“Hey, wake up.”

Joseph groaned and turned as Rosemary’s voice drifted into his head. For one shining, brilliant moment, he thought everything had been a dream. He had fallen asleep at Nai Nai’s house and had a crazy nightmare about an airship that had been taken over by a band of raiders, one of whom manipulated steam as though it were an extension of themselves…

But as his eyes fluttered open, and he saw Rosemary staring down at him, a bright smile on her face, he felt his heart fall. Of course it hadn’t been a dream. He even pinched himself, just to be sure. No, he was still on this… Dreamer’s Lament. The name of the airship mocked him.

At least someone – probably Rosemary or Broon – had covered him up. A heavy blanket had been tossed over him. It was surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. Joseph wrapped it around him as he got up. The air was cold, the churning sounds of the Dreamer's engines below making for oddly comfortable white noise. Rosemary had a cup of coffee in her hands.

“How long was I asleep?” Joseph asked.

“Around ten hours,” Rosemary replied, “It's about six in the morning. Coffee?”

“Thanks,” Joseph accepted it, taking a few sips. He pulled a face, “What did you put in this?”

“Around seven cubes of sugar, and seven pumps of creamer?” Rosemary said, considering, “Is that normal?”

“No, it's really not.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It's... it's fine,” Joseph blinked. He still felt exhausted. Despite how cold it was, he noticed he had been sweating in his sleep, “Why did you wake me up?”

“Broon asked me to,” Rosemary replied, “He wants you to see this.”

Joseph stood up, and Rosemary guided him upstairs. The bridge of the Dreamer's Lament was a simple layout, a circular room with consoles lining the walls. An old ship's steering wheel was laid in the center of the room, looking out towards the observation window that covered half the room. Outside was nothing but open air, the sun rising on the distant horizon and the sea below. Ichabod was steering the ship, while Broon was looking out, a mug of coffee in his hand that read 'World's Best Half-Orc.'

“Best half-orc?” Joseph said, “You're... a half-orc?”

“Oh, yeah,” Broon turned, gesturing at his teeth with the mug, “My tusks aren't as pronounced as full-blooded orcs. My mom was a human. Lived with the orc tribes on Londoa for a few years, had me.”

He gave an inquisitive look to Joseph, “Are there any orcs on Earth?”

“No, only in fiction,” Joseph said, “Lord of the Rings, stuff like that.”

“Lord of the Rings? I think I've read that, actually,” Broon said.

“...Where am I?” Joseph asked.

Broon laughed, “In due time. Our Guildmaster will be able to explain it better.”

Joseph crossed his arms, “You can't just tell me now?”

“He can't, because he'd mess up somewhere,” Ichabod said, “I could explain it, but it'd probably just make you cry, or go insane, or both. Rosemary could, but she'd get too excited and go off on a tangent. No, let the Guildmaster explain it to you.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, “Where are we, exactly?”

“Over the Lioran sea, at the Traveling Point,” Ichabod said, “Still on Kelstonda.”

“We'll be heading back to the Guildhall, on Londoa,” Broon explained, “Planar travel is tricky around these parts, but this Traveling Point is one of the more reliable ones. Should be able to travel to Londoa in a few seconds.”

“Kelstonda, Londoa, planar...” Joseph's mind raced. Things that had been previously impossible now felt… plausible. Pieces were beginning to fall into place. ‘Planar’ itself sounded familiar - a term pulled from conversations of Joseph's… ‘nerdier’ friends, when he had taken the time to actually listen to them when he was supposed to be studying. It was impossible. Improbable.

And yet here he stood, on the bridge of an airship powered by magic.

“It's another dimension, isn't it?” Joseph said, “Londoa is. Kelstonda is. That's why you asked where I was from.”

“Well, well, the boy has a brain,” Ichabod said.

Broon shot a glare at the cybernetic man, then turned back to Joseph, “Aye. Our Guild is based out of the plane of Londoa. We'll be heading there to report to the Guildmaster that we succeeded in securing the egg. We'll also be dropping you off there so that she can talk to you.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, his breathing becoming faster, “Okay, give me a moment.”

Broon gave a smile at that, “For now, just enjoy the ride. Tell me, did you see anything when you first came here?”

