The ruins of an old temple lay in the middle of the jungle. Once, it had been the standing star of some old civilization that Luevo had studied in his youth. He remembered looking at reconstructions of it in his old textbooks – great statues of heroes and monarchs that doubled as pillars, their arms and shoulders holding aloft a pyramidal roof, the top of which was capped in gold. The Landscape back then had been a savanna, and thus the temple had been built on a sun-hued sea of grass, the stone having been built having been imported from some far away. None of the Landscapes at the time had such unique rock – metamorphic, by the looks of it, though volcanoes were not known to have existed in that time-frame. Thus, it had been presumed the stone had been dragged to Nesona from the multiverse, from some distant place. In them had been carved stories of the civilization's mythology – their gods and demigods, their demons from hell, ancient travelers with the power to alter reality itself from beyond existence, afterlives studded with jewels and precious metals.

Now, though, all that remained were ruins, dark-banded quartzite pillars and half-walls standing odd against the greens of the jungle. Day was beginning to peek, just barely, out from the horizon, smeared though it was by the thick layer of clouds above. A dim dawn was returning to Koma.

Returning, as the survivors hid in the remains of an old storage house, going down its short, nature-scarred stairs, jungle vines creeping around them, attempting to reclaim what remained of the temple. Yet it had survived even the scouring of Koma's emergence and the ravages of the Landscape’s growth. Perhaps the jungle knew that. Perhaps it did not.

And Luevo knew he had been having a very bad day indeed that he had started to humanize the trees like a hippie.

“Ro la la, ro lay lee, we survive another day.”

“Too tired to rhyme?” Luevo chuckled.

“Too tired, ro la la,” the creature groaned.

“Well, I've got a name for you, at least,” Luevo said, “Rolala.”

“Ro lay lee?”

“That is a pretty dumb name, gee,” Luevo said, “Alright, best I could come up with.”

“Rolala,” it said, “Ro la la...”

“Do you not like it?” Luevo said, “Your prince gives you a name, stupid as it is, and you reject it?”

“I grow, Luevo,” Rolala said, “In the naming is the being, and being is the me-ing.”

“Me-ing?”

He felt Rolala shift in his stomach, twisting up until it rode on his shoulder, inking out of his pores. The head now was distinctly locust-like, the multitude of eyes having coalesced into an insect's.

“You are – thou art – the Kimao. Carrier of life. In you holds me. I grow only by your hand.”

“So by giving you a name...”

“I grow. Evolve, ro lay lee. And Rolala is a fine name.”

“What, do you want me to teach you how to walk? You already have those legs, and you didn't even need a name for those.”

“I evolve anyways, but the bonding and the naming – it accelerates it,” Rolala said.

A spark of an idea burst in Luevo's mind, “So, what, I just have to be your friend, and you'll get out of my body? I can be myself, again?”

“To be rid of me, ro lay lee.”

An odd twinge of guilt hit Luevo, one he tried to hide from Rolala. Yet the creature was him – it felt all he could.

“You-thou-”

“Just use 'you,'” Luevo muttered.

“You feel guilt. For using me. Pretending to be a friend, ro la la.”

“I guess, I suppose- Yes, I do,” Luevo turned to face the creature's insect head, “It's like lying to myself.”

“You do plenty of that, Luevo,” Rolala said.

The prince winced at those words, “Yes. Perhaps I do.”

“In pretending is being,” Rolala said, “Until your mask becomes your face.”

He had an inkling of what Rolala was trying to say – but he couldn't concentrate on that as he heard movement that brought him away from their conversation and back into their predicament. Archenround was keeping watch, her great Sign-Blades drawn, her face drawn in exhausted concentration. The metahuman – Jonathon? Was curled in one of the corners, shaking as though he were cold, despite the relative humidity outside. Their last member, G-Wiz – Luevo could remember that ridiculous name, despite her never really helping him – was half-dozing next to him.

“What is it?” Luevo asked.

Movement, Archenround signed, Outside. Stay quiet.

