{Kay Faraday

Kay Faraday had wanted to say and do many, many things ever since she had learned of the legacy her father had supposedly passed on to her. Not all of them were realistic, of course, and quite a lot of them were no more than childish, overdramatic musings. However, some had still managed to become reality—"for I am the Great Thief, Yatagarasu!"

Paired with a hair-flip and a secretive Mona-Lisa-smirk, that had been one crowning achievement. Another had been using Little Thief to fight for the truth…the first time. Placing the calling card down in the center of the main office's desk. Leaping past security lasers, cartwheeling out a window. One thing she had not anticipated, though, was this.

"Abort mission," she screamed to herself as she collapsed onto the ground, neatly tucking into a ball and somersaulting down the terrain.

"Thank God I took that gymnastics course," she whispered to herself—or at least as much as she could whisper when panting, air in and out of her lungs forcing her vocal cords louder. Wincing slightly at the uneven surface she rolled over, she heard the telltale click of a gun in passing and felt her heart quicken dangerously. These people do not play nice.

She tilted her body sideways, changing her trajectory, giving a start as a tranquilizing dart landed inches from her still moving body. Planting her outward-facing heels into the smooth concrete slabs, she managed to slow enough to make her motion from roll to run flow evenly. Her long legs switching rapidly, pacing quickly, her training paid her off again, taking her past the inner gates as they took motion with a groan—just as the outer gates slammed shut.

"Damn."

Sprinting up to the iron bars, she cursed herself inwardly, kicking furiously at the cold metal and wincing at the returning jolt of pain. Her leather gloves dug into the poles, the controversial sheepskin oils inside giving just enough friction to begin a slow climb. Nowhere near fast enough, however—the two guards, heavily armored, bulky, and carting hi-tech weapons, had caught up. Neither seemed even partially winded, like Kay did—although that was perhaps because they were nowhere near nervous. After all, it was their home territory. Their weapons. All of that—against one girl not even past twenty-five. They had the advantage, and that was known fact.

However, adrenaline was a driving factor. She managed a grin when she thought back, her father, his words—a cornered animal is the most dangerous.

Despite the numb feeling running through her fingers and into her wrists, her ankles twisting far back as she dug them into the slick surface, her teeth gritted as she pulled herself up. Placing her hand onto the spike atop the gate—barbaric much?—her mouth formed a silent O as the spear tip dug into her palm. However, as the only solid hold, it was the only chance she had for survival.

She swung her leg up, hitching her arm to the right as another dart sailed past her. The visors on her assailant's heads, while shielding them from a variety of light spectrums and other projectiles, obviously did nothing for their aim.

One. More. Push.

She struggled, faltered—however, with one last strain and a crow reminiscent, not of the elegant three legged raven, but a wounded wolf back from the brink of death, she pulled herself over. Her clothing tore and her hair snagged onto the wires on the tall sign above her; however, she still fell back onto the concreted, feet first, hands a close second, distributing her weight evenly and lessening the force. Palms stinging, she analyzed the downhill slope in seconds and, instead of sprinting that would no doubt cause a speed too quick for balance, tucked herself back into a ball and rolled down again, keeping herself as straight as possible. There were times like this, still high from the adrenaline rush but relying on the slope to take her, when she wished life was just as straightforward as a getaway down a smooth downward angle.

A stray rock in the path sent her sprawling off, knocking her straight into a gnarled tree trunk a safe distance from the imposing gray building. Her back smashed against it hard, jolting her again, another injury to the list—not that her entire body didn't already feel numb. She landed head up, facing the stars that had turned hazy through the leaves. Metallic blood wormed its way into her mouth, and she thought of and dismissed any danger that might befall her in that position. All that was there—her and the sky. The air was stale. It smelled like possibility nevertheless—one that had come and went, but might still be regained.

She had postponed her duty as the Yatagarasu for long enough, trailing as Mr. Edgeworth's assistant for who-knows-how-many-years before finally conceding Gumshoe had his job, she had hers, and hers was not with her friend. From the moment she had finally reacquainted herself with Mr. Edgeworth—seventeen years of age—to twenty. And now, three years later, after countless training and careful study of potential targets…

Another failed mission. She had been so close. And now, she would mount a bike three blocks away from the main corporation and ride home, shred her newspapers so she wouldn't have to read a headline on her failure, and go through the motions until another mission came up. One she would mostly likely botch again, just as she had the last couple.

Her mouth opened, as of her own accord, speaking to her words that were not her own. Kay Faraday, the Second Yatagarasu.

"…I need to find an ally."

No, she thought back to herself in almost backhanded response. I am my own island. I need no one.

But that was not true, and she knew it. Again, she thought to herself, pressing hard. No time for second-guesses or false confidence. Otherwise I betray myself, the Yatagarasu, and my father's trust. I need an ally.

But that's still not enough, the little mini-Kay in her head responded. Mr. Edgeworth is your ally. Gummy is your ally. Both support you. But yet you have still failed. It has to be something else.

"No, not an ally," she agreed to herself, again out loud. She thought of sitting up, but dismissed it. She'd looked at the stars plenty of times with her dad. He had claimed once that he would imagine himself soaring among them, that it would feel natural to him, more so than the ground. That it would clear his head and help him think. Kay had once upon a time asked how the sky felt better than the ground. He had laughed cryptically and replied that, if he were an animal, he would think of himself as a crow.

How long had it taken her to figure out what he had really meant?

A shadow winged across the sky—a bird in the night, tilting and uneven, one wing rising above the other in a crosswind. Kay would later think of the bird as her omen. She would admit the impossible fantasy that it was a crow—but she would retain that it was, nevertheless.

The words tasted like defeat, coming out of her mouth. But, as always, it was defeat tainted with hope. Dangerous, bright white hope that would destroy her if false but save her if real.

"Not an ally. I need to find…the rest."

Ahaha! Hey, Edgeworth.

Kay had often wondered why Shih-Na, Calisto Yew, had not been caught. It occurred to her, then and there, that it was perhaps because that if she fell, two other legs either propped her back up or fell with her.

The Yatagarasu has three legs. Do you know why that is?

"I need to find…my legs. My wings."

"I need to find the others."

{Ema Skye

Slamming the door of her nondescript car shut furiously, Ema banged her way through the door and up the slowly inclining ramp. Past the security guard office, past the slowly improving plaques—temporary meeting galleys, detective-prosecutor conference rooms, offices that got better the closer she got to the twelfth floor. She took her strides slowly, one after another, relishing the ache that started somewhere past the halfway mark up.

If only, she thought, to prolong the time it took to get the twelfth floor. Boss's office. Klavier Gavin, rock god and prosecutor extraordinaire.

Scowling fiercely, Ema dug into her pack, fishing through clinking glass containers chock-full of chemicals before her fingers finally met something that crackled and bent under her touch—her plastic bag of Snackoos. Yanking it out and cramming everything else in before tucking her case file neatly under her arm, she stuffed her hand in and brought it to her mouth. Almost instinctively, her teeth bit down.

MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH

The sound of chewing that had become her telltale trademark rang through the hallways as she scowled, roughly pushing past the stream of rooms that were growing thinner by the minute. Finally, she paused at one last conference room. The corners of her mouth turned downward.

On normal days, she would push past this room. Ignore it, pretend like it had never happened, like a fundamental part of her had never happened.

But that day was not normal. And that was what led to Ema Skye, gazing down on the room that held the legendary conference of Joe Darke.

Down a couple of feet came the elevator that Ema knew by heart—and, eventually, Damon Gant and Lana Skye's joint office. Or what was once said office. Ema knew now it was storage on one side and a meeting room on the other. Completely forgotten—either that, or just tactfully ignored.

