A certain Guest review staying in my mind helped me with a bunch of ideas for this chapter, it was a small nitpick, but it certainly gave me some motivation.

…In other words, I tried to cover up a few holes with shit that I pulled out of my ass…

I promise I did research!

Chapter 6: An Interlude

The talk between Animusphere and Arkham.

A red-haired man sat in front of a fancy desk; his light-yellow eyes bore directly into Marisbury's own. The two sat in silence as the guest took in a breath, preparing to tell his story.

Arkham Rigel began his story with a question.

"You were once the closest to Aria, were you not?" He asked, and when Marisbury nodded in response he asked another question. "How much did she tell you about herself?"

It took a few seconds for that question to sink in, and when Marisbury truly thought about it, he knew nothing about Aria that she had told him herself. Everything he knew about Aria was through his own observations.

The only exception being that one conversation they had.

"I met her through my wife." Marisbury said. "Even then, she didn't know much about Aria even during her passing."

"I suppose that makes sense, our family tends to keep ourselves secret, even to the rest of the Association."

That sentence stuck to the adult Animusphere. Visibly perking upwards, showing his interest. "Family?" He asked for clarification.

"I suppose you were going to find out either way." Arkham sighed. "Aria Astrid is my cousin, however neither of our parents' family names were Astrid or Rigel."

The red-haired young man leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms. "Our 'family line', so to speak, are a bunch of thieves who leech off the success and accomplishments of other families. The sole exception to this was Aria's great grandfather."

Arkham looked up in thought, as if remembering something. He hummed in thought, "What was it called again?" He asked, though not to Marisbury. When he finally remembered he snapped his fingers. "Symbiosis, that's the term."

"Our family survives, and even thrives off of multiple symbiotic relationships with other mage families. Nothing that we make are even ours, their things that we ripped off from other families. Has Aria ever told you about her flames?"

Marisbury nodded. He could vaguely remember that she had mentioned once or twice about the "source of her family's flames."

"It's complete bullshit." Arkham said simply. "The only connection her flame has to the Count of Monte Cristo is that our ancestor deluded himself into seeing such flames, and he was so mesmerized by it that he tried to copy it. I only just learned that it was because of him that our family has split apart in such a confusing way."

This is the truth behind the family that Arkham and Aria hailed from.

Obsession is a drug to them. Once they find a goal in life they will not stop until they accomplish that goal.

For a split second a look of nostalgia crossed Arkham's face. "My father used to say that our first ancestor was one of the Founders of the Clock Tower… He's never shown any proof, but he wasn't the kind of person to lie about something like that."

He let that thought hang in the air for a few more seconds. Those seconds were filled with pure silence, until Arkham shook his head and leaned forward, folding his legs and placing his hands under his chin. "What do you know of Masamune and Muramasa?"

The question came out of nowhere, and if Arkham hadn't mentioned his family's past obsession with "imitations" then he would have thought that the question had no correlation. Now, however, it seemed that connections were falling into place, it was only a matter of time before Marisbury could see the full picture.

"You'd have to specify." Marisbury spoke, his calm glaze contrasted with Arkham's tense glare. "Do you mean both of them individually?"

Arkham shook his head. "No, I mean of one specific legend, where the two held a contest on who could make the better sword."

"I have only heard bits and pieces of it in passing." Marisbury said, not exactly knowing where the man in front of him was going. "Both created swords of the finest quality, however while Muramasa created a sharper blade, Masamune is seen as the winner because he created a sword with the concept of benevolence."

It was an extremely dumbed down version of a story, one told by a man who only heard it in passing. Aria had mentioned it once when young Olga-Marie had asked about the sword.

She had said that—

Finally, something clicked in Marisbury's mind. Arkham caught note of this when he saw the white-haired young man sit up just a little taller. Assuming that Marisbury was understanding him, he finally explained his point.

"The Juuchi Yosamu is said to be a sword that could cut through anything that is in its path. I believe that the sword that Aria holds is an imitation of that sword."

"In what way?" Marisbury asked. While he did not reject Arkham's statement (it could make sense to him), the problem was that he needed clarification, so he asked for it. "How could there be an imitation of something that doesn't exist?"

The story of Masamune and Muramasa was merely just that, a folktale, a piece of fiction. The two swordsmiths were alive during different centuries, it would have been impossible for the two to know each other as student and mentor.

At Marisbury's question, Arkham leaned back with a shrug of his shoulders. "That is exactly what I've been trying to figure out, and normally I wouldn't even give a single concern to something like this. If the sword was merely just a rip off made by some old man obsessed with Japanese sword smithing, I would not be here.