Luevo nodded. He could understand High Federation Sign well enough, but he hadn't actually used it since he left university. In contrast to Archeround's swift hand signals, his were sloppy and slow. He could hardly remember how to sign the words.

Banana, he signed, What movement? M-O-R-D-E-N-A-R-O?

Perhaps, Archenround replied. He saw her tense, saw her pick up her Sign-Blade.

Then relax.

Nole came through the entrance a moment later. He looked none the worse for wear – though judging by his heavy breathing, he had been regenerating constantly through the night.

“Took me most of the night to get myself unstuck,” he growled.

Is Grim Walker still trapped?

“Aye, as far as I could tell,” the troll said, “Them Spioa were keeping him locked tight.”

“Where's... where's Shetavalk?” G-Wiz asked, waking up to the conversation.

“Shetavalk's dead.”

It was the metahuman who had spoken. He had sat up from his fetal position, though his arms were still wrapped around his legs. The other guildmembers recoiled at his words.

“There could have been a better way to put that, lad,” Nole said.

“Saying it like you would say it,” the metahuman replied.

“Not like that,” Nole snapped, “I may be an old, grizzled asshole, but Shetavalk was a friend. I'd never put his passing out so bluntly.”

The metahuman glared at the troll. The two of them seemed on the verge of another one of their arguments. Then Nole rolled his shoulders.

“Forget it, ye ain't worth it,” the troll said, “Listen, them Spioa are mad at Mordenaro. But they ain't goin' to hold him forever.”

“Mordenaro,” G-Wiz murmured. Her face was ashen at the news, too exhausted to grieve, “I've heard of that name, haven't I?”

Guild of One, Archenround signed.

“Wakeling would've mentioned him once or twice,” Nole said, “He's the Grim Walker. A guild in of himself.”

“That's possible?” the metahuman asked.

“Guilds are legal entities,” Luevo said, “If you're that damn good at your job, you don't even need anyone.”

“'N' he's been around forever,” Nole said, “Leastways, as long as I can remember. Some say he's got secrets not even the Feds know about.”

“And he's strong enough to start an avalanche by punching a mountain,” Joseph said. He shivered a bit and pulled himself tighter together.

Archenround gave one more glance out the door before turning.

Are you alright? She signed.

“Aw, Arc,” Nole grimaced, “He ain't worth the slime on yer tail-”

But Archenround shook her head, We'll need everyone onboard if we're to survive this. Especially the metahuman.

“What's she saying?” the metahuman asked.

“She's asking how you're feeling,” G-Wiz said, “Like shit, I hope.”

“Well, I've got some good news then,” the metahuman sniped.

What do you feel?

“What do you mean by that, Arc?” G-Wiz asked.

What does he feel? Within himself?

“She's asking what you're feeling,” G-Wiz said, “Shit, I hope.”

G-A-L-A-T-E-A.

G-Wiz sighed, “Sorry, she's asking you how you feel. Seriously, you good?”

“No, I'm not,” the metahuman said, “I feel...”

His hands were shaking as he looked at them.

“I've had my soul broken before, but not like that. It's... it's there, I think? Somewhere in my body. But...”

He seemed almost on the verge of tears.

“I've never felt so... empty.”

“Better the soul than me,” Luevo said.

Joseph eyed daggers at him.

“We should be movin',” Nole said, “Mordenaro ain't goin' to be held long.”

“Where are we going?” G-Wiz asked.

“Not sure,” Nole said, “Away from here. We might be able to lose 'im in the jungle...”

He trailed off for a moment, as though not believing his own words. Mordenaro had found them easily, the night before.

Who was to say he couldn’t find them easily again?

“Our goal remains the same,” the troll picked back up, “That alright with you, prince?”

Nole looked at him. Now, Luevo noticed everyone was staring at him – even the metahuman. He felt himself shrink a bit, felt a bit more of that cold fear become crystalline and real as the gravity of the situation weighed him down more and more.

“Why...” he stammered, “Why is he even coming after me?”

“Because someone's insane enough to hire him,” Nole said.

Because he's after the Kimao, Archenround reasoned.