On most days, Ema would follow that same lead. But today was not a normal day.

She had gotten a letter from Lana today.

Ema scowled again. She rarely heard from her sister anymore—after being recently released, she had been sent a letter from the board stating shortly that she could no longer practice law in America. Lana had set up permanent residence in Europe, marrying Jake Marshall, regaining her career as a prosecutor, and taking over Ema's old apartment just as she herself left.

Whoop-dee-doo.

Meanwhile, Ema had moved back to America to follow her dream and pay back her debts. What a childishly naïve child she had been—Phoenix Wright disbarred, Miles Edgeworth with a teenage new assistant, failing the forensics test. She had lost every sense of her purpose—she could do nothing to help those who had once helped her, because they either already had or were beyond help. And on top of that, there was not even a single shred of personal gain for her.

Reaching the twelfth floor, she let her feet take her by instinct and absentmindedly knocked on the imposing wooden door of the office in front of her. Mahogany swung open as Ema held out the case file in one hand, balancing her Snackoos under her arm as she deftly switched the two and trying to reach into the packet with the same hand. "Here's that case file, you glimmerous fo—"

Miles Edgeworth stood in the doorway of Room 1202, High Prosecutor's Office, arms folded defiantly and eyebrow arched, confused expression plastered on his face. Ema's hand still held out the case file, mouth frozen in an O, hand bent at an angle toward her precious snack that was starting to make her wrist hurt.

"…I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth."

Staring blankly away, she grabbed the door and turned to close it, dropping the file altogether and stuffing handful after handful of Snackoos into her mouth. Her face was most definitely turning red—her stress eating was such a bad habit. The bittersweet taste of chocolate bloomed over her mouth, the satisfying crunch at the end curbing off the edge of her anger at herself.

Edgeworth gripped the handle from the other side, keeping the door open a crack.

"Ema, wait."

A flash of the eyes and a firm line for a mouth that indicated worry, and that was all it took. Ema dropped the doorknob as Edgeworth pulled it all the way open, gesturing for her to enter. Ushering her onto the couch, he sat beside her, picking up a cup of tea on the table and nodding toward her own. His first sentence was pathetically blunt.

"I'm not good at this kind of talk."

Ema bit back the retort that rose automatically on her tongue—"that's nice, Mr. Edgeworth"—after all, she owed him too much. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, opening her mouth. Nothing came out. She narrowed her own eyebrows at herself, turning to the window as she tossed another Snackoo onto her tongue before placing her bag neatly onto the table.

"...Lana wrote me today, you know?"

"Oh?" His tone was as flat as a question could be, conveying the minimal confusion needed for any question and little more.

"It was the first time we had communicated…in half a year. And it was so…informal. Like nothing had happened, in half a year."

"Half a—wait." Mr. Edgeworth froze his teacup, inches from his lips, eyebrows raised and narrowed simultaneously—possible only for the magenta-clad prosecutor. "Six months. Didn't you return to America—"

"—Yeah, six months ago," she replied quickly, wincing inwardly at her own rudeness. "I've been writing her regularly, you know, at every new development, about how everyone we knew has turned out and who everyone I now know is…and it just would have been nice to hear her say something, you know? I had preferences, at first, of course—I couldn't take any more pity for failing that test and Mr. Wright was always something of a subject I didn't want to touch, like not talking about it wouldn't make it real." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her superior's hand tense on his handle. For a portion of a second, she wondered how in touch to Mr. Wright he was now—then dismissed the notion, continuing on her long-winded rant. "But…after a couple of months, it stopped hurting, I stopped having a preference, and it would have been nice to hear anything from her, you know? And now, all of a sudden, I hear from her—but what do I hear from her? It's all about what's happening on her side—which isn't selfish of her or anything, since all of my letters have been completely about what's happening on my side…but still, I sent those before I heard from her. If I had heard from her before, I would have replied—I care about her too. And she barely even mentioned me. It was like I hadn't written to her either….and it hurt."

Mr. Edgeworth was completely quiet, not speaking or moving, still stoic, a statue, teacup still close to his pursed lips.

"…While you were in Europe, I faked a suicide."

"Huh?"

For ten single seconds, Ema was caught by surprise at both the sudden topic change and the topic it changed to. She hadn't known about it, which, now that she thought about it in greater detail, was kind of expected—after all, it would naturally be avoided, and she hadn't been visiting him very often. Collecting herself and surveying the situation from a detective's point of view, she looked at cool, collected Edgeworth. He looked as though he had not changed, even a little bit, since she had last seen him—impeccable cravat, perfectly pressed magenta suit, and an expression that could quail the strongest men, the sturdiest alibi. It was hard to imagine that he would ever lose it. Hard to admit he would fake a suicide.

"Mr. Edgeworth, what happened?" That first awkward barrier out of the way, the questions poured through. "Where did you hide? Who knew? What did you do? How long? What happened when you came back?"

"Let me answer that, one after another. You remember at the end of your sister's trial, right?"

"What about the end?" Shoving a finger under her chin and staring off into the distance, she absentmindedly reached for her tea. Mr. Edgeworth was one of the people whose more presence could take the edge off of her Snackoo cravings. "There was so much going on…I…"

"What Damon Gant said…to me. Perhaps you don't remember. I don't even know if you were there, it's been so long, and what he said was what I was focused on. But I think I saw you."

"I was there. He said…he said you were just like him. You can't take down criminals by yourself. And someday you would understand."

"That is correct." He finally moved, placing his tea down and leaning toward her. It was an Edgeworth attempt at sympathy, and she took it with a smile. "I needed time to think. I was…troubled. That I would end up carrying that same twisted legacy."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Edgeworth .You're too nice. I met you. Anyone would support you. Mr. Wright, me, his assistant, Maya, my sister, anyone who knew you well enough. They'd all say it. Besides, that's not you."

"Isn't it, though?" His gaze shifted two inches, over her shoulder, toward the window on the wall. Looking back, she saw the skyline rimmed with gold and gray, sun peeking through clouds onto iron buildings. Ema nodded at the glass behind her, thought back to the fact, analyzed the distance from office to ground yet again. Finality, release, in 3.34 seconds. "That's the way I was brought up, wasn't it?"

"Von Karma…" Ema took a sharp intake of breath. She had heard the story behind it from Phoenix before she had left. She faced Edgeworth again, abandoning her view out the window. "What did you do?"

"I ran. I ran to Germany again, to my beginning with the Karmas. I wanted to talk to…my sister. Franziska von Karma. She had no doubt heard of his death…I needed someone who understood the shock I was feeling, the utter betrayal. And she, who was in the same household as me, who was in almost every way of the word was my sister, would be the only one who understood." He shook his head, clearing thoughts. "But she was gone. I talked to only one of the servants in the manor. The oldest maid, the only one there. All the others had been fired. I talked to Greta…" He blinked yet again, slowly. "Franziska had abandoned the manor. She had abandoned her family, her father, the legacy of the von Karma name. I felt proud of her. But she had gone to America…to avenge me." He managed a wry smile. "I had no idea what to feel. But I could not talk to her. I lost my resolution to tell her. I don't know…" He smiled. "The prosecutorial journey was one I took by myself, and I felt like she should too."

"At any rate, I stayed in the von Karma manor, with only Greta who knew. Gumshoe knew too. He found my suicide note before anyone even got there, and caught up to me before I got the airport. It was on…odd…confrontation, but in the end, I agreed we'd stay in touch."

Ema thought back to Gumshoe, bumbling and clumsy manner, straightforward and blunt terms. It was hard to imagine them working together that well. It was hard to imagine them as friends. Nevertheless, she supposed that it was something that he got used to with time.