Joseph struggled to remember, crossing his arms in thought. The image of the sarcophagus dominated his mind’s eye, the way the silver glinted in the half-shadow of the basement, the chants beating into his head.

“A bit,” Joseph said at length, “A lot of darkness, lots of colors, then I felt like I was pulled, then I was on that airship.”

“Irregular, but not unheard of,” Ichabod said, “Tell me, do you feel any different? Did your hair change color at all?”

“...No,” Joseph said, “Still black.”

“Did you lose any... parts of your anatomy?” Ichabod prodded.

Joseph checked himself over, “Everything's here.”

“Did anything grow on you? Do you find you have, for example, a third eye on your buttocks?”

“Gross, no!” Joseph said, “What's your deal?”

“Improper planeshifting can be very dangerous,” Ichabod said, “The method we use is approved by the Federation and has been demonstrated to be rather safe. But I've heard stories of people using objects like your sarcophagus as gates to other planes, and they haven't been pretty.”

“So I got lucky, then,” Joseph said.

“Stupidly so, which seems to be about right with you,” Ichabod replied. Before Joseph could retort, the cybernetic man's eyes whipped back to the window, “We're approaching now, Broon.”

“Alright,” Broon said, “Brace yourselves, everyone.”

He put down his coffee mug and put a hand over a hold on the side of the wall. Rosemary gestured for Joseph to do so as well. He complied with his stomach only slightly jellying.

“Planeshifting to Londoa in three... two... one...” Ichabod's voice became distant as the ship rumbled and warped. The sky shimmered like a desert mirage for a moment, before disappearing completely as the Dreamer's Lament plunged down like a rock into a miasma of colors, a rainbow sea that the airship swam through, swirling colors battering the hull like waves, the entire ship rumbling with sheer effort. Joseph felt his blood turn to jelly and his bones quake, his teeth chattering in his mouth as the Dreamer’s Lament forced its way through the methhead’s nightmare. After what felt like an eternity, the ship lurched and began seizing upwards, breaking through a barrier - Joseph could see the colors dash and reflect as though they had broken through a glass ceiling-

And they were back in the open air, but the sky was different. Joseph narrowed his eyes. Dark gray storm clouds curled above them. In the distance, a few of them were releasing rain onto some distant landmass.

A landmass that curved upwards. Joseph walked closer to the window. The landmass below drew up with the sky, breaking into two pieces near where the horizon would be. The resulting ravine showed stars below that intermingled with the morning dawn. In the distance, just at the edge of the ravine, was a great city that poured over its side. Part of it had been built into the walls of the ravine, and long, thin bridges connected the two pieces of land to one another.

“What am I looking at?” Joseph asked.

“Welcome to Londoa, the Broken World,” Broon said.

“Broken... world?”

“A disaster shattered the planet thousands of years ago,” the half-orc explained, “So people live on the remaining landmasses that's still around, both on the inside and the outside.”

“That's... that's not how it works,” Joseph stammered, “That's not scientifically possible.”

“Magic!” Rosemary said, a bright smile on her face.

“I thought the same thing, truth be told,” Ichabod sighed, “But it exists. I've not figured out why exactly Londoa's like this.”

“So your guild is here?”

“Aye, in that city in the distance,” Broon said, “Scuttleway, it's called. Damn nice place, too, all things considered.”

The Dreamer's Lament began dipping down as it headed towards the city. Pristine, gargantuan walls hedged Scuttleway in, guards patrolling along the battlements, their pikes looking like toothpicks from this high above. But as they got closer to the city, Joseph could pick out more details – fluttering, triangular blue flags with orange crabs emblazoned on their surface, great cathedrals lined with stain glass windows depicting figures in armor and wielding swords made of light, and a donut-shaped arena rising out of the marketing district. It was a city, Joseph realized, out of time. A medieval city like he had learned about in school, but alive and bustling.

The airship descended and landed in a field just by the city's wall. Beside the field was a castle, just on the edge of the city, edging up just to the walls. It was made of orange sandstone, shades darker than the yellower buildings of Scuttleway so that it stuck out like a sore thumb. Seven spires spiraled up from its top, decked with conical roofs. The windows were apricot-hued, simple and clean. Joseph marveled at the castle as the Dreamer’s Lament’s engines powered down with a subtle whisper. Broon, Ichabod, and Rosemary began filing down out of the airship and into the field, beyond which was a maze of hedges, a fountain at its center.