A shiver that was both and yet not his own ran up Luevo's spine.

“After me?”

He could feel Rolala quiver a bit, retreating further down and wrapping itself around his spine.

Yet Archenround offered nothing further. She had already begun signing to Nole as the two of them began discussing plans. G-Wiz walked over to the metahuman.

“You going to get up?” she asked.

He looked up at her, “Are we... moving?”

“Looks like it,” she replied, “Hey Arc, where we headed?”

Deeper into the ruins. The jungle. We will need to be fast. Lose the trail-

“Does no one care that I'm about to die?” Luevo sobbed.

They all turned to stare at him. The metahuman, despite his shivers, rolled his eyes.

“Ye ain't goin' to die, lad,” Nole grunted.

“That's Mordenaro, you stupid green-”

“I said ye ain't goin' to die!” Nole shouted. His voice, calm before, calculated and scratched, exploded out, ringing in Luevo's ears. The rest of the guild physically winced as the troll stomped over and jabbed a dirty nail into the prince's chest.

“Now ye listen here, ye little rat!” he said, “We were hired to protect ye, and I'll be damned if I'm not gonna see it through.”

“You all hate me,” Luevo spat.

“'Course we do! All ye do is whine, complain, 'n' pretend yer better than all o' us. Ye think yer so high 'n' mighty when yer nothin' more than the prince of some backwater shithole in the ass end of the multiverse,” Nole rose up to his full height, glowering down at Luevo's cowering form, taking up what little left was left in the room, “Yet we were still hired to protect ye. And we guildfolk always do our jobs.”

“You...” Luevo was at a loss for words, “You'll protect me? H-how?”

“What, ye mean against Mordenaro?” Nole let out a harsh laugh, “Lad, if it had been regular soldiers guardin' ye, ye'd be dead by now. We're Amber Foundation. We don't die easily.”

Except Shetavalk, Luevo wanted to say, but he wisely kept that to himself.

We should move, Archenround signed.

“Right,” Nole said, “All of ye, up. Now. Joseph, that includes ye, lad.”

He rumbled over to the metahuman.

“Are ye gonna get up, or am I gonna have to carry ye like a wee bab?”

“I'm getting up,” Joseph said, “Let's just go.”

***

Joseph felt as though the world had closed around him. The sun was not as bright, despite the fact that it now rose high over the jungle trees, burning through the clouds above. The wind was cold and clammy, despite the heat of the morning. All was quiet – nothing had dared to stir after the events of the night before. Shetavalk's body, contorted, whispering, his head purpled and his legs twisted, were burned into his mind. His walking was unsteady as he trailed behind the rest of the guild.

He could feel his soul, resting in the pit of his stomach. With each heartbeat, he could feel just a sliver of its strength return – though he did not know how long it would take for him to get back to full form.

“Dead weight,” he muttered.

“What was that?” G-Wiz asked.

“Nothing,” he replied.

She looked him up and down, then something in her face softened. She said nothing, however, as she turned and pushed on. The ruins continued on for a while – old temples that had been broken and abandoned, shattered like porcelain vases, their stone overgrown with the flora of the jungle. Yet still it stood.

They did not need to travel long before they found something interesting.

“A gate,” Luevo said.

“A what?” Joseph asked.

Archenround signed something to the rest of the group. Joseph, despite himself, felt a twinge of frustration – everyone, even the damn prince, could understand what she was signing. He had been the idiot who took Latin in High School, though he wasn't sure if the sign language Archenround was using was even ASL – he doubted it, anyways.

“Ye really think that?” Nole asked.

“What's she saying?” Joseph piped up.

“Says it's a gate,” G-Wiz said.

“Nice, Einstein,” Joseph said, “We all could see that. What's the big deal? I don't even see what you're talking about.”

She looked at Joseph as though he had grown two heads. Nole let out an annoyed sigh.

“Travelin' Points ain't the only way o' travelin' through the Multiverse,” he said, “Folk back then used to use gates.”