"At any rate, I talked to a variety of von Karma's colleagues, old acquaintances, people at the Prosecutor's Office in Germany…and I swore them to secrecy. A lot of my friends knew, actually. Just not in this country."

"…I guess that makes sense. So, when did you come back?"

"…It took, I think, about a year. A little more, a little less. I don't know. When I came back…there was a period of time, a couple of the worst days of my life, when my friends didn't understand, abandoned me…and then, finally, they knew. Even my sister, stubborn wild mare…started understanding. My trip had changed not only myself, but everyone I knew. For the better."

"…Thanks, Mr. Edgeworth, but why are you telling me this?"

"Tell me, what has your sister been saying about that case with Damon Gant?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. But when we bring him up she still turns kind of cold."

"Then maybe she needs time to think too."

Patting her shoulder in the most comforting gesture Ema had ever seen him perform, he gave a small smile. She returned it, but wryly. Edgeworth dropped his expression, narrowing his eyes once more.

"But am I correct in thinking that is not the only thing troubling you?"

"…You're right." She gave another small, slightly wistful smile. "I can't hide anything from you, Mr. Edgeworth, can I?"

When he didn't reply to the comment—which, now that she thought in retrospect, sounded a bit like she was trying to rile him up—she continued. "It's me…failing the forensics test. I just feel like I've failed my dream, my purpose…but I still might have kept my old personality, my naturally positive outlook. That is, until I realized Mr. Wright had been disbarred."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Again, his hand clenched around his cup at the mention of the ex-defense attorney's name.

"…I guess I realized that not having your dream, your job, your purpose…could break everything you thought of. That when you lose your purpose, it's hard to find a new one…and even then, it doesn't fit. Like trying on the wrong size of clothes." She chomped another Snackoo, cracking whatever made it crunch between her teeth. "That's kind of what being a detective is like…I couldn't identify the feeling. But after I talked to Mr. Wright—Phoenix, I mean—I started to realize. Our ideals are always the same, even after we lose our purpose…but our personalities, and the way we get to our ideals…they change."

"You're right." His mouth was firm. "Wright has changed…perhaps too much."

Ema shot him a glance. His hand was trembling, and he looked as if he was going to be sick. It was only to be expected—he had known him a hundred times better than she had. Softly, she stretched out her hand.

"…Maybe he's taking the time to find himself again too."

"You're right." A small smirk, an upward turn of his mouth, and Ema was surprised at the way it made an impact on his entire face. "…What is your ideal?"

"That's easy." Her voice was quick and sharp. "To use my skills, my science, everything I'm good at—to use these to help find and protect the truth." Her scowl returned. "Unfortunately, I can't use my science with my job because of all these stupid regulations…and the law has so many gray areas. It does a pretty decent job, considering the difficulty. I just wish sometimes, it would do something more."

Miles Edgeworth blinked and smiled before standing up, striding toward his desk, and resolutely yanking out a drawer. From the little crevice he produced a thin slip of rice paper—texturized, made almost exclusively in Asia—with a black insignia stamped on. The shape of three wings, a sphere, and two legs, with a stylized border.

"You remind me of another girl I know, who very recently, told me something very similar." The smile on his face grew wider. "The difference is that she already has a way to accomplish it while you do not."

Ema felt her own shoulders sag considerably, as if the weight depressing on it had been intensified. Great. Others, Edgeworth's assistant no doubt, had found their way to their success, their key, their purpose…and Ema was simply broken. If she had no purpose, what was she?

However, instead of replacing the card into his desk, Edgeworth walked a wide circle around his desk and helped Ema up with one hand, the other offering her the card. As she stood up and he led her toward the door by hand, he smiled.

"She does, however…need help. And perhaps you can be the one to offer that. After all, a mutual goal is incentive enough. And I think she'll remind you quite a lot…of, well, you."

The way he said it, though, made Ema think twice. It was then that it dawned on her—when he said 'you,' he did not mean Snackoo-cramming, sharp-tongued, short-fused Detective Ema Skye. He was talking about the optimistic, enthusiastic, smiling girl that she had once possibly known herself. That had once even existed.

He bent over and picked up her fallen case file, surprisingly still intact in the middle of the commonly-used hallway. Placing the card in the metallic tab that held the cover in place, he winked, smiled again—Edgeworth really had changed, hadn't he?—and held it out to her.

"Think it over." The door closed.

Ema stood in the hall for what seemed like at least fourteen eternities before it dawned on her that she had forgotten her Snackoos on the coffee table.

"Then again," she murmured to herself, plucking the card off the top, flipping it over to reveal flawless cursive writing, and pushing it into her pocket. "Perhaps I don't really need them."

{Maya Fey

"I do," said a voice from miles away. Was it her? It didn't seem like it. Now that she thought of it, it wasn't her. Someone much more deserving of the position, much more honorable, much more…there…spoke. "I take up the power of the Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique. I place my faith into the practices of Ami Fey, my ancestor above all, and call upon both the wisdom of the dead and the past to guide me toward possibility and the future."

A solid, wooden, smooth-polished cane entered the palms of the girl.

"Rise, my dear."

As one, when the newest master rose, the audience rose with her. Maya stood, shaking out the stiffness in her limbs. The welcoming of a new master into the village was a ceremony of great rarity and importance, and it was considered an honor to be one of the Mystics great enough to be invited. Maya herself did not clap, frozen solid in her space, relishing the finality, the end, of the moment, of an age.

"Kurain Village greets you…"

Mystic Myrtle, the oldest of the Feys, raised her quicksilver eyes up to the Master.

"…Pearl Fey, the newest Master of Kurain Village."

Pearl nodded solemnly, placing the butt of the cane-sword onto the polished tile with a bang. It was short and concise, but rang through Maya's ears for an eternity.

"...It is an undeserved privilege that I have to stand before you."

It was tradition, the same words every master said at every initiation. Pearl, however, glanced for the briefest moment at Maya as she spoke, unspoken continuation apparent—and everyone knows it.

The celebration swirled around Maya like a wave, a multicolored ribbon of conversation and clinking glasses trying to wrap her up and sweep her away. She stood firm, however, stoic as stone as she sat cross legged behind the folding mat. In her lap was a slim glass of weak alcohol. Her hand trailed down her leg, dipping lazily into the drink. The room pounded with her heart.

Maya's head throbbed as she tilted her head back, delivering her swirling pinky from her drink to her mouth. Bitter, harsh cold. A grin dotted her mouth as she listened to Pearl's voice, muffled and gracious, directed to guests. This must be what a hangover feels like, she thought, lolling her head sideways. Maya wished she had been brave enough to drown her sorrows. In reality, all she had done was sit under a waterfall waiting for a miracle-until time had either ended or no longer mattered. The coward's way out. Drinking grape juice when you promised wine.

Nick drinks grape juice. The thought presented itself to her as her head turned and she looked out the gap between folding screen and wall toward the Greater Magatama. Green emerald winked back. Maya's fingers fumbled and found the base of her neck, where her spiritually charged charm would have been.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she closed her eyes, tried to forget, one thought leaking through the barrier.

I wonder what Nick is doing. The idea was bitter, neon blue and gray, the shades of a forgotten attorney, abandoned legacy.

I wonder if he, too, is trying to forget…

Nick. When was the last time she had talked to him? Weeks, months, years? He had become a stranger to her, which was painful in and of itself-however, he had become more than that. He had become a stranger to the world.

There were days, five-minute phone conversations, Trucy or Apollo interruptions, when Maya just wanted to scream at him, yell at him, slap him, demand an answer. Where have you gone?! Where has Phoenix Wright, the lawyer, Nick, my friend, gone?! When did you come and replace him with a shell that can barely look at me, let alone talk to me?!