"But you've seen the sword in action too, I know you have. That sword is not an ordinary sword, and it's very presence is too much to be considered just a Mystic Code."

However, when Arkham finished his sentence, he shook his head. "No, that's not right. I believe that the sword that Aria wields is on the same level as the Jeweled Sword or even a Supreme Mystic Code."

Mystic Codes are items that are wielded by mages in order to assist with their magecraft. Some Mystic Codes could be considered the peak of a lineage's magecraft. The Twelve Lords have their own mystic codes, with their own designation being known as the Supreme Mystic Codes.

Is it on the same level as a noble phantasm? Marisbury thought for a second, with how Arkham seemed to be implying something important about the sword, there is a chance that it could be.

However, Marisbury could not say for certain, as he himself has not seen a genuine Noble Phantasm in action.

"I don't know." Arkham said unexpectedly, surprising Marisbury.

"I don't know what it is that Aria wields, but all I do know is that if any of the other families–especially one of the Twelve Lords–found out about the truth behind her sword it would not be good for her."

That brings Marisbury to the question that he had before this entire conversation. "Why are you determined to find Aria?"

Arkham sat back with a sigh, his head looking upwards towards the ceiling as he gave his answer, "I wish to know the truth behind that sword."

I wish to own that sword. He thought inwardly, keeping his true intentions hidden behind an exhausted frown.

That conversation would have ended there; however, something still lingered in Marisbury's mind, there was still something not there. Something that he needs to understand, something that hasn't been answered.

"I would like to ask you a question." Marisbury began, he didn't know whether this would be a good decision, but he spoke anyway.

He continued when he saw that he gained Arkham's attention.

"What do you know of the Counter Force?"

The red-haired mage raised an eyebrow. "The Subconscious and Unconscious will of Earth and Humankind? I know a bit about it, not any more than anyone else, well, besides the ones on the top of the food chain, they definitely know more than anyone else."

So Marisbury told him of that talk he had with Aria years ago. Of her obsession with the Counter Force. When he finished his tale, Arkham stood still like a deer in headlights. His mind was trying to reorganize everything he heard, because to him it felt like he was hit with a waterfall.

"Heh…"

Finally, after a full two minutes of silence, he began to chuckle.

"Hah.. Hahahahah!" That chuckle turned into full blown laughter.

"I knew she was insane, but I didn't think she was this insane! Hahaha–!"

He continued laughing for the next minute, and when he finally stopped laughing, he found it hard to breathe. He punched his hands to his chest and coughed.

"Jeez, that was good." He took a few deep breaths to reorient himself.

Marisbury merely sat still during the whole ordeal, waiting patiently for Arkham to explain what he found so humorous.

"Well, I don't know jack shit about what Aria's true motives are, but I can theorize one thing."

Marisbury listened intently. "And that is?"

"With how you phrased it, I highly doubt Aria would give herself to the Counter Force for this world.

"But I can say with some certainty that the Counter Force will be much more active during this decade."

In other words…

Between the years 2003 and 2010, a Counter Guardian will appear.

"How can you say for certain?" Marisbury asked.

Arkham took a second, closing his eyes and thinking to himself. However he couldn't put it into words, his words held no evidence or proof behind them.

All he could say was, "Just a feeling."

Arkham still held some modicum of humanity. A mage who threw away all his emotions for their goals would not be so dedicated to a cause because of "just a feeling".

So Marisbury relented finally.

"I don't truly know where she went." He said, pulling out a map of a certain city from one of his desk cabinets.

"However, the very last record of her appeared within this city, three years ago."

The map showed a decently sized city, one located in Nevada.

A metropolis called Snowfield.

Five months later.

It had taken Arkham five months to prepare before he went on his way to Snowfield. Under normal circumstances he would have only taken one month to prepare.

But if Marisbury was right then this is the closest he's been to finding Aria in years.

Just for her, he's going to go all out.

It would be an insult if he didn't, he thought. They were family after all.

It was nightfall when the plane arrived, and he was astonished by the view of the city as he left the airport.

The vibrant lights looked like they lit up the night sky.

He understood why most mages were so against modern technology, but he was not one of those mages.

This sight was beautiful all on its own, and all he wanted to do was revel in its aesthetic. However, that wasn't what he was here for.

Might as well book a hotel for the night, he thought. Luckily for him the airport wasn't too far from the city, so he waited only a few minutes at the bus stop and entered one that had arrived.

