How had he not seen him?

Mordenaro strode forward from the corner of the room. He looked the same as when Joseph had seen him for the first time in Koma. His black duster, freshly re-knit and clean as the night, billowed as he stepped into the light, and he had added to his ensemble a wide-brimmed hat that cast his face in a gloom. He seemed to melt out the shadows, his form was more darkness than human, as though he were a walking shade and not anything truly real.

His voice echoed through the courtroom as he spoke, calm and steady, almost reasonable.

“I am Mordenaro.”

“What plane do you hail from?”

“I do not know.”

The judges seemed to accept this as an answer, nodding to one another in the half-light before continuing.

“Do you swear to abide by the laws of the Federation and that everything you speak is true, to the best of your ability, on penalty of perjury and excommunication?”

“I, Mordenaro, do swear, under penalty of perjury and excommunication, that everything I say is true, to the best of my ability, so sworn by my fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers.”

It was almost too professional, the way he spoke, the way the judges continued on their way, the way Rastonbury, after a moment of apprehension, began prodding Mordenaro for questions.

Why couldn't they see? He wasn't questioning a man.

He was questioning a monster.

G-Wiz had gone completely pale. Her hands were slowly scrunching up as she listened to the Grim Walker relate his story, digging into the metal table. Joseph was afraid her fingertips would start bleeding if she dug any more. Becenti was on the verge of losing it. His eyes were bulging out, and Joseph was sure that, if they were anywhere else, he would have thrown himself at Mordenaro and throttled him.

“How, exactly, did you arrive at the conclusion that the Amber Foundation had planeshifted to Kelstonda?” to his credit, Rastonbury's voice was even. He didn't seem intimidated by Mordenaro.

“I can see planar travel,” Mordenaro said, “I can see when possibility is used.”

“And who was your client?”

“As part of the Law of InterGuild, I am not at liberty to say.”

Not at liberty to say?

Joseph blanched. Mordenaro was under oath. He had to speak the truth-

And yet the judges, aside from the leftmost jotting down a few notes on the datapad, were silent. Par for the course.

“And you pursued the Amber Foundation to Kelstonda,” Rastonbury continued.

“Correct.”

“Please, describe to me the battle aboard the train. What happened?”

Mordenaro began to relate the story, his voice a monotone drone. His very speech seemed to vibrate the air and set Joseph even further on edge, to the point that he almost couldn't make out his individual words – just a melody that pounded into the back of his head.

“And how, sir, did you happen to kill Nole?”

“Your honor,” Glonthek said feebly, “There are v-victims in the room.”

“We have Mordenaro for so little time, Glonthek,” the center judge said, “Continue, Grim Walker.”

“Killing a troll is difficult,” Mordenaro explained, “Only by certain chemicals are they known to perish - sodium chloride and iridium are two examples. I had to use salt to burn away his body at specific points, specifically the head region and chest. By the time I was finished, he was unrecognizable.”

A sudden cry from G-Wiz pierced the interrogation.

“The defense will keep silent, lest they be dismissed from the proceedings,” the rightmost judge admonished.

“Continue, Grim Walker,” the center judge said.

“That is all that was required,” Mordenaro said, “After that was done, I continued on my way to pursue the Amber Foundation.”

“And you did no more damage to the train?” Rastonbury asked.

“No.”

“Did you intentionally damage the train, in any way?”

“Yes. As I have stated, I tore through the ceiling in order to get inside,” Mordenaro said.

“Mr. Mordenaro, have you ever heard of a door?”

“Once or twice.”

Rastonbury looked over to the judges, “No more questions, Viceborne.”

“Very well,” the judge said, “Unfortunately, Glonthek, it appears we are out of time.”

Glonthek let out an annoyed huff, “Very well, Viceborne.”

“This court will adjourn,” the center judge announced, “Let us see... we will continue in four years, three days, seven hours, fifty-five minutes.”

Four years?