“Woah,” Joseph murmured.

“That's what I said when I first came here,” Rosemary said.

“Aye. Ichabod too,” Broon chuckled.

“I thought it was... quaint,” Ichabod said.

“What is this place?”

“This is Castle Belenus,” Broon said, “Guildhall of the Amber Foundation.”

They begin walking across the field. Joseph's steps were shaky as he took in the size of the castle. His neck strained as he stared up at its very peak.

“When was it built?”

“That's a good question. Ichabod?” Broon looked at the cybernetic man.

“Well,” Ichabod thought for a moment, “It wasn't so much built as it was grown, apparently. The founder of the Amber Foundation discovered it on a long-forgotten plane as a seed. And from that seed grew a castle.”

“What the actual hell,” Joseph said, “You're messing with me. You gotta be.”

“In a rare instance, no, I am not messing with you,” Ichabod said, “Look, the explanation felt impossible for me when I first got here. Still does, in fact. Castle Belenus grows – it should assimilate itself into the city walls any day now.”

A lithe calico cat suddenly leaped down from one of the hedges as they approached the maze. It looked at the group curiously, then it opened its mouth.

“Morning, Ichabod.”

“Ah, Chadwick, good,” Ichabod, much to Joseph's surprise, gave the cat a warm smile, “Good hunting last night?”

Chadwick the cat stretched his shoulders, which Joseph guessed was him shrugging, “It was the best of times, it was the worst. Not that it makes for interesting stories.”

The cat's deep green eyes fell on Joseph, “Ah! A newcomer. Freshly traveled?”

“Indeed,” Broon said, putting a hand on Joseph's shoulder, “This here's Joseph. From Earth. Would you let Wakeling know?”

“Will I get something in return?” Chadwick cocked his head, a devilish - and all too human - smile crawling onto his face.

“Aww, Chadwick,” Rosemary cooed, “You'd really make us pay you for something so simple?”

“Ah, for you, dear Rosemary,” Chadwick thought for a moment, “I'll give you a discount. Only one bowl of milk.”

Rosemary sighed, turning to the group, “I guess that'll have to do.”

“Fine, I'm making a run to the Market District anyways,” Broon said, “Run along now, cat.”

“Indeed,” Chadwick gave a nod to Broon. His eyes lingered on Joseph for a few moments, and then he bounded out of the garden and towards the back entrance of the castle.

“Cats, man,” Joseph said, “Even when they can talk, they're assholes.”

“Not assholes,” Ichabod said, “Cats have their own language, their own culture. It'd be best if you learn from them, if you want to last here long.”

They passed even more curious sights as they made their way through the garden. A woman with the bottom half of a snake was looking at the fountain, which had a statue of a warrior clad in armor, blade aloft in the air. Broon waved to her as they passed. She gave them a nod in return. A dark-skinned man wearing chainmail and holding a needle-pointed spear gifted them a warm smile as they approached the back entrance.

“Broon,” the man said, “You are well, I hope?”

“As well as I can be, Shetavalk,” Broon replied.

“I heard another set of footsteps. Unfamiliar,” the man looked at Joseph, and Joseph saw the man's eyes were filmed over, though that didn’t seem to concern him.

“That's Joseph,” Broon said.

“What's up?” Joseph asked.

“The sky, space, many things,” Shetavalk said, matter-of-factly, “It is-”

“It's a saying, Sheets,” Rosemary said, “He's from Earth.”

“Earth! A good plane. I should head back there, one of these days, when the forecast permits.”

“Yeah, that'd be... that'd be nice,” Joseph sighed as Shetavalk began walking away. Not even a goodbye.

“He's like that,” Broon said, “He's a Spioa. Spiritfolk, from Nesona.”

“Is that another plane?”

“Aye. Interesting one too. But let's get you inside, by now Chadwick must have told Wakeling you're here.”

They walked inside the castle. The backdoor led them through a few storage rooms, full of barrels and crates. Joseph was pleasantly surprised to find modern lighting in here – where torch sconces would be were industrial lights. They followed the lines of lamps up through the storage rooms before entering into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was long and tall – a giant could have probably fit in here. A dark red carpet extended from the double doors of the entrance towards the center of the room, which held a circular garden enclosed by stone bricks. The garden was composed of orange and white flowers, and in its center was a single, massive blade – easily fifteen feet in height at least, formed out of shimmering glass and slivers of light. Joseph froze at that, taking it in. Balconies extended upwards, much like at Nai Nai’s house, so that anyone could look down at the Great Hall below. Light spilled in, refracting on the sword, filtered orange from the windows. Voices echoed across the hall as guild members went through their morning routines.

