Ian and Germaine encountered no difficulties as they exited the SPU and soared over the open waters of the Illyrian Ocean. The further North they flew, the colder it became until Ian pulled out two jackets from the void storage.

“Getting close,” he exclaimed. “We’re back to having seasons.”

Germaine tugged at her fingerless gloves. “Don’t you have some kind of power to make us warm?”

Ian snorted. “Do I look like a Sun practitioner?”

Germaine sighed. “No.” She then fixed her eyes on Bluebird, the little construct preening himself on Ian’s shoulder. “Bluebird, can you make heat?”

“I can make heat!” Bluebird exclaimed. Before either of them had a chance to react, the bird's wings began to emit a soothing, warm light.

Germaine’s eyes lit up. “Nice!”

Ian narrowed his eyes. Bluebird...when I nearly froze to death in Godora against those water elementalists, why didn’t you warm me up?

I was busy shooting the baddies, the bird replied, its mental voice endearingly contrite.

Suppressing a grumble, Ian patted the bird on the head. Can you warm me up the next time I’m in a similar situation?

Nope!

Ian narrowed his eyes.

They surrounded you in subzero ice, Bluebird replied, the papery squares composing its wings ruffling. The energy I’m using is predominantly aspected Death; it isn’t suitable for much more than what I’m doing now.

Ian sighed. He supposed it made sense that Bluebird alone couldn’t combat the chilling abilities of an ensemble of Moon practitioners.

When the map projection indicated that they were set to arrive in the coming hour, Ian sent Bluebird ahead to scout. Half an hour later, the bird spotted Kikilla’s coastline.

“I’m bringing us down,” Ian stated.

Germaine braced herself on the rib bones of the wyrm. “I’m ready.”

The wyrm tilted downward, its length coming to rest right above the water. The waves splashed up to soak their feet in liquid cold, causing both of them to shiver. Rather than submerging the wyrm, Ian kept it balanced on the water’s surface, hoping that it’d be enough to avoid Kikilla’s standard defenses from picking up the wyrm as a prohibited flying construct.

Bluebird returned a minute later, its wings flashing cyan against the light blue sky. It spoke out loud so as to be heard by Germaine, saying, “I located a deserted stretch of beach within a half-hour walk of the lighthouse. Is this acceptable?”

Ian turned toward Germaine. “Up for a thirty minute walk?”

She burst into laughter. “I don’t believe you gave Mother or Aunt Julia options when you entered the SPU. They were still aching for days after your hike to...what was that little town called?”

“Yivyiv,” Ian replied, raising an eyebrow. “In my defense, we were in a hurry and didn’t have any idea where we were. Any patch of coastline looked just as good as any other.”

“I suppose,” Germaine drawled. “Now, are we going or not?”

“Going.” Bluebird, lead the way.

—

Ian disassembled the wyrm when the coastline came into view, creating instead a circular platform from shells lining the seafloor. As the duo stepped upon it, Ian had an intense moment of déjà vu, his mind returning to Menocht Bay on the day he revealed to Germaine that he’d become a decemancer. She had taken the knowledge in stride, nonchalantly boarding a nearly-identical platform of bone and shell to take a shortcut to the winery.

Like then, she was leaning comfortably on the banister that encircled the platform, her dark hair billowing out behind her. The key difference was her attire: then wearing a festive dress and high heels, now garbed in a heavy jacket and thick boots.

“You know what’s incredible, Germaine?” Ian asked, his voice almost lost to the wind.

“What?”

“You’re always photogenic.” He smirked. “Makes me look bad.”

The salty spray splashed into Germaine’s mouth when her jaw dropped. Spitting out the saltiness, she replied, “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said in weeks.”

“You’re pulling off the winter explorer look better than I ever could,” Ian retorted.

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

At last, they closed in on the shore. As the platform lay suspended above the lapping water, Ian held out a hand for Germaine.

She offered hers in turn, smiling coyly. Ian bowed his head, then stepped down, his boots sinking an inch into the watery sand. Germaine smiled and followed, using his arm as support as she hopped down. Bluebird was waiting on the beach, its feet planted in the dull, coarse sand.

Ian removed his energy from the shell platform, the shells breaking apart and cascading into the sea.

