Dean looked down over the newly-selected vanguard. The biggest change was the addition of one hundred to the pruned one-thousand sapient force. Dean felt some reservations toward not counting quasies toward the vanguard's personnel count, but he conceded that the number of quasi-squirrels required to set a city-seed up was mildly terrifying: counting their numbers would overwhelmingly dilute the number of human and verdora sapients.

Today's the day. "Vanguard of COTD," he began, his speaking voice carrying through the gathered forces below. "Today, we set out for Vast Desert, also known as planet 39811 in your encyclopedias. If you're here, you should already know that," Dean said, chuckling lightly. A few humans below let out a few cheers and whoops of excitement. "I'll go over a refresher for those of us who need it." He scanned the crowd below, a wry expression on his face. A general wave of laughter followed his eyes.

"Vast Desert is most likely the easiest gate hope you'll ever do," he said. "The atmosphere is practically the same as Magnet Planet's, meaning we'll be able to adjust to it. Moreover, the planet is a flat desert wasteland, meaning we should all be able to cross its surface unimpeded by geography: It'll be a steady jog from the entrance gate to the exit gate, already demarcated on your maps. Yes, I know that there are two gates marked on your Vast Desert map: you are absolutely not, under any circumstances, to cross through the unmarked gate."

His serious expression as he said this last command left no room for questions. I am curious, though, he thought, what lays beyond it. Not so curious that he would directly disobey Bath and Lisa and go through it.

These gates are serious business. "This is for your own safety. If you go through the unmarked gate, chances are you'll never find your way back. We will not come after you. Remember, our objective as the vanguard is to blaze a trail from Earth and back: in a few years--maybe, if we're quick, in a few months--we'll get the chance to explore outward. Until then, be smart and safe."

He pointed toward exit gate, located within a canyon on the southwestern side of the planet. "The gate is just beyond the threshold of this cave. If anyone present has reservations, bring them up now; else, we're going into the cave." Dean waited for a good thirty seconds for any raised hands, not once faltering in his cool demeanor. "Seeing no reservations..." an enthusiastic cheer erupted from seemingly all present, even, Dean noted, the verdora.

"Let's go."

---

Several Hours Earlier

"Father," Eyrin murmured, stepping forward into the well-furnished office. "You called for me?"

Juserin looked up from a stack of etched, 3-D plastics. "Eyrin; you've come." Juserin gave the verdora a once over, frowning noticeably at his dress. Southern primitives, he lamented internally.

Eyrin didn't say anything. Why did he call me here? His shell...it's water: calm, stable. Cold.

"I'm sending you with the human vanguard to planet 39811." Juserin paused. "Do you have anything to say?"

"Nothing."

Juserin coughed. "You know, I think of you as--"

"Father," Eyrin interrupted. "I'll be fine."

Juserin sighed. "Can you dress properly, for when you go off world?"

Eyrin simply bowed and left, leaving Juserin alone. Juserin grumbled disdainfully: Not even wearing a veil.

Eyrin stepped outside of his father's estate and pounced onto his hovertrack. He accessed its interface through his already-synced chip reader, selecting "Home" from the list of pre-programmed destinations.

One hour later, he was on the opposite side of the planet in a city called Eyrus, named after himself. He cringed at the thought--the only reason I have a city in my name is because of him, he thought, picturing his Juserin's spotless, illustrious persona.

He dismounted the hovertrack and bounded over to the Hideaway: once a reclaimed ruin, it now had the semblance of a dragonleaf treehouse. He ducked inside, shaking out his feather-braided mane.

"Kade," a few verdora greeted.

"I'm back," Eyrin announced, crossing the room in two loping bounds, showing off his close combat boons.

"Eh, getting pretty comfortable with those," Tramin observed, patting Eyrin hard on the back as he passed.

"Can't believe the humans came up with this shit," Jusera sighed as she practiced shaping a sprout of dragonleaf.

Eyrin snorted. "Wasn't the humans, Jusie," he corrected. "It was their gods."

Jusera shot him an impetuous look. "And how do you know? You've been gone this past week, out in the 'Wilderness,'" she said.

Eyrin rolled his eyes. "I just know."

"Whatever," Tramin interrupted. "You up for a challo hunt?"

Jusera flicked Eyrin's braided mane. "Well?"

Eyrin looked around the room at the twelve or so other youthful verdora. "Who else is going?"

"Everyone," Tramin replied, grinning. "There're gonna be a few rules to keep things fun and fair, now that we all have some boons," he said, spreading his unclothed, painted arms wide. The plates covering the backs of his joints shone red, while the indents between scales of his skin shone white. "You in?"

Eyrin sighed. "Sorry, Tram, everyone, I've been drafted."

Several previously disinterested verdora snapped their eyes over to Eyrin. Drafted?

"Wait...what?" Jusera asked, her navy lips pulling back over bruise-purple gums. "Who? Is it Digus? I thought we made things clear to that asshole."

"No, nothing here. I mean..." he sat down. "My father. He needs me."

Tramin flinched. "Keldor?" Fear saturated his voice. "So you're going to Dederus?"

"I hear it's a total war zone now that the humans have arrived," Jusera hissed, spittle flecking out of her unveiled maws. "All the peace of before, gone. Fuck autocracy." She whipped out an arm, causing her dragonleaf sprout to coil inward as though cowering before a blow.

"Well, I guess I'll see first hand," Eyrin smiled sadly. "Don't try to find me, guys. I can take care of myself."

"When are you leaving?" another verdora, Yellin, asked.

"I'm saying goodbye," Eyrin replied, implying an imminent departure. "Just going to grab a few things before I split."