She hated staying strong for people. Especially for the strongest.

She hated staying strong for Nick. But she didn't exactly have a choice.

She had to wonder, though, when their friendship became hard work.

Standing up, Maya came to her decision-she could not stand one second among all these people crowing over Pearl's gain and, unknowingly, her own pain. Slipping between the cracks of Elders, Maya heard Pearl, miles away-"Mystic Maya?"

That's right, she thought bitterly, striding out the door without turning or replying. And that's all I'll ever be. A Mystic. Never a Master.

And Nick, it's all because of you.

Maya's favorite training place was sitting cross-legged, arms folded, in front of a waterfall. Lighting a single scented incense stick-pine, barely there but still strong enough to be present despite the fresh scent of running water- and immersing herself into the cold water that turned colder at night, Maya took a breath and suppressed her shivers. She loosened every muscle and was surprised at how much warmer she felt all of a sudden. How much more natural, as if she was just another ripple in the waterfall. A cold fold of silky white water. Gone in a single heartbeat.

Why had she given up the Mastership, anyway? That's right, she remembered, scolding herself. Given up. You offered it to Pearl of your own accord. You have other things to live for.

Then why do I feel like I've lost everything?

Not everything, she thought back to herself. Just...a fundamental part. You've lost a fundamental part. I won't pretend it will ever heal. But eventually, I will get used to it.

Betrayal, a voice hissed in reply. You've abandoned the legacy that Misty died for, that Mia gave up for you. How can you call yourself your mother's daughter? Look at the people whose lives you have wasted—Mr. Armando, Misty, Mia, Iris, Morgan, Pearl, even by extension Dahlia, who is your cousin and human as much as she is evil. No life should be wasted. And yet you have sold your soul and seven lives you have no right to sell, for one. Phoenix Wright.

Maya pursed her lips, inhaling the calming pine and choosing to tactfully ignore the last name. Yes, but I'm also doing this so no more lives have to be sold. With this move, Morgan will finally be calmed. And with that…no one else will have to fight. No one.

Liar, the voice said yet again, another insult. There will always be more villains. And Dahlia herself has admitted it is not Pearl that Morgan cares about. It is her branch of the family. And if Pearl keeps the promise she made to you, she will soon pass a decree that states any branch family directly connected, by sister or mother, to the current master can become the successor—whoever has the strongest spiritual power in the direct family. If it is your daughter, then Morgan will strike again.

"You don't know that for sure," she whispered to herself defensively, willpower pushing her thoughts into sound.

Exactly. You don't know that for sure…your way, either.

Standing up resolutely, Maya grabbed her cloak, looking around before lifting her head to the sky. She had always thought her mother and sister might have been watching her from the heavens.

"I'm tired of wondering," she said conversationally. "Let's go figure things out."

"Solitary Confinement Cell Number 3," she whispered at the front door, nodding at the guard. He didn't look up from his badge, which he was polishing with an old rag. Maya was painfully reminded of Nick.

"Civilians not allowed. This is Solitary Confinement. Play elsewhere, girl…" He looked up took in Maya's features. His eyes narrowed slightly, then widened in realization.

"Aren't you Phoenix Wright's—?"

"Cell three."

After the incident with her mother, Morgan had been moved back to a safer correctional facility—the detention center had been deemed too open, and she had been put back into emptiness. No other doomed to talk to beside her. Maya didn't know how she'd stand it—Maya would have gone crazy. The words would have exploded out of her, and she would have ended up being one of those cackling prisoners with sunken eyeholes, hanging jumpsuits, babbling at thin air because it would be the only thing listening. Another debt, another 'what if' that she now owed Nick for.

Yet when she walked into Solitary Cell 3, she was surprised at how normal Morgan looked. Sitting comfortably in the purple armchair next to the small tea table, she set down her china carefully, the pewter tea tray bigger than the entire table, balancing precariously, at odds with the fine china marked with small magatamas. A small miniature cabinet held a vase of roses and a simple picture frame with Pearl inside. The bookshelf in the back held scrolls of animal skin, cracking at corners, parchment books, and more recent textbooks. Every single one was embroidered with the swirling charmed crest of the Kurain Village. The red brick walls, while beginning to crumble slightly, were still locked neatly intact.

The only thing that showed the distinction between the cell and a regular living room was the barred window, feet high, and the wall-length gate that took up one entire side of the room. Looking out it, Maya was faced with the faces of the others in Solitary Confinement. If she squinted diagonally, she could see the purple suit of Kristoph Gavin.

"My Pearl, I—" The china cup clattered to the carpeted slate-colored floor, not quite shattering, as Morgan's calm demeanor disappeared. Instead of her secretive sideways glance, she turned to face her head on, her eyes shifting so that only the whites turned to face her, ghostly.

For a split second, it was a stand-off, niece on aunt. Maya was so very tempted to channel Mia just to get away and give her aunt a hard time.

Morgan, however, did not react. She simply turned away, picked up her tea, and continued sipping, hauling her chair around so she would not have to face Maya. As Maya collapsed onto the carpet, she thought about what to talk about. There was nothing to do except keep going forward.

"…The Master Initiation Ceremony was today."

Morgan's head titled, and Maya caught a single facet of her face over the wing of the armchair-the corner of a stern, trembling mouth that flickered between a sadistic, hysterical smile and a harsh frown. Then her face turned, her tone was calm, and Maya was staring at the back of a chair again.

"I trust the celebration put you in good spirits."

"Hardly." A wry smile grew on Maya's lips. She felt like she was talking with her aunt again, small talk after a hard training, not motive in a dark prison cell in solitary confinement. "The celebration continues as we speak. I ditched it."

"Huh." Morgan took a sip of tea. "You are definitely different. Many people would kill to be the Master at the Master Initiation Ceremony."

Morgan did not often use figures of speech. Maya knew she mean what she said. People would have killed to be the Master. And Morgan was one of them.

"Oh, but I wasn't the Master there."

"What?"

Maya recoiled slightly. Morgan had spoken up sharply, like a bullet to the heart, almost immediately. Nevertheless, she replied, trying to sound defiant. It occurred then to her, in solitary confinement next to an angry Morgan without restraints, that her aunt could attack her and managed to cause serious damage before the guard got inside and stopped her.

"…Pearl is the Master of Kurain."

The chair scraped against the hardwood under the carpet—it was status alone that got Morgan Cell 3 and with it, small creature comforts—as the chair turned. Morgan's face was downturned, buried in her tea cup. A small, almost timid slurping was the only noise. Almost every prisoner was listening in on their conversation.

Of course. Inwardly, Maya grimaced. They're in Solitary Confinement. They must talk among themselves. They must all have heard about her motive.

And now, they have all heard how it was in vain.

Almost immediately, another, almost traitorous thought entered her head.

Morgan didn't deserve to have all her hard work done for something that was going to happen anyway.

Then again, she reasoned to herself. If Morgan had not done that hard work, there was a high probability she would not have met Nick. And if that had happened, then Pearl would never have become the Master. But then Mia might have been the Master instead, or just introduced her to Nick anyway, and then that might have caused Morgan to start…

The circle made her head hurt, so Maya abandoned the chicken-and-egg-type paradox and observed her aunt more intently. Morgan's face was still carefully hidden in her teacup, and when she spoke, it was careful, as if confessing a fault.

"…Thank you."

"Don't. I wanted to keep that position badly, as much as you wanted to give it to Pearl." Maya's voice began to shake, thinking about what she had given up and what for. Roughly, she wiped her tears on the book of her sleeve. Not for once, she longed to channel herself into that floating nothingness between spirit and reality. "But…circumstances."