Mordenaro left without a word, brushing past Joseph. For a moment, he thought the Grim Walker would stop to say something, but he continued on his way. The three judges began to rise, though a veil of light began covering the tops of the podium, obscuring them from view. Rastonbury and his associates murmured to one another as they packed papers back into briefcases. The one with the trilby shook hands with Rastonbury. Glonthek clicked a few buttons on his datapad as he returned to the Amber Foundation's table.

“Bullshit,” Becenti snarled, “Absolute bullshit.”

“Agreed,” Glonthek said, “By Nork, I'm going to have a lot of paperwork.”

“Four years?” Joseph said.

“Oh, that's normal,” Glonthek said. He was suddenly interrupted as Rastonbury approached.

“The usual place?” he asked.

Glonthek sighed, “Yes, the usual place. Rizhal and Johns should be there, too. Let's just get this over with.”

“Agreed,” Rastonbury gave a polite nod to Joseph and Becenti before walking away.

“Sorry about that,” Glonthek said, “But yes, four years is normal.”

“How is that normal?” Joseph said, “What, am I going to have to come back here in four years to listen to more of that fucking bullshit?”

“Woah, woah,” Glonthek said, “Calm down, kid. Relax. We'll just settle this out of court with the Marlish, nothing too major. Crops up all the time. Rastonbury and I go way back.”

“Come on, let's go,” Becenti snapped. He began striding out of the room. Joseph began to follow, before he realized G-Wiz still hadn't got up. He turned to her.

“Hey, you alright?”

G-Wiz was quiet. Joseph sighed and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Let's get out of here,” he said, “Back to Castle Belenus.”

“Why did he come here?” she whispered, “Why, of all people, did they have to call him?”

“Beats me,” Glonthek said, “Probably to get more out of us, utter bastards. G, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

She didn't respond. But she did get up. Meleko walked over and rested a hand on her shoulder, guiding her out of the courtroom.

The crowd was still there as they entered back into the lobby. It was downright cacophonous compared to the court, and the army of voices hurt Joseph's head – he already felt a migraine developing from those proceedings. They pushed through the crowd and back outside. They said their goodbyes to Glonthek and Archenround - the latter who had to return to the hospital - and returned back to the Titania Amber.

“We'll take you back to the hangar,” Becenti said, “Go through the Traveling Point there back to Londoa, and we'll meet up with you later.”

“How will you get back to Moadma Landmass?” Joseph asked.

“We're taking the Titania Amber for the expedition,” Becenti replied, “We'll return to Castle Belenus onboard.”

“For the mission, right?” Joseph said.

Becenti didn't respond to that, ignoring Joseph as he powered up the Titania Amber's engines, his fingers nearly smashing through each button on the console. Soon they were back in the sky of Everlasting Truth, heading back towards the hangar she was usually stored in. G-Wiz was quiet, and she laid her head on Meleko’s shoulder.

“You need anything, G?” Meleko asked.

“I can conjure up some delicious fruit, perhaps,” Phineas said, “An apple? A blarfruit?”

“I d-don't need anything,” G-Wiz said, “Just...”

“Just rest,” Meleko said.

“Yeah.”

“That was outright horrendous, what they pulled back there,” Becenti muttered to Joseph as they crested over a cargo ship.

“Why was Mordenaro even there?” Joseph wondered.

“As a witness,” Becenti said, “Mordenaro swears to the Law of InterGuild. Despite his power and his isolationist tendencies, he's still beholden to the authority of the Federation.”

There was a bitter note to Becenti's words. Joseph looked over.

“That wasn't cool back there, either,” Joseph said, “What the judges said to you.”

“I am used to such hostility,” Becenti replied, “I don’t even need to be a metahuman for that. Still...”

There was a distant look in Becenti's eyes.

“It still isn't a good feeling, Mr. Zheng. And as time goes on, you will feel the Federation's... opinions of metahumans more fully.”

“Am I going to have to register?” Joseph said.

“No choice in the matter. Their house, their rules.”

“Seems like their 'house' extends a lot further than their walls.”