Germaine turned in reaction to the sound, her gaze next focusing on the empty, gray waters. “This is our first time in Kikilla,” Germaine murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a bit more remote than I imagined, though I suppose it depends on where you go.”

Ian lightly tugged Germaine forward. We should try to move as quickly as possible. While he didn’t think the Eldemari had any way to know he’d left Zukal’iss...he didn’t want a lax moment of error to result in his–or Germaine’s–end.

“Bluebird, lead the way,” Ian said, verbalizing for Germaine’s benefit. The glosSword kicked off the ground and floated lightly like a sheet of paper on the wind. It flapped its wings, taking it towards the leafless, ice-encrusted tree line before it stopped, perching on a branch.

When they caught up, trudging through the shifting sand and eventually making it to solid ground, the bird took off again. Their journey through the wintry forest played out like a game of tag, the glosSword putting on distance while the duo followed in pursuit.

“I’m surprised nobody lives out here,” Germaine grunted as she stepped over a fallen log. “It’s a bit cold now, but it’d be nice during the summer.”

Ian turned his eyes skyward. While the immediate area was devoid of souls, small clusters of them hovered in the distance.

“People must live nearby,” Ian replied, “just not on this stretch of coast. I did ask Bluebird to specifically find a stretch of deserted coastline; that doesn’t mean it’s representative.”

Germaine shrugged. “Guess that makes sense. We should be getting close to the lighthouse, right?”

“I don’t see it yet, but yeah, soon.”

“It’s just another half mile!” Bluebird creened.

Ian grinned. “There you go. Thanks, Bluebird.”

Soon enough, a dilapidated lighthouse shone through a copse of barren trees, its off-white exterior marked by dark, ruined scratches exposing red bricks. Ian was close enough to sense the vitality of two individuals inside, one of whom he recognized as Aunt Julia.

Germaine tugged on his coat sleeve. “They’re inside, aren’t they?”

“Two people,” Ian replied simply. “As promised. Shall we meet them?”

—

Ian was on guard as they approached the lighthouse. Before he entered, he sent a single message to whoever was manning the SPU’s quantum channeler, a device that could stand in for a direct human-human interface.

“We’re making contact with family. Only two vital signatures present.”

Moments later, a response echoed in his mind: “You’re cleared to enter. Nothing reported in the coming twenty seconds.”

Ian and Germaine stepped up to a red, steel door. Ian knocked, then waited. He watched as Aunt Julia walked to the door and inserted a key into what seemed to be a large padlock. A small click sounded out, followed by the creak of a rusty doorknob. The door opened inward, revealing Aunt Julia’s visage.

“It’s nice to see both of you,” she murmured, tugging on her long jacket. “I’m glad you came prepared.” She stepped back and gestured for them to follow inside, then shut and locked the door behind them.

“Woah,” Germaine hissed, stepping back. Ian had a similar reaction to the shifting golden scripts surrounding the ground level of the lighthouse. They crackled softly as though illuminated by an inner fire, their stenciled letters unfamiliar, though vaguely hinting at an archaic form of Swellish.

Aunt Julia gave them both an amused look. “It’s not every day you can see the work of a master of both End and Beginning.”

Ian and Germaine shared a look. “Who?”

Aunt Julia motioned for them to follow. “Walk with me.” She led them to a set of spiraling stairs off to the edge of the room, but rather than leading them up, she started to go down, seeming to walk into the floor.

Germaine was right behind her, eyes tracking the illusory floor with interest.

“Have you heard any stories about Patriarch Roman Dunai?”

Ian was the last to pass through the illusion, his head ghosting through the simulated stone floor. “No.”

Julia sighed. “Demetrius always hated history...a Beginning affinity was, unfortunately, wasted on him. I digress. Roman lived around two-hundred years ago, back before the Dunais joined with the Adricaius’s or the Fiorencias. Our family built this lighthouse on a contract with the Kikillan authorities and was tasked with watching the coast. Really, we wanted to see when new shipments would be coming into Kikilla Bay.”

Germaine’s expression turned pensive. “The Adricaius’s have their family enclave in Kikilla...I think I can fill in the details.”

“Classic business espionage,” Ian murmured. At least until our families merged.