It was not necessarily full redemption, or complete gratitude. But it was enough for aunt and niece. Morgan put down her teacup and leaned forward, searching Maya's eyes. Finally, she leaned back. Maya wondered what she had seen.

"…This friend of yours. Mr. Phoenix Wright."

Maya saw Kristoph Gavin's head turn at the mention, practically his only movement through the entire conversation. Light glinted off his sleek hair.

I wonder what he is thinking, too…

She turned her attention back to her aunt as Morgan waved her hand at the guard outside the bars who was trying to look as if he wasn't eavesdropping. He jumped into motion, fumbling with the lock, and Maya knew, as always, that the prisoner once again called the shots to symbolize when the meeting was almost over.

"…You are willing to sacrifice this much for him?"

Maya's mouth flew open, shock apparent. "How did you—"

"Talk to him." Morgan's voice was one Maya knew well, reminiscent to that of scolding a medium caught for ditching training. Authoritative, yet kind. How long had it been since she'd heard the tone and believed it to be sincere? "Talk to him now. It's too late for me, but the world will do better if more of us forgive."

She called Phoenix from the pay phone at Solitary Confinement. Through one window wired in a crisscross pattern to keep the glass in place in case of any emergency, she could catch a glimpse of Morgan's slight nod and Kristoph's withering glance.

"Hello, you've reached Phoenix Wright's cell phone."

Maya bit her lower lip. Was it Phoenix's answering machine talking to her, words without meaning placed on a tape and available to everyone? Or…

"You've caught me at a good time. Who is this?"

While Maya physically almost felt herself sag in relieve, her nerves stood on end. Had it been a month? Her voice came out a high-pitched, excited squeak that made herself cringe.

"Nick?!"

"Oh…"

Maya felt a smile blooming across her face. He always recognized her, and it gave her the feeling that, in a way, they still knew each other well. That, and the feeling she got just hearing his voice again. Steady and sure, it always seemed to give her light in her darkest time, that ever-hopeful tone.

"…Who is this?"

Time froze. Maya's sense flickered, switching into overdrive, hyperawareness—her clothes, rough on her skin, the tug of her hair beads on her head, guards glaring at her quizzically, light overhead assaulted by buzzing insects, smell of antiseptic. Just as rapidly, they dipped, senses numbing, and nothing existed but the phone in her hand and the other end of the line.

When she spoke, her voice was nowhere near as incredulous as she felt, instead a monotonous deadpan.

"You don't recognize me, Nick."

It was not a question. It was a fact Maya was stating to herself, making herself believe was real. Phoenix was merely an eavesdropper, a visitor, a barrier between her and her own thoughts.

His voice cut through her thoughts too harshly, like a chainsaw used to slice butter.

"Okay, who are you? And why are you calling me Nick? Only my closest friends still call me that," he added coolly, placing emphasis on 'closest' and 'still.' Maya knew it was just because he didn't know who she was—that he would never actually say that to her—but in that moment, they sounded all too real.. What had she been to Phoenix? A friend, or just an annoying sidekick, dead boss's little sister?

"So I would appreciate it if you wouldn't—"

How long had it taken for him to not recognize her by voice?

"Goodbye, Nick."

She tore the phone from her ear, the tears in her eyes blurring objects into kaleidoscope colors and mixing them in her eyes, a spiral of gray defeat turned sour. Dimly, Maya heard Phoenix on the other end, the tinny rasp that occurs whenever the phone is already too far from your ear to matter. At first, it was a pause, the sound of Phoenix breathing as Maya tried to slam the receiver onto the jammed clip. Then, suddenly, there was a cry of realization.

"Maya?!"

At the mention of her name, Maya couldn't help but laugh. It came out a strangled cough, almost unidentifiable. There was a fumbling sound on the other end.

"Oh, gosh, Maya, I'm so sorry, I—"

The tab went down with the receiver, and Maya gave a grim smile. She looked into the window, at Aunt Morgan, and shook her head. No for failure.

I came to a decision. The Miles Edgeworth I knew had died a long time ago.

"I could say the same for you, Nick," mused Maya aloud, tracing the pay phone with her finger. As if in reply, almost immediately, it rang. Jumping and recovering from her temporary shock, she picked it up. Her friend started without preamble.

"Listen, Maya, I really am very sorry. It's just that it's been a weird day—I talked to the judge again about the Jurist System today and I think—"

"That's it?" Maya's choking laugh threatened to make a reappearance. "You just say 'I'm sorry' and expect me to act like absolutely nothing just happened?"

"Not really…" There was a sigh. "But—"

Maya cut him off again, beginning to feel suspiciously like she was losing it. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been, trying to talk to someone who's given up? I feel like I know the 'now' you, the new Phoenix, like a person I've vaguely heard about or a stranger I saw just across the street, just once, a flicker of the new Phoenix on your old face in one of your worse moods. And that, even more horrifying, you're okay with becoming this new person. You've given up, like I said before. Like I'm trying to fight hard enough for both of us, which I can't."

"Maya…I'm…" He stopped, continued speaking in a more careful tone. "…I…I'll try to make it up to you, I swear."

"How? By talking on the phone until your mouth goes numb?" Sorrow replaced with anger, her foot began to tap impatiently. "Nick, that's not gonna cut it. You'd better look me in the eye and mean you're sorry before I even consider forgiving you."

Maya considered adding her customary 'and buy me burgers,' but decided against it. She was, for once, completely serious—despite how much she sounded like a whining child.

"I know," Phoenix replied unexpectedly. "Look behind you."

Maya whirled on her heel. One hand pressing his phone to his ear, other holding the door he was still only on the threshold on, smile on his face, was Phoenix.

Again, Maya's vision swirled, finally focusing itself onto the man with the blue beanie. Her limbs acted of their own accord, and before she knew it, she had tackled Nick into a hug, staggering them both back a few feet.

"NIIIIIIIIICK!"

"Whatever happened to 'before I even think about forgiving you?" Phoenix chuckled, and Maya hummed as she buried her face into his old sweatshirt. That was the thing she liked most about Nick—no matter what she was feeling, how he was doing, whenever anyone just needed a presence, he was always warm and there. It was comforting. No matter what the situation, she was still always covered.

"Haha, very funny." Leaning back, she gave him a quick glance and smirked. "You know I can't keep grudges. Anyway, how'd you get here so quickly, Nick? Don't tell me you were already on the way here?"

"Actually…I wanted to talk to Kristoph Gavin about the Jurist System and how it might succeed. He hasn't heard about it yet…." Maya lifted her head and watched him as he stared off away into the distance, blinking. "On second thought…maybe it's best he figures out on his own."

"You've frightened me, Nick, if that's what you're going for."

Phoenix regained his smile and abandoned his lost look, glancing down as Maya once again stuffed her face into the soft material. "Well, that's no surprise. I frighten a lot of people nowadays."

"Well, no wonder." Arms still wrapped loosely around her long-lost friend, she managed to look him up and down. Adopting a playful tone to show she was joking, she gave him a critical gaze. "You still look like a hobo. I told you, you can't be seen with me unless you dress decently. Kurain's picky about clothing."

"By dressing their mediums like this?" Nick loosened one arm to gesture at the exuberant purple gown with an amused stare as Maya puffed out her cheeks with false indignation.

"Haha, I mean, they're picky about dressing us like this. This is practically an unofficial dress code."

"Well, when you're the master, you can change that."

Maya paused, thinking carefully about how to break her news. In the end, she decided on immediately. "Actually, the Master Initiation was today."