“That entire trial was a sham,” Becenti said, “But they always are. We were always going to settle out of court. That's why we hired Glonthek. He's not a good lawyer, but by God, he's a social butterfly. He's friends with everyone we need him to be friends with. He'll get us a good deal, minimize any payments we'll have to make.”

“Then why even go through the horse and pony show?” Joseph said.

“A formality,” Becenti said, “By law, the Federation always hosts multiversal trials for at least a few sessions. But crime in a galaxy full of literal billions of inhabited star systems and an incomprehensibly large population means the bureaucracy is equally incomprehensible and labyrinthian. Our trial is on a priority list, and we still need to wait four years.”

“That's...” the reality of it all was sinking in, “That's insane. There's no way a society like this can function.”

“In a lot of cases, it doesn't,” Becenti said, “And yet people continue living their lives as though it does. Oh, there are many good things the Federation is good at.”

A line was forming ahead of them, one that snaked into the hangar bay doors. Becenti positioned the Titania Amber at the back, flipping a few buttons so her thrusters shot downward, keeping her suspended in the air.

“Unapproved cross-technological contamination, for one. Military threats, such as warlords who get too big for their britches. They were admirable during the war...”

A ship cut in front of them. Becenti, in a rare moment of rage, slammed his fist into the console. Everyone in the ship jumped at the sound, looking over in shock. Joseph felt a thrill of fear at the look on the older man's face.

“Yes, it seems whenever there's a military matter, the Federation is quite good at their jobs. In everything else? Well, they're not used to dealing with that. Oh no, if it's not something they need to blow up, then there's too much red tape. Too much legal precedent. Too much bullshit.”

Joseph was aware Becenti was rambling now. After a moment's hesitation, he laid a hand on his mentor's arm. Becenti glanced over at him, his expression dissolving from anger to something inscrutable. Exhausted. He melted into a sigh.

“Yes, well,” he said, “Nothing we can do about it now, Mr. Zheng. I'll have you sign the paperwork necessary to register you into their Metahuman Database. It shouldn't be any major matter. Most likely, there won't be anything to it.”

He was trying to convince himself, Joseph realized. He let Becenti be.

The ship cast in an awkward silence, they waited for their turn to enter into the hangar. The Titania Amber landed, and the doors opened for Joseph and G-Wiz to get out. Joseph turned to Becenti to say something – anything – as Phineas opened up a small table and put two decks on it for him and Meleko to play.

“Go, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti's voice was just a bit louder than a murmur, “I will see you when we return.”

“Right,” Joseph said.

No words, then. Becenti didn't want any comfort. Whether he needed it was another question.

But Joseph ignored that gut feeling, and walked out the door.

The two of them were quiet as they stepped off of the ship. Joseph felt an uncomfortable edge as they walked back to the Traveling Point. The entire trial and Becenti's ranting had shaken him more than he had realized. It seemed that the hangar was... dirtier. More lived-in, something that was now real and tangible. Privately, Joseph had hoped that his encounter onboard the space station had been an outlier. An aberration in a somewhere that was otherwise magnificent and beautiful.

But the wonder was gone.

And the Federation, for all of its starships and history, was just another place.

They crossed back onto Londoa and piled into the Dreamer's Lament. Whiskey was aboard, piloting the ship, and had been waiting for their return. Joseph and G-Wiz sat across from one another on the couches.

Per her wishes, Joseph didn't say anything to her. The Dreamer's Lament floated high above the clouds, and began to make her way home.

***

Far away, two days after the Titania Amber had exited Everlasting Truth's atmosphere and gone into warp, Phineas and Meleko were playing cards. Their voices, as well as the hum of the Titania Amber's engines, formed the only ambiance. Becenti was quiet, a book in his hand, his legs stretched onto the console.

“So I play Kastrophob the Mighty, right?” Meleko said.

“Correct,” Phineas replied, “It is a very strong card, and you have the faith to play it.”

“Right,” Meleko flipped the card onto the table, “And that puts me in a good state, now...”

“The best,” Phineas agreed, “I have no choice but to surrender.”