He pointed towards a strange, rectangular stone embedded in a temple wall. Joseph squinted at it as Nole strode forward and began wrenching the vines that had grown over its form. Runes had been carved in, though they had faded and eroded over the years, dim symbols that crisscrossed across its form and down into its firmament.

“Didn't Wakeling say that other means of Traveling were risky?” Joseph said, “Really risky.”

“Maybe,” Nole said, “Maybe not. Archenround thinks it's our ticket outta here.”

“Out of... here?” Luevo said.

“It leads to another plane, lad,” Nole said, “We could skip outta town, give Mordenaro the slip. Find another Traveling Point that brings us back to Nesona.”

“If it works,” G-Wiz said.

“Aye,” Nole said, “Arc, yer better at this whole thing than me. What do we need?”

The serpent considered. Then she unholstered one of her blades and slithered over, signing to Nole. After a second, she began to cut at the stone.

“Makes sense,” Nole said, “The metahuman's out, if that's the case. G, ye got any juice left in yer Zumbelaphone?”

“What do you need?” G-Wiz asked.

“Energy, and lots of it,” Nole said, “If we're going to get this gate open-”

“Hang on,” Joseph said, “Why the hell are we going through?”

“Because it's either that, or we go back into the jungle,” Nole said, “Look, lad, I guarantee ye, we go in there, we ain't comin' out. Mordenaro's a hunter. He's been stalkin' us since we left civilization. Ain't no bones to it, he'll find us again. And yer outta juice, 'n' I'm only one troll.”

“So if we go through this gate...”

“We could die, aye,” Nole said, “But we're dead either way, ain't we?”

Joseph raised a hand to object, but stopped, noting that Nole's words rang a certain, difficult truth. He closed his mouth, too tired to argue any more, moving to rest his back against a pillar.

“Alright, you win,” he said, “Go on, do your energy shit.”

“Like we need yer approval,” Nole nodded to G-Wiz, “Get to work.”

She unslung the keytar and began tapping at it, “It'll take a moment.”

Archenround gestured. More sign language. Nole nodded.

No one told Joseph what she signed.

***

G-Wiz was working with the zumbelaphone for a while, pressing its various keys, the keytar's electric din echoing out into the jungle, strange and lonely against the sounds of the jungle that were beginning to return as the morning went on. There was little food – most of them had abandoned their packs after Mordenaro's attack. So they sat down and rested, trying to ignore the buzzing insects that had begun to cling to their arms and necks. No one spoke. Nole occasionally let out an annoyed grunt. Archenround at times slithered over to the door, etching another rune into the stone. Luevo held his patched-up leg, the pain returning to him with the absence of adrenaline. Joseph concentrated on getting better, letting his soul rest and re-assemble itself.

G-Wiz continued her playing. She started off with random notes into the air, before it became more involved as she began playing out actual music. Folk songs from her home, Joseph presumed, done the way of the synthesizer.

Then it began to become a bit familiar...

“Nujabes?” he said aloud. G-Wiz stopped her playing for a second, then a flash of familiarity dazzled in her eyes.

“Well, well, a bit of civilization in the Earth boy,” she said, before she continued.

“My brother was obsessed with it when we were teens,” Joseph said, “Always Modal Soul when he had the run of the house.”

“Hmm, that's good,” G-Wiz had a serene expression on her face, “I never liked it as much as his other shit. Not exactly my kind of music, though. Prime's got some good stuff, but it'll never beat what's on my home plane.”

“Ah, to each their own,” Joseph said, “At least it's not as bad as Becenti. He says 'Winner Takes It All' is AC/DC.”

“It... is, though.”

Joseph blinked.

“Alright, then, what've you got from your home plane?”

“Most of Doremi's shit,” G-Wiz said, continuing to key – Joseph noted she had begun the first few notes to 'Thunderstruck,' before going off into her own thing, “The underground scene – that's where I'm from – has got all sorts of good shit, though. Mostly pulls from other planes. Prime's a big one, but Denlat and Neos are big influences.”

“Lots of electronic, I assume,” Joseph said, “Hip-hop?”