They were from different worlds – other planes, Joseph realized. Some looked like they had come from here, with swords and shields and armor. Others seemed to be from more advanced planes – one of them was in a duster, an alien with purple skin and a head like a hammerhead shark's. Another seemed like Ichabod, with cybernetic arms and legs. They all intermingled, talking to one another about their mornings, acting as though everything here was perfectly normal.

Which it wasn't. Joseph needed to remind himself that. This wasn’t normal.

At least, not by Earth’s standards.

“I need to take a nap,” Ichabod said, “I'd love to say this was a job well done, but it wasn't.”

“Thanks, Ichabod,” Rosemary said.

Ichabod gave her a curt nod, and walked off.

“You'd better get some rest too, Rosemary,” Broon said, “Go eat some breakfast. Relax. You've earned it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. I'll give the report to Wakeling. I'll tell her how good you were, fending off those raiders.”

He gave her a warm smile. She seemed to perk up at that, clutching her rose mace in pride.

“Well, thanks, Broon. It was good meeting you, Joseph. I hope you like it here!”

Before Joseph could respond, she turned and skipped off.

“She gets a bit excited after a job,” Broon said, “She hasn't had too many assigned to her that are off-plane.”

“Yeah, 'excited' seems to be a word for her.”

“She's friendly, though. Keeps the spirits up around here when things get down,” Broon stretched his arm out a bit, nodding to a few guild members who waved at him, “Come on, let me introduce you to Wakeling.”

He began heading towards a stone staircase, crossing the Great Hall. Joseph followed behind, keeping an eye out in case...

Well, he wasn't sure.

In case something happened. He was quickly realizing that anything was possible out here.

They went up the first flight of stairs, dodging past a large, floating jellyfish that glowed in various bio-luminescent colors – red to orange to blue.

“Morning, Calacious Nine,” Broon said.

The jellyfish's color shifted to green, then to purple.

“Aye, new traveler. Bringing him up to Wakeling.”

Purple to pink.

“Aye. See you.”

And they continued on.

“Was that a... a jellyfish?” Joseph asked.

“Hmm?” Broon gave him a confused look, “Oh, yeah. Calacious Nine is one of our specialists. They work with investigating ancient ruins on dead planes.”

Joseph blinked at that.

They went up another set of stairs.

And then another.

And then a third. Joseph felt himself breathing heavily.

“We there yet?” he asked.

“About another dozen more?” Broon said, “Wakeling usually stays at the top most mornings. She'll be in her study right about now.”

“Oh great,” Joseph panted, “Nothing better than a good exercise to start things off.”

Broon mistook Joseph's sarcasm, giving him a broad smile, “Aye, that's the way to do things! Let's go!”

And the half-orc doubled his pace up the steps, nearly running up the stairs. Joseph cursed to himself.

***

By the time they got to the top, Joseph was dying. His entire body was soaked in sweat, and his legs were calling to be put out of their misery. He nearly crawled up the last flight, his vision bleary with sweat and tears.

Broon raised an eyebrow, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Joseph got up to the top of the stairs, “Yeah, I'm good-”

He felt himself start falling backwards. Broon’s arm shot out, grabbing him and pulling him back onto the landing.

“Thanks,” Joseph said, “Just... gimme... a minute, alright?”

Broon nodded, “Aye. Wouldn't do to look like a soaked sponge before Wakeling.”

“A... soaked... sponge?”

The half-orc shrugged, “Yeah. Like a sponge that's been soaked in water too long.”

“...Yeah, alright.”

Broon laughed. After a few minutes, Joseph felt his breath catching up to him. The half-orc gave him one last look-over to make sure he was alright, and opened up the door to the study. It was a large, circular room, every wall lined with shelves stuffed with books and scrolls. A mahogany desk was set in the middle of the floor, which had been carpeted over with a burgundy cloth that felt vaguely like velvet. Resting on the table was...

A head.