“Aww, at least let me attack you,” Meleko's face broke into a grin, an excited and predatory look on his face “You've folded these past two games.”

The Deep One considered the request, “Very well.”

“Haha!” Meleko said, “Alright, my Kastrophob attacks directly for... 1300 damage. That's game, Phineas.”

“I have lost.”

Meleko began collecting the cards from his side of the table, shuffling his deck, “Y'know, I never actually played Myth Battle before. Only saw the sets coming out.”

“You did not play before?”

“Naw, just read up on the lore of each god, and all that,” Meleko finished shuffling, putting his deck back onto the table.

“You could have played with me,” Phineas said, “It would have been simple.”

“You never went outside your room,” Meleko said.

“I do go outside of my room,” Phineas objected, “For meals, and to walk around the garden.”

“You didn't start walking in the gardens 'til that Joseph guy showed up,” Meleko reminded.

Phineas's glass orb eyes shifted down to stare at the table, “That... that is true.”

“Quite so, Mr. Phineas,” Becenti said from the front of the ship, “Mr. Zheng has had quite the effect on you.”

The Deep One didn't answer, though Meleko saw a strange look in Phineas's eye.

“Another game?” he rasped.

“Sure,” Meleko said, “Another game.”

“Good. I will not go easy on you this time. I have lost enough.”

“Sounds good,” Meleko said, “Wait, you were going easy on me?”

The next few days passed as the Titania Amber continued on her way through warp. They all played out the same – Meleko and Phineas played a few games of Myth Battle, Becenti read through a veritable library of books, the ship's hum ambled on.

Finally, on the third day, Meleko looked up at the pilot's seat, where Becenti had situated himself, “So, uh, where we headed?”

“Should be there in another day or so,” Becenti answered.

“Yes, but where?”

Becenti put his book down, turning to face Meleko and Phineas, “Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any. We are heading towards an uncharted world.”

“I was not informed this was an exploration mission,” Phineas rasped.

“Because it's not,” Becenti said, “The planet that is our destination has been removed from any and all Federation databases. By all accounts, it does not exist.”

“Why are we heading there, then?” Meleko asked, “Because it doesn't sound like we're stopping for drinks.”

“It's a prison,” Becenti said bluntly, “And I'm going to have to ask you to not mention anything about this place to anyone, ever.”

Phineas and Meleko looked at one another.

“Rrright,” Meleko said, “Super secret prison. Definitely not what I signed up for. But alright, I'm game. Phin?”

“I have no objections. I dislike exploration jobs anyways.”

“Mr. Phineas,” Becenti said, “You're part of the expedition to the dead plane.”

“Yes, but I did not say I would enjoy it.”

“Then why are you even going?” Meleko asked.

“'In exploration, new meanings made,'” Phineas quoted, “Perhaps I will like exploration after this expedition.”

“A healthy reasoning, Mr. Phineas,” Becenti said.

***

The planet below, as they warped into view, was a cold world. A ball of snow and ice, it shone as a bright blight in the endless void of space. Hurricane-sized blizzards roiled across its surface, twists of gray and white that could be seen from space as the Titania Amber began descending down towards the planet.

“I did not bring a coat,” Phineas said.

“Apologies, Mr. Phineas,” Becenti said, “I should have warned you where we were going.”

“It is quite alright,” Phineas said, “I will shiver in silence.”

Meleko had gotten into the seat beside Becenti's, and he took a look through the scanners, “Hey boss, another ship's just warped into view.”

His four eyes squinted at the console's readings, “Suzerain-class,” he added with some concern.

“That would be our escort,” Becenti said.

Meleko looked over at Becenti, “Our escort?”

Notification for a hail appeared onscreen. Becenti clicked it, and two faces appeared. The first was a Lobidian – human-like, with a ridge of scales lining his forehead and strapping down around his pale face and to his chin, a pitch-black ponytail riding above a bald head, eyes like those of a tiger's and a beak-like nose. He was wearing a formal military uniform – white robes and a kaledosteel breastplate.