"Really?!" Nick's smile widened. Maya contemplated staying silent again, but could not bear to hear the thanks coming from Nick. She could not play dumb to him, listen to the unbearable torture. "That's great, Maya! I—"

"Pearl is the Master." Not quite glum, but night quite completely calm.

"…" Still beneath her arms, Phoenix suddenly stiffened. Maya didn't dare look up from the pliable gray. Finally, he spoke. One shattering word. Maya restrained herself from rolling her eyes.

"…What?!"

"Real articulate, Nick," Maya smiled affectionately, finally retreating and ending the long-winded hug, to slap his forearm for emphasis. "Seriously."

"…Maya. Why. Did. You. Give. Up. The. Mastership?!"

"…Nick." Maya sobered quickly, catching his stern expression. "Maybe you haven't gathered this, from our limited conversation…but I don't have many things to live for. It's not a depressing statement," Maya added quickly as Phoenix's face paled. "It's a fact. I've lost so many people dear to me. But I got through…because I was always busy, when I was with you. But now, well…I can't work with you, you wouldn't let me…and all I had left was the Mastership. However, you know I don't want to lose anyone else. And Morgan, my Aunt…I know her. She will find a way. Any way. And even if she can't, the Master always has enemies. Who'll be next? You? Pearl?" Maya sighed. "I can't do that. With Pearl…at least Morgan's wrath is satisfied. And everybody likes Pearl…maybe this tradition will stop with her."

"So that's why you gave up the Mastership." Phoenix mulled it over, coming to a conclusion in seconds—in some ways, being disbarred had made him more observant and logical than being a lawyer had been. "But you wouldn't put Pearls in possible danger for nothing. You've got to have another reason."

"…You always know everything." Mock pouting, Maya turned away. "Fine. Like I said, working with you put me out of my misery, took my mind off all the people I'd lost, gave me another purpose. I wanted to work with you again, go to all these places, just actively working for the good again. So I was wondering if I could join your…what is it now? Anything Agency?"

"Maya—"

"I promise I can work. I can channel dead people, after all. And my sister could help, I haven't talked to her lately. Last time was when, well…"

"I got disbarred," Phoenix guessed correctly, putting it bluntly. His expression was stern, as if getting something over with to get to the main point. Surely enough, he gripped her shoulders, ratting her until her teeth began to chatter. In ways, Nick occasionally underestimate himself. "Listen, Maya, you can not work at the Anything Agency."

"I know it's not ideal. I know it's failing. But let me work with you again. Maybe I can help." Maya glared defiantly at him. "I'm not a kid anymore, Nick!"

"I haven't thought of you as one since Matt Engarde," Nick replied, straightening and shoving his hands into his pockets, glare still prominent. He closed his eyes, counted backward. "But I just…listen to me, Maya." His eyes opened again. "Pearl's already the Master of Kurain. I will not let you have had your Mastership thrown away for some thirty-or-so-year-old cheater who plays poker for a living."

"Nick, you are not a cheater! Stop putting yourself down like this!"

"And Maya, you deserve that Mastership—if you've given up that, you at least deserve more than this!" Shaking his head, Nick turned toward the glass window, grimacing as his stare met Kristoph Gavin's. "Tell me straight—what exactly do you want and did you come here to get?!"

"The truth, Nick! I want the truth—about me, you, everything!"

It was then that Maya became acutely aware that almost every gaze was turned onto their conversation. Morgan staring, Kristoph staring, guards staring, and now even Phoenix was staring in mild shock—screw it, who wasn't staring? They had a right too, as well. Maya probably sounded like she was hysterical.

Phoenix's face flickered through a myriad of emotions, none of which Maya could catch, before finally setting on a wan smile that made Maya again stand straight with anticipated relief. The next sentence, therefore, was a fatal blow.

"I can't hire you at the Anything Agency."

"Nick—"

"No, Maya." Pursing his lips as if swallowing a lemon, Nick folded his arms in a stance that conveyed 'that's final.' "There are things going on that you don't understand—that I don't understand. I'm working alone, undercover, not even Apollo and Trucy know about it. If I employed you, you'd find a way to figure out. You know me too well, for too long."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Perhaps, but not in this case." As Maya slumped again, Phoenix grinned at her, the hopeful tinge back again.

"However…there is someone who can help."

"Huh?" Maya raised her head, wondering whether to be frightened or excited. As Nick's expression brightened, she got the distinct impression she had just been tossed a lifesaver.

Instead of answering the unspoken question, Nick replied with another one—"are you willing to find out the truth, no matter what the cost?"

Maya thought back to blue-suit days, days when she'd run alongside Nick and Pearl to catch up to a crime scene, race to find a clue before a trial, point out contradictions for Nick to present as his own—their own. She thought back to black and white, her sister's scarf flying as she whipped her finger toward the prosecution. She thought of gold badges pinned on lapels and files in hand, swirling lines of microscript salvation. She thought to more recent days, hopeless defeat that she had to get to the bottom of, fuelled by the prospect of a comeback of another, happier, younger Phoenix Wright.

"…Yes."

Phoenix smiled yet again, flashing his grin victoriously to Kristoph Gavin. The prisoner scowled in return, two polar opposites of equal degrees, until Phoenix abruptly broke the contest and turned back to Maya. For the first time in a while, Maya caught a glimpse of steely, reckless determination.

"If that's the case, then maybe I can help."

"So you're Ms. Fey." As Maya nodded firmly, Apollo Justice caught a glimpse of Nick's 'intimidation face' and paled. Maya almost laughed. "Er…I'm Apollo Justice…and I—I—"

"And he's fine," interrupted the girl bouncing on her heels in front of Maya . She was wearing a blue magicians outfit that Maya was familiar with—watching the Steel Samurai brought her plenty of commercials, some of which advertised a certain Troupe Gramarye. "I'm Trucy Wright! Are you our new mommy?"

"Definitely not," both Phoenix and Maya said at the same time. While Trucy, pouting and out of entertainment, went to bug 'Polly,' Phoenix shuffled over to Maya and leaned over. "That girl would get along great with Pearls."

"Let's agree on that," she laughed as Nick walked into the lone office that mostly contained Apollo's paperwork nowadays, striding out a second later. "What was that for?"

"Taxi fare. We're going to the Prosecutor's Office."

"Prosecutor?" Tilting her head, Maya raised an eyebrow with difficulty. It had been a while since she'd gone there, and never on official case business—although she'd heard Phoenix had once while she had been in Kurain. "What for?"

"We're paying a visit to a certain triple-cravated gentleman who hasn't changed a bit," muttered Phoenix. Was it just Maya, or was that frown tugging on the corners of his mouth? "Old-fashioned values die hard."

"Edgeworth's always been an old-fashioned over-achiever, though." Still tilting a head sideways in confusion, she perked up at one amusing thought. "Hey, Nick! If Kurain disapproves of your outfit, what does Mr. Edgeworth say?"

A muscle in Phoenix's jaw twitched ominously as he turned, not exactly bitter but borderlining resentment. When he spoke, there was no playful tone to counteract his harsh words.

"You know, there's another meaning to the word 'outfit' when you use it like that." Nodding to Apollo and Trucy, he gestured to Maya out the door, slamming it behind them. "If you look at it in a certain way, it means my personality, my current lot in life." Turning away from her with that same blank expression, Maya's blood abruptly ran cold. "In that way, you're right—Edgeworth dislikes my current outfit." Stepping into the street, his hand raised and a taxi screeched to a stop in front of him as he turned almost angrily to Maya. "And in every other way? He just doesn't care."

The ride to the Prosecutor's Office was quiet.

