Circuit of Clay

Chapter I

The first rays of the dawn began to cast their gentle glow as he emerged into the room, his movements fluid and poised — each step a measured cadence that seemed to echo the tranquility of the approaching morning; a soft, iridescent light played upon his shimmering hair while the floor creaked beneath his feet, the locks catching the faint hues of the early sun like the finest strands of green. An array of vibrant flowers and lush vegetation adorned the corner, a verdant touch that carried with it a lingering scent of fresh blooms and earthy fragrances.
 
His slender fingers glided over the wooden surface of a nearby table, their sensitive tips finding purchase upon a simple band of rubber — the texture smooth against his damp skin as he retrieved the item with an almost ethereal grace. He drew the object around his tresses, the elastic material yielding to his touch the moment it came into contact with his verdant locks. Each twist and turn revealed his seamless mastery over the act, his mane falling in cascading waves before he gathered them up into a neat, high ponytail; a few strands, reminiscent of rampant vines, framed the right side of his visage, adding an air of untamed beauty to his otherwise serene countenance.
 
'... how peaceful.'
 
The rustling of the leaves provided for a soothing backdrop as he began to make his way across the room — gaze drawn to the magazine placed on top of the nightstand — the publication lifting itself into the air with but a single gesture of his hand. His knuckle brushed over the ornate bindings of various manuscripts before he proceeded to settle onto the edge of the bed, his lithe frame sinking into the mattress, legs crossed beneath the flowing fabric of his robes; orbs of emerald, deep pools of contemplation, perused the articles and images that depicted a world of innovation and progress — a world that is vastly different yet remained tethered to the whispers of nature's legacy.
 
'Possible dispute between USNA and Indo-Persian Federation, Japan's escalating tension with Great Asian Union, another product from the FLT, military use of hard-light technology, the possible application of- oh?' His gaze danced across the words printed on the page, his mind absorbing the diverse array of information detailing the latest potential breakthroughs in the direct utilization of the so-called 'convergence magic' techniques. 'Hmm... the Saegusa and the... Itsuwa, was it? Looks like their project is going to end up in failure once more. A bit unfortunate, though the idea behind their concept appeared to be promising at the first glance; admirable, but foolish in its execution.'
 
Of course, it was more of a guess rather than an absolute certainty, considering their track records and all that. It's not like he was an expert on matters related to that particular field or anything. Still... he couldn't help but to find the entire situation... ironic, for the lack of a better word.
 
In the end, for all their attempts, they — and by extension, the rest of these 'magic technicians' — have yet to take even the first step in understanding the essence of what they are truly trying to achieve. Although, if he was not mistaken, a paltry few did manage to come close to performing an actual magecraft... or at least, the magecraft as he knew it.
 
'And then, there's that Maheśvara,' he mused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 'It is a good thing that he has yet to become a threat... but when, or if he finally did...' A sense of anticipation flickered in his mind, the thoughts fluttering like a passing breeze before his eyes began to glide over the remaining text. 'Well, it's not like I hate the notion of fighting...'
 
While he was not about to initiate any unnecessary conflicts, he couldn't deny the fleeting excitement that brewed within... a subtle exhilaration that came whenever the prospect of battle loomed on the distant horizon. It was a small thing... one that is imperceptible yet remained noticeable all the same.
 
After all, for all their faults, the Child of Clay was — at the core — nothing more than a weapon made by the Gods, an instrument of the Divines... one that spoke of precision and of lethality. And being modeled after that very same existence — an existence that was not his own, but one he found himself inexplicably tied to — had granted him a peculiar fascination with the dance of combat, a fascination that transcended the mere pleasure or the thrill derived from such a struggle... among other things.
 
Was it a boon or was it a curse? He honestly didn't know the answer to that question...
 
Still, to think that She would be able to broker a deal with the world itself... even he was surprised by the idea when she had first come to him. Then again, considering her identity, perhaps such an outcome was to be expected.
 
'Now... to see if all those efforts paid off.'
 
His eyes shifted towards the window, to the flourishing foliage and the colorful blooms that adorned the small garden below — emerald meeting gold as his gaze locked with a beast coated in white; he allowed the magazine to drop, setting it back onto the nightstand with the same grace he had displayed throughout his every action. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, an unspoken conversation that went between animal and man before he rose from his bed, the fabric of his robes flowing as if responding to an unseen breeze.
 
'Mmm... two hours left before she arrived,' his feet traced a path through the floorboards while the wind whispered through the leaves, their song a tranquil serenade that harmonized with his thoughts — the voice that came out from his mouth akin to a gentle stream. "Well, I suppose it would be best if I begin preparation; she's not one to appreciate a delay, after all."
 
He could feel the plush texture of the carpet beneath as he glided towards the door, his serene countenance reflecting the golden hues of the dawn filtering through the window; the light danced upon the wall, creating with it an image reminiscent of morning dew. His gaze went towards the tag hanging by the entrance — the patter of his steps echoing throughout the room. It swung gently — a pendulum of identity — its surfaces smooth against his skin as his fingers brushed against the object, a slight frown marring his otherwise perfect features; the letters, carefully crafted in elegant strokes, spelled out a name that felt foreign on his tongue.
 
'... it really doesn't suit me.'
 
He held the tag for but a few moments longer, its earthly sheen mirroring his ethereal gaze. Chains of silver curled around his wrist before he proceeded to open the door, its handle a cold contrast to the warmth of his hand.
 
'Still, to emulate the use of 'magic' by the way of technology,' a chuckle — soft and resonant — escaped from his lips as he stepped into the promise of a new day, his silhouette merging seamlessly with the embrace of the unfolding dawn. 'Truly... mankind never ceases to amaze.'