Aunt Julia nodded. “To facilitate the family’s operations, Roman came to create a series of arrays. Can you guess?”

Germaine scowled. “Uh...”

“One for keeping the lighthouse maintained,” Ian said.

Germaine’s eyes lit up. “True; it doesn’t look its age.”

Ian’s eyes flitted over the scripts that adorned the upper edge of the walls as they headed down. “I don’t think we’d be talking outside of whispers if there wasn’t something to mute our voices,” Ian reasoned. “And given that this lighthouse was effectively encroaching upon a rival’s domain, I’d expect it to have some defenses. And then finally...a transport array.”

Aunt Julia’s lips curved into a smile. “Most don’t guess the last one.”

Ian chuckled. “Wouldn’t have guessed if we were just casually visiting, but we’re here for a reason.” A safe, untraceable route to Feather.

“A fair point.”

“How did Roman create a transport array without being a Dark practitioner?” Ian wondered, stepping lightly over a hoarfrosted step.

“He didn’t,” a new voice sounded out from below, echoing up the stairs in a deep baritone.

As they reached the bottom of the spiraling staircase, Marcus Adricaius stood before them, the man garbed smartly in a quarter-zip and slacks, a thick jacket mantling his shoulders.

“Greetings, uncle,” Germaine said, inclining her head respectfully. “It’s been years.”

Should he speak first, or should I? Ian wondered, suddenly at a loss. Since the Fassari Summit, everyone he’d met treated him as though he were older, more senior...but Adricaius was his uncle.

“Hello Germaine, Skai’aren,” Adricaius said, returning Germaine’s gesture. “Indeed, it’s been too long.”

Ian barely managed to school his features when Adricaius called him by his courtesy name. He’d gone from being Demetrius’ regular son to the Skai’aren...for some reason, hearing it come from the man’s mouth seemed perverse.

“Call me Julian,” Ian said, glancing at Aunt Julia. “We’re all family.” Even though they didn’t share a last name, they almost certainly shared blood, his features tanned and attractive. Ian thought Adricaius looked more like a Dunai than he did.

Germaine was lucky; she’d inherited the looks of their father, her features strongly resembling Aunt Julia. Himself, on the other hand...his hair was dark like Germaine’s, but unlike her naturally tan skin, his was pale, like Mother’s. He personally thought he looked just like Mother, aside from her perpetual calculating demeanor.

“Marcus, can you lead us in?”

Adricaius knocked on a seemingly-solid door. Soon after, a groaning sound resounded through the stairway, echoing like vengeful ghosts. The wall split in two, then retracted inward, revealing a spacious, well-lit chamber. He led them inside, the group of four fanning out along the closest wall. At the center of the brick chamber was a large mandala, an inscribed circle filled with the same script that lined the lighthouse walls. It didn’t look like any transport array Ian had ever seen.

“I was also confused when I first saw the array,” Aunt Julia admitted, walking forward. “It’s beautiful, but doesn’t look particularly functional, does it?”

Germaine shook her head and hurried forward, crouching down to inspect the array. “So how does it work?”

“Adricaius is the best person to explain,” Aunt Julia demurred.

“You flatter me,” Adricaius said, flashing Aunt Julia a smile before stepping forward. “Patriarch Roman created an array that is far more limited than a typical transport array. Despite this, it’s impressive, especially considering that he wrote the scripts here two hundred years past.”

Marcus stepped onto the array and ran a finger along a set of inscriptions. “The main limitation is that the array doesn’t allow one to go anywhere but the Feather enclave. One key innovation, however, is that it’s able to utilize the power of bloodline to determine destination.”

Ian’s brow twitched. The last time he saw an array that had anything to do with blood, it was when the loop cultists summoned the massive leviathan.

“I thought there was only one destination?” Germaine pointed out.

Adricaius nodded his head in acknowledgment. “There is for us: If you’re a descendant of Patriarch Roman, the array takes you to the Feather enclave. If you aren’t, however...the array sends you into a deep chasm in the southern foothills.”

“How does it operate, exactly?” Ian asked.

Suddenly, Adricaius’s hand became doused in black as though he’d dipped it in a pot of pitch. “Come forward and I’ll show you.”