The ride itself wasn't long either, only taking around ten minutes, it would have been shorter were it not for the traffic. He supposed he should have expected something like this. The night had just arrived, so most people were just going back home from work.

The bus had arrived at two stops prior to his own. However, while he was paying attention to the scenery, he was not exactly paying attention to the location.

What he did know, however, was that the stop he left on was located northwest of the Seventh City, where the City Hall is located.

This area was northwest of the Crystal Hill Casino Hotel. It's a small district that holds most of the hotels in the area. The residents of these hotels are mostly just office workers.

One hotel in particular had something different about it, not known to the rest of the citizens.

It wasn't the hotel itself or even the workers, rather, it was because of one of the residents.

As Arkham walked in he fished his wallet out of his coat pocket, his other hand being used to pull his luggage.

As he walked to the reception to book a room, he saw a strange white color in the corner of his eyes.

He turned his head to see a strange woman walking out of the hotel. Wearing white clothes with a weird skull motif. As he turned, he saw another figure next to the woman, a younger boy with rectangular glasses and messy shoulder-length black hair.

"Sir?" He didn't even realize that he had already walked up to the receptionist while his attention was captured by the strange woman.

"Ah–" He snapped out of his funk and turned towards the receptionist with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that."

The receptionist, a young woman, only gave a small smile in return. A smile that said she was all too familiar with his reaction.

"Don't worry about it, you weren't the only one." She spoke.

He had pulled out his credit card from his wallet and handed it to her. "Room for one?" She asked and he nodded in response.

"Who was that?" He asked her, trying to stop his head from subconsciously looking back.

"The kid's name is Beryl Gut, or something like that. The woman hasn't given us her name." The receptionist responded, while looking through what rooms were available.

"She hasn't? Then how is she here?" A second after he asked, he began to think that maybe it was a stupid question.

"She doesn't live here, the kid does. Don't ask me how that's allowed, I didn't know it was allowed either until they came along."

She handed back his card and a pair of keys, the numbers 508 labeled on a piece of paper connected to the keys.

"You'd think that more people would be curious about a woman white off-brand gothic attire." He said as he grabbed his card and the room keys.

That got an odd reaction from the receptionist, who tilted her head. "White?"

And that, in turn, got a confused response from Arkham. "She was wearing all white, I thought that kind of… out of place attire would get a lot more attention, even in a place like this."

"She wasn't wearing white, she had dark clothes on."

"...What?"

The conversation halted for a second. Arkham stood still with a surprised look. It almost looked like his brain was rebooting.

"You… didn't see the white clothes?"

"She wasn't wearing anything white." The receptionist sounded as confused as Arkham. "Gothic? She was wearing casual clothes."

"Fine, hold on–" Arkham rubbed the temple of his head. "What did you see her wearing?"

The look she gave him would have been borderline insulting, almost as if she was a second away from saying 'are you messing with me?' However, that changed when she– most likely– thought she should humor him.

"Long-sleeve brown shirt and dark blue jeans." She said simply.

That was way too specific for it to just be a trick of the eye. Even if he somehow got the color wrong, he saw an off-brand goth, she saw a woman in casual attire.

"Hah…" He released an amused huff. "Sorry about that, maybe I'm just tired. I just got here all the way from Britain, after all."

The receptionist gave him one last weird look, before a gaze filled with slight sympathy.

He grabbed onto his luggage and walked away towards the elevator, but not before waving back to her. "Thank you, by the way."

She gave a hesitant smile, and a small wave back. "Thank you for choosing us!" She said back, having to raise her voice as Arkham had already walked past the corner to the elevators.

His mind wanted to say "magecraft", but he couldn't exactly say for certain. If he labeled every weird thing as magecraft then he would go insane. So, he made a decision right then and there.

He's not going to confront her, but merely watch her from the sidelines. He'll see then if she truly has any connections to the world of magecraft.

He truly had no idea what he was getting himself into.

(A/N)

Holy shit, the last chapter had around 11 thousand words, my newest record. I'm glad, but I feel as though I got too personal with the chapter though. Not that that is exactly a bad thing, but I'm the type of person who is really sensitive over things that I'm attached to.

I tend to ignore the faults of things that I find myself attached to emotionally, so while I know it's not a personal attack my mind will definitely think it is.

If something you enjoy gets criticized (or even insulted) you would be prone to defend that thing, wouldn't you?

However, please do not hold back on any criticism (or even nitpicks) you have, they are very much appreciated.

Sorry for the short chapter, just wanted to not lose my funk. Anyways, I'll be seeing you all next time.

-Much love

An Idiot on the Internet.