“Kris Kristandi,” Becenti said, “Been awhile.”

“Same with you, Myron,” Kristandi said.

Beside Kristandi was a figure fully enraptured in combat armor, a mech unit miniaturized to fit around the body like a second skin. Her helmet's large visor was opaque, but Becenti recognized its signature blocky design.

She was what he had once been.

A superhero, from Prime.

“Hello, Acero,” Becenti said.

“Shimmer,” she responded.

“Just Becenti is fine. Myron, actually.”

“Very well,” Acero's voice was ever so slightly accented, “I'm glad to finally meet you.”

Meleko glanced down at the console. More readings were showing up – signatures of other Suzerain-class vessels that had been obscured by something in the blizzards far below. Yet more and more were now showing up...

“You'll want to come onboard the De'aza,” Kristandi said, “Your little mom 'n' pop isn't going to be able to withstand the storms on Avro.”

“Right,” Becenti said.

Avro? Meleko’s four brows furrowed.

Where had Becenti taken them?

But neither Meleko nor Phineas asked their questions aloud. Becenti piloted the Titania Amber towards the Suzerain. She was a true warbird – not like the small defense vessels back on Everlasting Truth. Two miles in length, her hull had a slight arch, with twin wings stretching out to either side like a crescent moon. Her bow notably curved upwards like a rhino's horn, and she was pure white, the symbol of the High Federation painted on her side along with the words, in High Speech, HFS De'aza’s Glory in the Umber-Hued Dawn. Small lines carved through her hull, and she was bristling with anti-ship cannons and glassmakers.

They landed in Hangar 56, which was filled with a legion of fighters, settling down and wheezing to a standstill. Acero and Kristandi were waiting for them. Acero stood stoic and polite, while the Lobidian strode forward to shake Becenti's hand.

“Thanks for coming out here,” Becenti said.

“Anything for an old friend,” Kristandi said, “Besides, it's always good to show Prime the might of the Federation.”

“Yes...” Becenti ignored the obvious jab, looking over at Acero, gauging her. She was tall – though perhaps that was because of her armor. It rippled occasionally, making small adjustments to itself. The tell-tale sign of nanomachines, most likely. That meant this Acero was using advanced technology and-

“And quite a bit of weaponry beside that,” she said.

“You were in my mind,” Becenti noted.

“Sorry. A force of habit.”

“Indeed,” Becenti shrugged. He decided to ignore her obvious intrusion, “Now, let's get to the surface.”

“You have two more with you,” Kristandi said, “They with you?”

“The Deep One is for opening up part of the prison,” Becenti said, “The Jugdran is for my own safety.”

“Smart,” Kristandi said. He began guiding them towards the hallway. Acero turned to look down at Becenti.

“Safety?” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, “From me?”

“No,” Becenti said, pointing at the Federation guards posted by the Titania, “From them.”

“Ah. Smart, indeed.”

The De'aza began her descent into the blizzard of Avro as they made their way to an observation platform. She went from the cold of space to the burning fire of the upper atmosphere, the world painted a bright orange, and then back into the cold as the sky became blue and the earth became diamond-white. A stormwall of snow blotted out the horizon. Spires and mountains of ice jutted from the earth.

“We'll be taking a few shuttles down,” Kristandi explained, “Nothing too major. Next major storm is scheduled to arrive sometime tomorrow.”

“We'll be long gone by then,” Becenti said.

“Indeed, just a quick check, right?” Kristandi said.

“Yes.”

“Do you think he could actually have gotten out?” Acero asked, “I understand this was a bit before my time, but this prison seems... rather secure.”

“It's not a matter of if than when,” Becenti said.

“Why not just kill him?” Acero said.

“We couldn't,” Becenti answered bluntly.

He turned to Phineas, “Right, you have your book, Mr. Phineas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to open it up to page 723, if you will. There is a binding spell there – one that has already been inlaid in the valley below. You should be able to piggyback off of it and open the front door of the prison.”