“Synth,” G-Wiz said, “The good stuff. Music of the future. None of that violin shit.”

She emphasized this with a brush of her keytar. By now, it was glowing with a bright light, a strange, almost choir-like echo to the electronic stroke of the keys. She looked down at it.

“We're all set, Arc.”

Archenround nodded, adding one last etch to the gate. She signed to Joseph.

“Needs a spark to start,” Nole translated, “Ye got that, lad?”

“A... spark?” Joseph pulled himself to his feet, shakily making his way to the gate.

“The zumbelaphone's going to go off all at once,” G-Wiz said, “But we need something small to start the whole process. Archenround's asking if you can do that for us.”

“I...” Joseph took a ragged breath, “I might be able to. I'll try.”

“Ye'd better, or we're outta luck,” Nole said, “Now get to work.”

Joseph shot an annoyed glare at him, before he drew out a single finger, willing his soul to life. It was small – almost like a fledgling, the way it crawled through his body, finally giving a pulse out of his fingertip that sprang to life, blue electricity snaking out of his hand, sparking and crackling like a small fire.

Archenround pointed at a specific marking – a circular symbol, cut down the middle by her blade. Joseph pointed his finger and popped the lightning into it. Blue light flooded out, moving like a liquid from symbol to symbol. The serpent nodded to G-Wiz, who pointed her Zumbelaphone and cut loose the energy stored within it, a stream of white firing from its handle and into the gate, each rune flooded with power and flaring up like a white star. For a moment, it stood there, the energy shining out. Then, Joseph began making out...

“A door,” he said.

“Mahogany,” Nole noted.

It was a simple door, though Joseph could see space was warping around its edges, reality being pulled in ever so slightly like a miniature black hole. A carving of a man was etched into the door, around where the peekhole would be. Both hands were raised, and what seemed to be wisps of smoke curled around them.

No, not smoke...

“Steam,” Joseph said.

Archenround signed.

“She says that gates hold hints on what's on the other side,” G-Wiz said, “So this gate leads to Kelstonda, then.”

Archenround nodded.

“Alright, then,” Nole said, “Prince! Get yer ass up! We got some planeswalkin' to do.”

Luevo got up. Joseph noticed his eyes were bloodshot. Had he… had he been crying? But Luevo merely scowled when their eyes met, and both of them looked away.

“Let's do this,” the prince said, “Kelstonda? Oh, love that place. Beautiful people. Good food. Let's just get this shit over with.”

Archenround went through first. Then G-Wiz. Joseph took one last glance at the jungle before he stepped through and was awash in light.

***

“Alright, yer next, princey,” Nole said.

“Of course,” Luevo said, “A question, my dear troll.”

“Make it quick, we don't got all day.”

“What's to think that Mordenaro won't follow us?” Luevo gave him a smirk, a desperate facade of bravado, “I mean, he is the Guild of One.”

It gave the troll pause. Luevo could see the gears roiling in his head. For a moment, Luevo thought he saw Nole falter as the weight of their situation pressed down on him. Then he shook his head.

“We cross that bridge when it comes, lad,” his voice was calm, somber even, “For now, we do what we can. Now go.”

The prince hadn't expected that. Rather than a rise, he had seen a bit of a fall. He stood, wavering like a willow, as the troll pulled himself back together. Luevo realized what the troll had said before, about protecting him no matter what, rang true. That he cared, perhaps not for Luevo personally, but for what he represented.

And he resolved that he’d try to be better. For the troll’s sake.

“I said go, we don't got all day.”

Nole brought out a great green hand and shoved Luevo through the door.

***

A brilliant, smearing light tinged with rainbow undertones enveloped their worlds, then they landed on the other side. From the muggy, messy heat of the jungle to...

A muggy, messy heat. That part upset Luevo, who was hoping to have some relief from the humidity and stinky sweat of his compatriots. He couldn't believe it, yet he was beginning to miss the frigid winds of the mountains as he stepped through the gates and felt the harsh sun beat down on the back of his neck. They were in a savanna, the grass growing long and thin, yellowed by the heat, a couple of stringy trees poking out of the spruce. A dirt road crisscrossed with tire marks was to their right, stretching northwards. A shabby wooden sign was planted in the ground, which G-Wiz approached and squinted at.