"You better come back, Kade," Jusera growled. "Things just go...better when you're around."

"Yeah, alright," Eyrin smirked, throwing his loosely-robed primary arms up in the air. "I get it: my legendary charm is--."

Jusera grunted and picked up a chisel at her side. Normally, she used it for etching; now, she used it as a focus. Eyrin dodged slightly to the left as he felt the passage of a force through the air.

"Hey, kidding," he said, loping forward towards the ladder leading the Hideaway's second story. He trod over to his quarters, a small, cell-like nook, essentially identical to the rooms of everyone else. He had a few hovering shelves looming over a nest of pillows he used as a bed; he passed over these, instead aiming a hand toward a discrete hole in the wall.

Got it, he murmured, pocketing his miranite necklace. He exhaled as the draft from the entryway blew across his back, tickling his skin. Before he left, he grabbed a small sack from the corner of his room, along with a spare chip reader already outfitted with...useful applications.

I should probably hurry, he thought, frowning.

"Come back soon!" and other such farewells resounded through the deck space below as he exited. I'll be back, he thought. Eventually. He envisioned Juserin's regal personage and frowned.

Eyrin walked casually through the streets of Eyrus, his unruly mane and dirty, unfashionable clothes hiding him from the eyes of strangers. If anyone paid him any attention, he simply touched their shell to put them at ease and continued nonchalantly on his way.

Sneaking into Eyrusta used to be the biggest pain, he thought as he scaled a building bordering the palace. When I get back, I bet it'll be even more difficult than before. However, at the moment, entering Eyrusta was easier than ever before, his enhanced strength and endurance more than allowing him to launch over Eyrusta's imposing white walls.

While Illusta's color scheme embodied the image of fire, Eyrus' embodied the image of clouds: white and blue tapestries and banners decorated the city, while its gated center, Eyrusta, featured cloud holos overlaying the walls in a thick, cottony mist.

Eryin used this mist as a cover to reenter his official living quarters. He scaled the slick walls with practiced ease, gripping onto slashes he'd made into the rock face years past; conveniently, the mist also hid these imperfections from sight.

He dropped into his room from the lip of his bedroom's window. His near proximity was the only requirement to unlock the window, assuring smooth entry into his quarters. He trod into his opulent room, the pads of his unrobed feet expanding as he stepped. His first priority was to enter the bathroom and clean himself up.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, snorting with contempt. Why did he call for me? he wondered. And here I thought he'd deemed me a lost cause.

Eyrin bared his teeth, inspecting their color and sharpness. He grabbed a few metal tools and cleaned them personally, forsaking the metal-beaked mouth-pigeons most well-off verdora used to clean their mouths. He preferred to clean his teeth himself rather than allow a small, unintelligent animal into his mouths.

After cleaning his teeth to satisfaction, he licked both maws. Then, he stepped over to his bathing pool, frowning when, with only his third set of arms submerged, the water turned brown. He dipped the second set and the water darkened further.

This city is disgusting, he thought, growling as he grabbed a rough spine-comb from the utility shelf hovering at his side. He dragged the comb over his skin, the thin spines catching on the grooves between his nearly microscopic scales. Perhaps my disdain for Eyrus is why Juserin has sent me away.

After cleaning all three sets of legs of grime, he walked away from the soiled bathing pool and toward his dressing room. A set of fans lining the floor blew under him as he went, drying him off. By the time he entered the dressing room, he was completely dry; only his short robe remained wet along the hem.

He went through his dressing room unassisted, pushing hovering stacks of robes aside. When he reached the back of his wardrobe, he smiled at the highly-illegal, highly-practical ribbon wraps coiled at eye-level. He immediately wound the strips of black cloth around his second and third pairs of legs, weaving the wraps in a cross pattern along the pads of his second and third sets of feet. Before wrapping his first set of limbs, he walked to the side and picked out one of his traditional robes styled after Juserin's own. A stark difference between this robe and Juserin's was its tailored shape: instead of draping formlessly over his body, only pulling taught around the chest and hips, this robe followed a more practical field model, with the fabric additionally pulled taught over the lower halves of his limbs.

The wraps on his second and third sets of limbs were, at most, precautionary: if he found himself in a precarious situation, he could tear the fabric of his robe off to reveal the wraps beneath. However, with regards to his first set...

He pulled the robe on over his head, tugging at its durable, smooth fabric. The robe left his mane exposed, as was standard for this type of design; despite this, Eyrin left it alone, leaving the feathers and braids visible. Just one, pathetic form of rebellion, he sneered, mocking himself. He wished he were brave enough to do more.

With the robe covering his body, he returned to the final set of ribbon wraps and began to wind these around his forearms and hands. By the time he finished, the wrapping was seamless enough to pass for a pair of inconspicuous black gloves.

Eyrin traipsed over to his collection of veils, all of which floated in the air, suspended. He'd bring at most three during this voyage, washing them at the end of each day. He selected two single-colored veils for daily usage, a red and a light blue for the colors of Illusta, Illudis' capital, and Eyrus, the capital of his province. The third veil, for formal occasions, was more difficult to select. In the end, he chose a slightly sheer cloth with sharp, silver geometric patterns stitched onto a white background. Conservative, he thought as he pinched the veil between two digits. Not. The cloth wasn't intended to be translucent, though its light color allowed nearby sapients to see the outline of his jaws.

The diplomatic side of Eyrin knew the veil was a poor choice. The pragmatic side argued otherwise: what a better veil for intimidating foreign sapients? He snapped his jaws together, inspecting how his fangs looked beneath the flimsy fabric. It'll do.