A woman's head, with ivory skin and a shock of white hair fizzing out of the scalp, deep brown eyes staring forward, a smile on its lips. For a moment, Joseph stared at it.

Then the head opened her mouth.

“Welcome!”

Joseph screamed and tried to run out the door. Broon stopped him.

“It's alright!” he said, “It's alright!”

“Really, all newcomers are like this,” the head said, “It's alright, Mr. Joseph. I'm just a talking head, nothing to be afraid of.”

“Not to be r-rude,” Joseph stammered, “But where I come from, heads don't talk.”

“But your head is talking,” the head rolled a bit to the side, giving him an inquisitive look.

“I mean, heads removed from their BODIES don't talk!”

“Ah! That's common in most places. Not here, though. Not on my home plane, either. Really, you look exhausted. Those stairs do quite a number, don't they?”

Joseph was still trying to get out of the room. Broon gave a sigh.

“You're being rude, you know,” he said, “That's the Guildmaster.”

“The... Guild... Master?” Joseph stopped struggling, turning to stare at the head on the table, “You're... the Guildmaster?”

“Yes!” the head cracked a wide, toothy smile, “Vyde Wakeling, Guildmaster of the Amber Foundation, at your service! Come, have a seat. Have a cookie. All of this must feel very strange to you.”

“Ma’am,” Joseph said, “I'll have a cookie, and that's the biggest understatement I've ever heard.”

A silver platter suddenly appeared out of thin air. A heap of chocolate chip cookies were piled high on them. Joseph took one, and took a tentative bite. It was gooey and fresh from the oven. He ate a couple more, feeling energy surge into his body.

“Feeling better?” Wakeling asked, “Have a seat, Mr. Joseph...?”

“Zheng. Joseph Zheng.”

A mahogany chair appeared out of thin air, floating in the center of the room before sinking onto the floor in front of the desk. Joseph sat down. He felt a bit awkward right at the desk, though, with the head staring right up at him, so he scooted it back.

“Oh! Sorry, dear,” Wakeling rolled her head a bit to the side, looking behind Joseph, “Broon, your report?”

“We got the egg,” Broon replied. He took out the satchel Rosemary and Joseph had been wearing, bringing it over. He opened up the flap to reveal the golden, gelatinous egg within. Wakeling looked at it for a second, before pitching her head forward in a nod.

“Ah, perfect!,” she said, “Well done.”

“Rosemary did good,” Broon said, “A couple raiders intercepted us on the Fortune's Favor. She held them off and even took out their Steamer.”

“A good girl!” Wakeling said, “She's really proving herself out there, eh?”

“Aye,” Broon said, “I'll get the full report to you by lunchtime.”

“Take your time, Broon. The client's still picking out a rendezvous point to make the trade. I want you on that job too.”

Broon nodded, then gave a salute to Wakeling. He gave a last smile to Joseph, and walked out of the door. The door let out a creak as he closed it behind him.

There was a bit of silence as Wakeling looked over the pack. Her eyes flashed for a brief moment, changing from brown to silver. The egg floated out of the pack, levitating closer to her as she gave it a once-over.

“Undamaged. Sounded like it was a bit messy, if a Steamer was involved. Was the egg hit by any steam, by chance?” she looked to Joseph.

“Oh! Uh, no, it wasn't.”

“Hmm, good,” Wakeling's eyes changed again, and the egg winked out of existence, “Best to keep it safe downstairs. I'll have Chadwick keep an eye on it. Give him some spiced milk as payment.”

“Chadwick's a cat,” Joseph commented.

“Aye, lad. Chadwick's a cat. Do cats talk where you come from?”

“Only in books and movies,” Joseph replied.

Wakeling looked him over, brown eyes searching up and down his body. She had a crooked nose, Joseph noted, as though it had once been a long, hooked thing that had been broken and mashed into her face too many times. Her eyes were piercing, though, as though she were delving into his very soul. They reminded him of Nai Nai's.

“You aren’t from Prime,” she said, “Nor are you from Neos. You're from... Earth, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Joseph Zheng, the Earth boy.”

“Strange enough, Earth's not in the forecast right now. Won't be, not for a while.”

“The... forecast?”

Wakeling was quiet for a moment, as though unsure of what to say. After a moment, she opened her mouth.

“Are you aware of the multiverse?” Wakeling asked.

