"Of course," she said, looking at Mia, whose eyes were burning with that fierce determination that had so struck her the first time they had met—eyes that could only have been tempered by hardship. It hit her then, in a sudden rush of power that never could have come from aspirations as vague as making a better tomorrow.
That's why I'm here.
The graves were quiet.
Maya led her some distance from the village proper. The breeze, which had felt welcoming upon arrival, turned a touch more aggressive the further they treaded through tall grass and over sloping hills. The heightened sense of isolation was almost intoxicating; Lana hadn't realized they had arrived until Maya stopped and knelt before them on the ground in a thoughtful, withdrawn sort of silence.
Lana moved next to her. Mia was buried beneath a simple white headstone, inscribed with her name, the span of her life, and the simple phrase beloved sister and friend.
And next to it, in similarly humble trappings, was another that bore the name Diego Armando.
She murmured, gaze fixed on the latter: "I didn't realize..."
"It's okay," Maya said, following her gaze and smiling faintly. "There's probably hardly anyone who knows. Mr. Armando didn't seem to have any living relatives, so..."
Lana set the flowers down against the engraving of her friend's name. Maya watched her, but her eyes were distant, focused elsewhere.
"It wasn't easy convincing the elders," Maya said slowly, her fingers twisting around a length of hair. "Even being the successor of the Fey line. A lot of the elders thought, given what happened with he and my mother, that it was blasphemous to even think of interring him in our sacred ground."
"You convinced them, though," Lana said. "It must have been hard. I'm sure they're both grateful to you..."
Maya nodded, but then kept speaking, slowly, her train of thought undeterred. "Some of them didn't even want Sis to be here, either. Because she 'abandoned her heritage', they said, as Misty Fey's eldest daughter. She attached herself to the outside world... so that means she doesn't deserve to rest here anymore..."
"That's terrible," Lana murmured.
There wasn't much love lost between Mia and the 'village elders' even when she had been alive. She had always spoken of them with an undertone of bitter contempt. They clung to irrational traditions, she told Lana once, not out of real respect for them—but because they represented the old power that came with old ways. And, of course, it was easier to lead by reading instructions from a collection of dusty scrolls rather than actually regard the acolytes as individual human beings with individual hardships and individual needs.
It was probably those same traditions, revolving around a concept so intangible and easily manipulated as honor, that had driven Misty Fey from the village and from her children in wake of her disgrace.
"It was actually Aunt Morgan who ended up persuading them, you know. For Sis."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Maya glanced up towards the sky. "I'm not sure why, even now. Maybe she was just trying to assert her power over the council... because she wanted to become head of the clan so badly. Maybe it was to keep me off guard?" She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Or maybe she even did care about us, a little, in her own way. I don't know, really."
"It must be frustrating."
"No..." Maya said. "Well, yes. I was so upset at first, I... I really lost my head for a while, crying and raging, everything." She took a deep breath, and rose slowly back onto her feet. "But I need to learn how to deal with these things as an adult—as head of the village. The elders have their reasons, too. And you know, in the end, Mr. Armando isn't even really in Kurain ground. That's the only way I was able to convince them. This is right on the outskirts of the village..."
Lana stayed quiet.
"What am I saying?" Maya laughed weakly. "It's so stupid, isn't it? That it ended up coming down to a loophole like that. It's wrong... I can't even get my own thoughts straight."
She laid a hand on Maya's shoulder, who continued speaking words she had probably needed to speak for a long time.
"I'm luckier than most people, I know that. I've still gotten to talk to her a few times since then. But you know... lately, her presence... it's hard to explain, but it's fainter now. It's a little lonely, I guess, but I think it's because she's more at peace now, with him. So it's okay... and it's about time I learned how to stand on my own."
No one is that strong, Lana thought. Even your sister had to reach out to someone. There were times when even she was unsure.
"Can you tell me a little about her?" Maya asked, abruptly. "I didn't get to talk to her very often back then. When she was in college, I mean."
Lana hesitated.
"She... opened my eyes to a lot of things."
She was hoping to come up with something more than that—a proper eulogy, something to properly console Maya with, still struggling with the loss.
"I learned so much, being with her. I was very lucky to have known her. She was an extraordinarily good person—not like anybody else."
"I know that much already," Maya said, smiling. "I guess she really did make the same impression on just about everyone she met." Then her expression faltered, giving way to a lonely wistfulness.
"I wish... I wish she was still here."
At that moment, Lana wondered how she could have seen Maya, not even an hour ago, and carried the impression that she had been a little girl.
"...so do I."
"She admired you a lot, too," Maya murmured. "She said you helped her remember what was really important. The importance of tomorrow. I didn't really understand what she meant at the time. I probably still can't really put it into words, but..." She looked contemplative. "I do think I get it a little better now. Especially when I look at Pearly..."
"You've done very well," Lana said. "She would be proud of you."
Maya's shoulders jerked briefly, and she looked back at her for the first time they had arrived at the grave site. Her eyes were overbright. Lana knew that she hadn't heard the words coming from the mouth of Lana Skye.
That was fine. It was what she needed.
As for herself, she would keep moving forward and maybe, just maybe, learn to really believe in the promise of the future again. Her hand tightened on Maya's shoulder; a moment later, her arms were around the younger girl in a quiet embrace.
It was the least that she could do, she thought, for Mia's final epitaph.