“Chandhala,” G-Wiz read, “We're in Gosterna.”

“Gosterna?” the metahuman asked.

“Province in the Marlish Empire,” G-Wiz said.

“Oh, Chandhala!” Luevo cried out, “Good! Went there on a trip once. Lost my virginity-”

“Needed to know that,” Job grunted, “Alright, I've seen enough. Let's go.”

Northwards, Archenround signed, Towards Chandhala. Lead the way, G-A-L-A-T-E-A.”

“Right on,” G-Wiz said. As a group, the party paced northwards.

***

The journey itself was slow-going. With no water, no food, and running on a distinct lack of sleep, the party dragged on. G-Wiz took point, but as the sweltering heat sapped the strength from her bones, she found herself falling behind with Joseph and Luevo. Nole pushed on, grimacing past the pain as he stomped forward. Archenround seemed hardly affected at all, her serpent's half lazing a trail of dust behind her as she pressed on.

“I d-don't want to do this anymore,” Luevo choked. Joseph turned his head to see the prince, who was drenched in sweat, one leg visibly limping, “I don't want to do this-”

“Ro la la,” Joseph heard the barest whisper as the creature the Kimao was carrying twisted its way out of his shoulder. It reminded Joseph of a cricket – no, a locust, though it was only half-formed, “Ro lay lee, you must survive and be, Luevo.”

“He's right,” Joseph coughed, “A bit further, and we're done.”

“You bastard, we're in the middle of nowhere,” Luevo said, “L-look!”

He gestured towards the empty plain.

“I try not to,” Joseph said, “Come on, man, we're all dying here.”

“That much is true,” Luevo whimpered, “It's almost poetic. The prince of Ionica, heir to the throne, wasting away far from home, with naught but vagrant guildfolk to accompany him.”

“You know why know one likes you?” Joseph said, “It's because of that.”

Help came an hour later. Joseph stood up and stopped walking as he heard something in the distance. Nole picked up on this and turned.

“Trouble?” he asked.

“...Maybe,” he said, “You hear it?”

“Mmm,” the troll nodded, “An engine.”

“Doesn't sound like one,” Joseph said.

“Yer too coddled by whatever gas guzzlers they got on Earth,” Nole said, “No, this be a steam engine.”

It had a different sort of sound to it, Joseph was realizing, as he heard the steam car get closer and closer to them. It was a strange sort of contraption, an old 1920s beetle with the entire backside replaced by a box made of pipes, gears, and other pieces of nonsense that went down to the car's underbelly. Steam blew out of it unbidden at certain points, as though it were about to fall apart at any moment, a strange pop uttering out of it at times. A reinforced metal cart was attached to the end of the car, atop which were stacked crates.

The driver was a brown-skinned man with a handlebar mustache that had drooped in the heat. He looked at them.

“Travelers?” he had a thick, flowing accent.

“Out of town,” Nole replied.

“That much is obvious,” the man said, “Well, it won't do to have you sweltering and dying out here. I've got a seat in the front, and the rest of you can hang out on the back. Climb aboard.”

The party looked at each other.

“I hope yer not offended, but we're, ah-” Nole started.

“We're being hunted,” Luevo said, “By a m-most dreadful being.”

“My ex-wife?”

“Worse,” Luevo said.

“Oh dear,” the driver thought for a moment, looking behind him, “Well, I've been driving for hours now, and I haven't seen anything more dreadful than that old harpy. So I suppose it's not all that bad.”

“That's not-” Joseph said.

“We'll take it,” Luevo replied, “We'll take your ride, if that's alright.”

“Good, good,” he looked them all over, “Now, who wants to ride in the front with me?”

***

They drew straws.