"Page me through to Miles Edgeworth," Phoenix absentmindedly told the awestruck girl at the front desk. She was looking at him with a mixture of awe and alarm.

Looks like Nick is as well-known as ever…although perhaps for entirely different reasons.

Finally, the girl pressed a single button from the array in front of her, not taking her eyes from Nick's face. The voice sounded suddenly over speaker, and Maya couldn't help but grin at Edgeworth's voice. "What is it, Sunny?"

"Um, sir…" The girl cleared her throat and spoke again, voice more authoritative. "Sir, there are two people here to see you."

"Who might that be?" The crisp voice turned slightly sour. "Sunny, I don't think I have any appointments today and I'm in the middle of a lot of paperwork following that Cadaverini trial. I wasted enough time this morning talking with Detective Skye—"

"Sir…it's Phoenix Wright."

There was a pause before Edgeworth spoke, tone slightly more formal, directly to Phoenix.

"…Wright. What is it?"

Phoenix turned to the bemused girl in nonverbal reply. "Well, Sunny? What is it?"

The girl behind the desk gave a start, looking suspicious like she wanted to hide in a hole. "Um…sir, are you addressing me?"

"Your name is Sunny, right?"

"Wright!" Edgeworth seemed to be reaching the end of his tether. Maya was amazed, really, at how quickly and effectively Phoenix could unseat Edgeworth even twelve floors away. "Stop playing mind games with the girl! What is it, exactly?"

Phoenix had not, it seemed, finished his fun. He persisted, now bearing one of his more serious courtroom faces. "Well, Sunny?"

"Um…well…" Regaining a modicum of composure and deciding to play along, she glanced over. "There's also…a girl…cosplaying?"

Straightening her kimono stubbornly, Maya jutted out her lip and turned to the speaker. "I'm wearing a kimono, Mr. Edgeworth—that's all you need to know. It's Maya, by the way."

"Ah, Ms. Fey…" Edgeworth trailed off again. There was yet another pause. If Edgeworth had been physically present, Maya imagined he and Phoenix would be having one of those conversations through eyes, like they occasionally did just before cross-examinations. As it was, it was possible they were still communicating nonverbally—because after a minute, the prosecutor spoke.

"Okay, Wright, you win this time. Come on up. If Maya is really ready, her timing is perfect. Just this morning, I had a conversation with Ms. Skye."

"Ema and Maya in one day?" Phoenix chuckled, lax, completely at ease with first names. "You've been lucky, Edgeworth—or rather, Kay has. Where is she now, anyway?"

"Failed mission last night," he grunted in return. "She's moping in her father's office. Now get up here. Let's not waste Sunny's battery."

"So let me get this straight," Maya murmured, tapping a finger to her chin. "You want me to find the truth…by breaking the law?"

"In one word…yes." Phoenix took his coffee black, nodding thanks at Edgeworth who himself picked up a cup of tea. "You'll be working with a girl your age—Kay Faraday—and someone you already know, possibly—Ema Skye, if she agrees."

"Ema?" Maya had met her during one of her meetings with Phoenix—she'd taken an instant liking to the girl that was in many ways like her—before Ema had supposedly moved. "I thought she was in Europe."

"She returned half a month ago."

"Did she go into forensics, like she planned?" Chewing morosely on a Samurai Dog from the dish Edgeworth offered, Maya sighed. Another happy ending for someone else…

"Actually, no. She didn't." As Maya looked up, surprised, as Edgeworth managed to smile comfortingly at her. "You're not the only one who didn't get to have her dream."

"…Hm." She had chewed off the last of her Samurai Dog unconsciously—eating was something she did without thinking—and grabbed a cup of tea before watching them swirl to the bottom. "Is it a bad thing that I feel better?"

"Perhaps." Phoenix leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. "But the point is that I believe that, now that you have quit the Mastership, and considering I cannot let you nor anyone else work at the Anything Agency—" Here he looked at Edgeworth. "—I think it is now quite plausible for you to work as the Yatagarasu."

"…Mr. Edgeworth." He inclined his head, showing he was listening, though his gaze was fixed on the window. "How did you figure out what I was there for so quickly? Especially since Nick hadn't talked to you about it."

"Hm?" He turned, taking control of the situation as he always did. "Well, Nick and I had discussed recruiting new people, so when he mentioned you—well, he doesn't visit unless he has a purpose, and you're about Kay's age, and that was one of her qualifications. So I assumed—"

"I'm not going to lie to her, Edgeworth," interrupted Phoenix. "We talked about it—I was sure that you would sign up."

As Edgeworth sighed, sipping his tea while Phoenix glugged coffee, Maya turned incredulously to the ex-defense attorney. Opening her mouth, she gave a loud exclamation.

"Ah—! You assumed I was going to come back?"

"I suspected," he answered, finishing the cup with a last swig. "That you would want to work for something other than your training. I didn't think you'd quite the Mastership for it, but if you're going to make the full time commitment, perhaps it's just as well."

"Except for one thing," she muttered, as Phoenix motioned for another cup. Edgeworth sighed, grabbing another. "This is the last cup, Wright."

"Huh." Looking into it, he shrugged. "It's the seventeenth one, anyway. Coffee's what I drink when I don't have grape juice. Energy high, you know."

"Hey, isn't that the number that odd prosecutor—Godot?"

"…I guess." He looked off nonchalantly once again. "He made an impression on me. He's a bit like me, you know—people who have everything one minute and then figure out life is never that simple. I guess, also, that the old me has died too. Somewhat, sometimes."

"As long as you don't ask us to call you by a different name," remarked Edgeworth rather tiredly. At this point, Maya felt the need to speak up.

"Hello? Anyone gonna listen? I have one more thing—what makes you think I will actually join this Yatagarasu thing?"

Both looked at her as if she were completely insane. It became apparent that they had obviously not even thought of that as a possible scenario.

"I—I mean…" Edgeworth looked to Phoenix (Edgeworth looked to Phoenix? The world had turned insane since she was gone) for one split second. Coughing lightly, he managed a weak smirk. "As sad as it is to say this, I believe Wright has put more thought into this than I have."

"It's one of my secret missions," he said bluntly, sitting back and sipping coffee.

Maya waited for an answer, eyes wide, hands occasionally flicking back and forth. Edgeworth sat down, sipping his tea, the two making almost identical motions.

"…Gonna say anything?"

Seventeenth cup of coffee finished, he placed the cup onto the table. He leaned forward and asked one single question.

"If you don't become the Yatagarasu, what are you going to do here?"

What are you going to do here?

Now that she thought about it, it was a truly valid question—and one she had not given much thought to when she asked. She had come to join Nick at the agency, and now hearing it was impossible, had been given the option of second best to take or leave.

The obvious logical option, from the person without any background knowledge, was to take the second best. However, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea—for more mature, logical reasons. First off, it would mean giving in. If she joined the Yatagarasu, it would mean a lifetime of looking over her shoulder. Even if she no longer worked in it—whether she quit early or stuck with it until it finished its job and disbanded on its own—the Yatagarasu was a binding thing. One project and, as far as the law was concerned, you were in it for life—as a felon. She had read the headlines herself.

Which brought her to her next point—what she would be joining would be nothing short of a failing project. The headlines blared scathingly almost weekly, so much so Maya almost felt sorry for the Yatagarasu—the girl, she had been told less than an hour ago, that was two years younger than her. There wasn't even a detective on the case—that was how much of a joke the second Yatagarasu had become.

However, a pity party was not enough to make Maya join a mission.

Ema was joining. Maya had not been lying to Nick when she had said she had lost a lot of people. She had returned to the city hoping to regain some of her friendships, and Ema seemed like a good way to start. But, when it came to it, was Ema joining? Maya didn't even know how far Ema had fallen, and didn't know how desperate she'd have to get to join the Yatagarasu.