“No, I'm not,” Joseph grumbled, “No, I just magically knew everything when I fell out of a sarcophagus and met an orc, some Blade Runner ripoff, and a flower girl.”

“Half-orc, actually,” Wakeling said, “Broon's a bit... sensitive about that. I wouldn't mention it.”

“Sorry,” Joseph huffed, “Look, he said that if I helped them, that you'd explain everything to me. So what's the scoop?”

“The scoop? Ohoho, boy,” Wakeling gave a delightful, scratchy laugh, “Oh BOY, you have no idea what you've landed yourself in.”

“Just get it over with,” Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Very well! From the top, then!”

Wakeling's head began spinning, rising up from its place on the desk and floating into the air. She was cackling the whole time. Energy swirled around her – blues and greens and reds and yellows, mixing together into a grand rainbow mosaic that slowly shaped themselves into balls of light.

“Reality is not what you think, Mr. Zheng,” she said, “Your Earth is not the only inhabited world out there.”

“I mean, aliens are probably out there,” Joseph reasoned, “I want to believe.”

“More than aliens. What do you think the multiverse is?”

“Well,” Joseph thought, “From what I remember from some of my… ‘friends’ it's like... multiple dimensions. Parallel to one another. And in one of them, I'm evil and probably have a goatee.”

“Close,” Wakeling said, “Indeed, the multiverse is composed of multiple dimensions – spaces that do not exist in the same realm of 'space' as we think it. But they do not lie parallel to one another. Not like that. Also, you would look terrible with a goatee.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, the multiverse is...” Wakeling thought, her eyes rolling up as she thought, “Well, it's rather complicated, actually. The multiverse is a network of worlds that are separate from one another.”

The balls of color and light began moving about as Wakeling continued, “The closest approximation that the average mortal mind can comprehend is the multiverse is like a web.”

The balls of color aligned with one another, light connecting them like a spider's weave.

“Or, actually, like a box.”

The threads of light disappeared, the balls moving next to one another in a square shape.

“No, actually, probably more of a network of leylines?”

The colors went into random directions, lines floating between them, as with the web, but the entire structure was irregular.

“Look,” Joseph said, “It's weird.”

“That's a good way of putting it, young Zheng,” Wakeling said.

“Ha, that rhymes,” Joseph said.

“Oh hush, now,” Wakeling gave him a crackling smile, “Very good. It's a weird shape. But each ball here represents a world in the Multiverse, which as far as anyone can tell, is infinite and ever-growing.”

“And... Earth is one of those worlds.”

“Indeed. As is where we are, Londoa,” Wakeling said, “You were on Kelstonda. Some are much like your Earth – Prime and Neos, for example. They share similar histories and places. Others are far different – Londoa must have been quite a shock to you.”

“I'll be honest,” Joseph said, “I'm not nearly drunk enough for all this.”

“Have some wine,” A pitcher and a glass appeared out of thin air, pouring out some red wine that sloshed around as it was poured out. Joseph accepted it, taking a few tentative sips.

“Now,” Wakeling said, “Travel between worlds-”

“Planeshifting?”

“Aye, that's the word. You're picking up on this fast. Now, planeshifting between worlds is both relatively difficult, and horrifyingly easy. There are certain points on different planes that are connected to an in-between place, a metaphorical 'sea of goop' between worlds.”

“So, in our metaphor here, the air around us is the sea of goop between worlds.”

“Correct,” Wakeling nodded sagely – her head was still in the air, however, so she nodded a bit too hard and spun for a moment before righting herself, “Most planes have rips in reality, small and almost imperceptible, that open up into this in-between place. From there, people can safely travel to other planes of existence in a here-to-there road.”

“Hold on, now,” Joseph said, “I didn't go through one of these… ‘in-between’ places, right? I was pulled in through because of a sarcophagus.”

“We'll get to that, now,” Wakeling said, “But we have to go over the ground rules first, so you understand your… particular situation.”

“Alright,” Joseph took another sip of wine.

“These tears – these 'Traveling Points,' are the safest and most reliable way of traveling the multiverse,” Wakeling continued, “And they are what allows guilds like ours to operate.”

The colors began to coalesce into figures. Broon. Rosemary. Ichabod.