Joseph won, much to Luevo's sorrow and G-Wiz's chagrin. Neither Nole nor Archenround would be able to fit in the passenger's seat. The driver – whose name was Bali – offered him a mint as Joseph climbed in.

“Say what you will about the Marlish, but they have quite the sweets selection,” Bali said. He cranked a few levers, and Joseph saw a port open up. Bali concentrated, a thick stream of steam emanating from his hand and pushing into the port. The entire car came to life around him as Bali continued his journey.

“I don't think I ever got your name,” Bali said.

“Joseph.”

“No last name?”

“Zheng.”

“Joseph Zheng,” Bali nodded, “Rolls off the tongue well. Where are you from?”

“Calif-Earth,” Joseph said, “Just Earth.”

“Earth,” Bali nodded, swerving a bit to miss a rough patch of rocks on the road, “Never heard of it.”

“Lots of people haven't,” Joseph said.

“Nice plane?”

“How do you know it's a plane?”

“Your friends include a serpent-woman and a green giant with a nose like my mother’s,” Bali said, “You don't see those too often, here. Guildfolk, I assume. Travelers always are.”

“Not my friends,” Joseph mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“I said they're not my friends. They're coworkers. Except for the prince-” Joseph caught himself, looking at Bali, unsure of how much he should reveal, “We're on a job, is all.”

“So am I,” Bali said.

Joseph went quiet at that. He looked out the rearview mirror and back at the rest of the guild. Nole was scratching his back, wincing slightly as he poked at an ugly, off-color scar that ran down his back where Mordenaro had pierced him through the tree. Luevo was gazing out towards the horizon, his eyes devoid of any life, his body breathing by memory alone. Archenround was motionless as she watched the path behind them, one hand on the handle of a blade, ready to pull it out. G-Wiz was absently thumbing at the Zumbelaphone, her face ashen.

And Joseph? He felt raw. Empty.

“You don't like your job much, do you?” Bali said.

“I just want to go home,” Joseph said.

“Aye, we all do,” Bali said, “We all do.”

***

Distant and away, the wind, at last, wandered. For the Spioa, the air-dancers, the children of the Lady of the Wind, had been with him near the entire night and most of the morning. Mordenaro had pushed against them, railed against them, attempted to convince them to release him. But they had been angry.

For the Grim Walker had killed one of their own. The Spioa Who Walked. He had smelled of the wind, of crisp mornings, of autumn and her hues. Mordenaro had not realized.

And, when they at last released him, when he had finally pushed through their insurmountable sorrow, he was near to tears.

But the hunt would continue, and the Grim Walker would be walking yet.

He stalked through the forest, this Koma. Hunted after the scent of Kimao, his systems taking in the world, following the footsteps and aura of the prince. Pride tinged his steps, pride mixed with sorrow and guilt.

He arrived at the ruins of a place he knew. Khal, the Landscape before the jungle. Nostalgia filled his veins. He had known the Kimao before, who had brought the savannas to life. She had been a friend, dear to his heart.

Gone, now.

Mordenaro thought on that. Khal had been long ago. Its corpse moldered around him, bleached white by time and defiance of Koma. For a moment, or for a thousand years, he swayed like the trees around him.

But this was not the time to be marred by age. Mordenaro blinked.

Khal had not been like other Landscapes. It had been close to other worlds, to the endless expanse of imagination that was the multiverse. It held a gate. Mordenaro walked towards it...

...Noted etchings that had not been there before. He recalled, from the deepest reserves of his database, images of the gate as it had been in Khal’s prime. No, the circles had not been cut down the middle. They had been whole and unmarked.

The Grim Walker breathed in deeply.

He smelled the energies of the in-between of reality.

They had traveled. Used the gate.

His eyes flashed emerald, scanned past the physical barrier of the plane and to the in-between place. The gate led elsewhere, now. No longer to Irumala, the World of Witchcraft.

It led to the World of Steam.

Mordenaro nodded, placing a single finger against the activation rune. Let his system power on, let generators installed into his form long ago surge to life. Power flowed into the rune like the ocean upon the shore.

Until the door was open.

And the Grim Walker stepped through.