The tree is still uncomfortably warm to the touch, but under Maisy's fingers the Deeplurk insignia glows faintly green. The boughs of the tree rustle.
The memory begins to move again.
Those frozen cicadas and maple seeds fall like rain, thunking against the ground, though not everything in the air is dead. As the grass surrounding the tree starts to wilt, more cicadas land and then spring up into human form, each one of them like Pocket with glittering wings, carnelian eyes and skin like a clear night sky. A dozen or more, moving with purpose — catching what's falling, trying to usher students away from the area.
"Z, you need to get everyone here and you need to go," Pocket appears, leaping up from the ground as she so often does, and taking young Zelda Gunzenhauser by the shoulders. "It isn't safe here."
Zelda hardly seems to hear her command, pushing past her, toward the maple. "Tink, what's happening? The tree—It's—"
"I—I don't know," Pocket says, voice sharply taut. "It's okay. We're going to stop it. We have to stop it. It'll be, like, okay." Her voice cracks, unconvincing and unsure. "We'll activate the sigils. You just have to go!"
But Zelda doesn't leave. She watches as four magimagicicadas wordlessly turn and approach the great old tree. They move past the students bearing witness to this memory as though they aren't even there — because they aren't, not really.
A small one walks right through Maisy, barely more than ten-years-old, the little one stretches his hand up as high as he can reach trying to touch his steaming fingers to the Deeplurk symbol. On the opposite side, the tallest of the gathered beings, their form glowing at the edges like smoldering embers, extends their orange-red fingers toward the Wildgulch symbol. Another, body blooming with little pink flowers, raises their hand to the Thorntrail symbol on the west side. And at last, hobbling forward, an ancient magimagicicada who radiates a sharp, raw charge, bends her crooked form down and parts her lips in front of the Mothgarden symbol.
Before they can do what they've set out to do, the memory stutters to a stop. On the ground, everything's frozen, but up above, the tree continues to wilt, shedding maple seeds and leaves.
MEMORY: What Went Wrong
The memory begins to move again.
Those frozen cicadas and maple seeds fall like rain, thunking against the ground, though not everything in the air is dead. As the grass surrounding the tree starts to wilt, more cicadas land and then spring up into human form, each one of them like Pocket with glittering wings, carnelian eyes and skin like a clear night sky. A dozen or more, moving with purpose — catching what's falling, trying to usher students away from the area.
"Z, you need to get everyone here and you need to go," Pocket appears, leaping up from the ground as she so often does, and taking young Zelda Gunzenhauser by the shoulders. "It isn't safe here."
Zelda hardly seems to hear her command, pushing past her, toward the maple. "Tink, what's happening? The tree—It's—"
"I—I don't know," Pocket says, voice sharply taut. "It's okay. We're going to stop it. We have to stop it. It'll be, like, okay." Her voice cracks, unconvincing and unsure. "We'll activate the sigils. You just have to go!"
But Zelda doesn't leave. She watches as four magimagicicadas wordlessly turn and approach the great old tree. They move past the students bearing witness to this memory as though they aren't even there — because they aren't, not really.
A small one walks right through Maisy, barely more than ten-years-old, the little one stretches his hand up as high as he can reach trying to touch his steaming fingers to the Deeplurk symbol. On the opposite side, the tallest of the gathered beings, their form glowing at the edges like smoldering embers, extends their orange-red fingers toward the Wildgulch symbol. Another, body blooming with little pink flowers, raises their hand to the Thorntrail symbol on the west side. And at last, hobbling forward, an ancient magimagicicada who radiates a sharp, raw charge, bends her crooked form down and parts her lips in front of the Mothgarden symbol.
Before they can do what they've set out to do, the memory stutters to a stop. On the ground, everything's frozen, but up above, the tree continues to wilt, shedding maple seeds and leaves.