“The Amber Foundation is one of many guilds that operate on an inter-planar scale,” Wakeling said, “We come from all planes and all walks of life, and we accept jobs across the multiverse. Some of them are retrieval missions. Others, we act as hired muscle. Others are expeditions into planes forgotten by the greater multiverse, that hide deep secrets of the history of reality.”

“So, Broon's from... Londoa?”

“Aye. Broon's a native to Londoa. Ichabod is from Neos, a technologically advanced plane of existence with cybernetics that is ruled by corporations.”

“That gives me a question, then,” Joseph said, “It seems that this city – Scuttleway, right? - This city's pretty low on the technology scale. Aside from your castle, everyone's wearing medieval armor and has swords and stuff. Meanwhile, Ichabod handed me a pistol.”

“There is heavy regulation in the known multiverse,” Wakeling said. The images of Broon, Rosemary, and Ichabod disappeared, the colors turning back into a swirling miasma that began taking the shape of a large galaxy.

“This is the Silver Eye galaxy, home to a large inter-planar entity known as the High Federation,” Wakeling said, “An old civilization. Thousands of years old. And they've been regulating and ensuring that the worlds of the Multiverse, for the most part, independently develop from one another.

“Now, obviously, complete regulation is next to impossible. SOME cross-interactions will happen – an advanced weapon will fall on a plane that's still using swords and spears, for example. But the Federation, with the aid of the guilds, makes sure that... 'technological contamination' remains at a minimum. They control the Traveling Points. They regulate them. Without Traveling Points, planeshifting becomes very difficult and very dangerous.”

“So this Federation makes sure the planes are fine and dandy, then.”

“And they're rather ruthless about it, too,” Wakeling's smile disappeared, and her face went dark, “Rather ruthless.”

“Okay, but Ichabod still has his guns when he's here on Londoa.”

“Each individual member of a guild is allowed to have their own personal possessions from their home planes with them,” Wakeling explained, “But they aren't allowed to give them to others outside the guild.”

“So what Ichabod did was... oh, I didn't get him in trouble, did I?” Joseph suddenly felt guilty. Then he remembered Ichabod was an asshole, and his guilt lessened somewhat.

“You gave it back, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“I'll let it slide, then,” Wakeling chuckled.

“So, travel between planes is difficult without Traveling Points,” Joseph said, “And without it, it's really difficult and dangerous. So, the sarcophagus I traveled to was dangerous?”

“Most likely,” Wakeling said, “Tell me a bit about yourself, Joseph. Zheng is a very familiar name.”

So Joseph explained to her about his arrival on Kelstonda. Visiting Nai Nai's, the sarcophagus, the airship. Wakeling was quiet as he spoke, only interrupting to prod him with questions. The magic she cast still hung in the air, the images of each world disappearing into different colored lights, like a dark night with multi-colored fireflies.

“Hmm, so Zheng Chun's passed away, then,” Wakeling was somber when Joseph had finished.

“She... explored the multiverse?” Joseph asked.

“Aye,” Wakeling said, “Though I didn’t interact with her often. We moved about in the same circles, however. And she was out here quite a bit.”

Joseph was quiet, looking at the ground. Suddenly, many things were making sense. Nai Nai's eccentricities, the fact that he never saw her except for when the family visited, and only ever at her house. Even the fact that she never mentioned a husband, that she had only a single son, that his father never spoke highly of his mother, could be explained by these revelations.’

“Who was she?” he asked.

“A Far Traveler,” Wakeling replied, “One who explored the farthest reaches of the multiverse.”

Joseph nodded, taking a deep breath. He was quiet for a while longer, the news settling into his bones and soul.

“They weren’t movie props,” he mumbled.

“Sorry?” Wakeling asked.

He didn’t answer her, shaking himself out of his stupor, leaning into the chair to stare at Wakeling.

“Right,” Joseph sighed, “Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”

“Afraid not,” Wakeling said, “Though she has quite the legacy, Mr. Zheng. She is-was… rather well known in the communities I frequent.”

“I’ll have to ask my dad about her when I get back. He has to know about… all of this, right?”

“When you get back?” Wakeling said, “Oh dear, you're in a pickle.”

Joseph narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Zheng, you can't go back,” Wakeling’s words were calculated and pronounced. Joseph felt his stomach clench as he heard the bad news, “At least, not for a very long time.”