The only logical things pushing her to join the Yatagarasu were Nick and Edgeworth's word. And Maya, after everything she'd been through, was sick of listening to other people's word.

However…

Her subconsciousness somehow balanced it out, convincing her that it was a worthwhile decision. There was no evidence—just a gut feeling that if she joined, she'd somehow help make it better. It wasn't perfect. But maybe a gut feeling was enough to make her reconsider.

The more she thought about it, the more she thought it was a bad idea. But life is always about reckless situations…right?

"Remember, Maya." Nick spoke up, speaking in a conversational tone veiling a faint type of reproachfullness. "This offer won't last forever."

"I know," she replied hoarsely, looking at her friends. She shoved one last Samurai Dog into her mouth, suddenly aware she had finished the plate. "But I'm banking on it lasting one more week. I'll give you my decision then."

{Miles Edgeworth

The door closed behind Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey almost synonymously with the ringing of his desk phone. Striding quickly to it, he glanced at the number on the fluorescent green screen. It was the in-office extension for the vacant office of the late top-prosecutor Byrne Faraday.

Kay. Edgeworth wasn't sure if the fact that she had called seconds after the others had left the room was a good thing or a bad thing.

Nevertheless, he picked up his phone quickly and spoke into the receiver—"What is it, Kay?"

"Geez, Mr. Edgeworth." Kay's tone, while still slightly heavy from the aftereffects of a good cry, was light and overall gave a 'not-to-be-taken-seriously' air. "Can't a girl talk to her friend without having a problem to solve?"

"A normal girl can," he answered seriously. "But a Great Thief snooping around her father's office with something to prove probably wouldn't. What is it, Kay?"

Kay's voice sounded defeated, a reluctant admittance that his guess was indeed right. "Mr. Edgeworth…I need to find those other two girls. Those that will complete the Yatagarasu."

Edgeworth blinked. Twice. "And this is news?"

"…Can you help me find them?"

"..I have two potential candidates, one of which will meet you at People Park tomorrow night and one that will give you a clear yes-or-no answer in a week."

"WHAT?!" Kay yelped, and Edgeworth ripped the receiver from his ear. "Mr. Edgeworth, how did you know I would need them? When did you start going to find them? When did you actually find them? Why didn't you talk to me about these people before?"

"Today," he answered sharply, still slightly shaken by the sudden outburst. "As for your other questions, I've been looking since your first mission that you failed, since you told me you needed allies. As for why I haven't found any before today, that's because I don't exactly get the opportunity to come by many girls in their mid-twenties desperate to find the truth."

"Wait, that time after the first mission?! I was joking, Mr. Edgeworth!" Still shocked, Kay took a few deep breaths and seemingly calmed, leaving Edgeworth to get in a word.

"So are you serious now?!" Rather irked at Kay's indecisive nature—Edgeworth always meant everything he said—his voice sharpened. "Because if not, I've got to go tell Ema…"

"No," replied Kay decisively. "I'm serious—I need help. I figured that out last night. I'll meet the 'Already-Ready' girl tomorrow. As for that 'Week-Long-Waiting-List' girl—"

"You have the weirdest nicknames…" Edgeworth grumbled. "The first one is 'Ema' and the second one is 'Maya.'"

"Oh, I remember Ema! Gatewater Land, right?" Quickly getting back on tangent—surprising for the hyperactive girl—Kay plowed on. "Anyway, as far as that Maya goes, she might not make it…"

"What do you mean? You don't even know her!" Edgeworth, beginning to become slightly excited for the sake of his old friend, began to speak with his hands despite the fact Kay was not physically there to see it. "How can you pass judgment so quickly?"

"Well…you know how the original Yatagarasu had two lawyers and a detective?"

"Yes," Edgeworth said suspiciously. "And Ema happens to be a detective. So?"

"Really?" Kay squealed excitedly. "Great. All according to plan! In that case, I'm going to ask a prosecutor at this office! And since Maya's waiting a week and isn't a prosecutor—"

"…Kay." Speaking jerkingly, Edgeworth coughed. "There is only one female prosecutor at this office that is your age. And that is…"

"Ms. Von Karma, I know. But I've met her before, and she's nice enough…"

She trailed off slightly, somewhat unsure, as Edgeworth once again took hold of the situation. "Kay, don't do it."

Edgeworth spoke seriously as he continued on, Kay occasionally trying to interrupt but failing every time. "Franziska may love the truth, but she has a different way of getting it that will not clash well with the Yatagarasu. Her pride will get you in trouble and her obsession with perfection will push your capacity to the limit. You may not know my little sister well enough, but I do. She is fit for the path of the prosecutor, but will not be able to juggle the double devotion of the Yatagarasu."

"But…Mr. Edgeworth…"

Kay sounded again on the verge of tears. For a single second, Edgeworth regretted what he said; he had once again pushed his friend past her emotional barrier.

However, the truth had to be heard. That was, after all, what the Yatagarasu was all about.

"I'm just trying to follow the path my father followed," Kay said, voice turning thick again, turning partially away from the receiver in what Edgeworth imagined as an attempt to hide her tears. "Why can't you see that?"

"The Yatagarasu is all about causing change," he shot back, one life lesson on another. "Maybe it's time the Great Thief's ideals changed too."

There was a pause, silence, the sound of two minds thinking it over.

At last, three rooms away, the sound of acceptance from the crow-girl reached Edgeworth's ears in the form of a sigh.

"Three new reasons for three new legs…I'll still talk to Ms. Von Karma, make no mistake." She sighed. "But I will consider what you have said."

There was the sound of a clacking receiver on the other end, followed by a dial tone. Edgeworth lowered the phone from his own ear, placing it onto the desk.

It was official. The Yatagarasu had spread its wings.

Alright, here's the deal-

This has moved from the bottom of my priority list to the top. I am very excited about this story. And I will be updating it...

In 'regular' intervals, from about two weeks to a month.

First of all, I'm busy. Second, I have a lot of other projects (wanna check my profile?). And third, this prologue itself is twenty-seven pages long. And from experience, that seems...rather long. I'm hoping it will curb you off.

Alright, first order of business complete.

Second order of business-

Pairings. Yup, this story'll have them. Kind of hard to keep them out of something that is gonna be this long-very, very long.

So, here are my pairings and my standards on them.

First of all, Kay will not be paired with anyone. Absolutely not allowed. I'm sorry, but that will not happen.

Second of all, this story will be NaruMayo. Sorry for all those other shippers, but Phoenix/Maya I am putting my foot down on.

Third of all, no yuri or yaoi. I'm sorry, guys. But I can't write that. I just don't have that capacity.

From there, everything-and I mean everything-is fair game. Crack!ships, anything. Give me your vote. I'll decide from there.

I will tell you, however-I will not pair characters with your OC's.

Also, I'm leaning toward Klema, and Miles/Franziska. There is a high probability you will see those, although I can be persuaded to Apollo/Ema if you try, and am aware that Miles/Franziska is not exactly the most popular of ships (if Court Records is at all worthwhile).

However, my point is this-reviewers, tell me what pairings you want. Depending on how much support you get, I will deliver.

I will try and bring in supporting characters of the series-be prepared for one odd victim. Odd, odd, very odd. And highly unlikely.

I realize this thing was OOC and apologize. My prologues are always angsty, my chapters always slightly humorous. Bear with me.

Please review. I'm not above begging.

Yes, Franziska was suggested as a possibility for the Yatagarasu-however, in this story, she will not.

I have the storyline planned out, no worries.