“Very well,” Phineas unslung the great book from his bag, laying it on the ground and opening it up to the page. He blinked for a few moments, his raspy voice muttering the dark language engraved in the paper. The room darkened for a few moments as he read.

“This magic,” he said, “It feels familiar.”

“Familiar?” Becenti said.

“Those who speak the Tongue of Kwe'z'en,” Phineas said, “They… have specific signatures, a... recognition. Like how each person has their own unique voice.”

“Kwe'z'en,” Acero said, “The Bitch of Chains.”

“The very same,” Becenti said, “Tell me, Mr. Phineas. Do you recognize who spoke forth this prison?”

Phineas stopped chanting. A shiver ran up the Deep One's spine.

“Arcadia,” he whispered, “Arcadia is the one who made this place.”

“That's...” Acero said, “He was lost on the Round Table, during the Fifth Battle for Prime, yes?”

“He disappeared. That's all we know,” Becenti answered.

“I will need to finish this spell on the ground,” Phineas said.

“That's our cue, then,” Kristandi said, “To the shuttle.”

They donned atmospheric suits and exited. The suits were gel-like at first, then hardened around the body. A versatile technology for any shape a sapient being might take. Acero needed none of that as she flew beside the shuttle, escorting it down to the surface of Avro. Meleko glanced out at one of the observation cameras to see a great, purple symbol made of light had appeared down in the valley below. It covered a vast place, stretching outwards towards the imagined horizon, the top of the circle disappearing into the storm beyond. The symbol itself was... watery. Difficult to make out.

“Do not stare at it, Meleko,” Phineas warned, “It cannot be comprehended by eyes like yours.”

“Right on, Phin,” a new thrill of fear shuddered in Meleko's throat, “Remind me not to piss you off.”

The shuttle landed, opening up into the bitter cold, the atmospheric suits protecting them well enough from the worst parts of the harsh chills. Phineas waddled out, putting his book onto the ground, chanting a few more words in the dark tongue.

“Careful,” Acero said, “Kwe'z'en is starting to take notice.”

Becenti glanced over at her. Acero was looking upwards, and though he couldn't see her face he could feel her presence in his mind – actively searching for any activity in the realms beyond the Silver Eye.

“You're the new Seer, aren't you?” he said.

“Correct,” Acero responded, “To protect Prime. But my duties as a superhero extend far from my home.”

The ground shook. Ice began to break apart, cracking and shattering. The symbol wavered for a brief moment, then began to intensify, blinding them as it rivaled the distant sun. Then, the ice began re-assembling itself, crystal spikes arraying themselves into a rough stairway that yawned into the darkness below.

“Mr. Phineas, Mr. Kron, stay up here,” Becenti said.

“Same with you,” Kristandi said to his guards, “It's sensitive material down there.”

The soldiers saluted. Meleko looked at Becenti.

“You're sure you'll be alright?” he asked.

“I assure you, Mr. Kron, I am safe enough.”

And without another word, he was first to start walking down the stairs, ignoring the inherent slipperiness as he walked. Kristandi himself slipped for a brief moment, caught by Acero.

“Smooth,” she said.

The journey downwards took several hours as they went. The spell wrought from the spine of Kwe'z'en continued ahead of them, assembling earth and ice into a latticework of walls and stairways that spiraled deeper and deeper into Avro. Eventually, it opened up into a large cavern. It was natural, with pillars of ice supporting a roof with sharpened icicles hanging above. Becenti stopped them here, raising up a hand. He removed his helmet, laying it down on the ground beside him.

“Breathable air,” Acero noted.

“From the jinn imprisoned here,” Becenti said, “Isn't that right, Windwalker?”

Silence. And then the air began swirling. It took on a physical nature to it, curving and coiling into a physical form that began filling in with color. Bland cream robes, a turban atop the jinn's head, a sharp face with a sharp mustache and a sharp beard jutting from the chin. Windwalker floated down gently, feet never quite touching the ground.

“Shimmer,” his voice was deep and rich, “You come at an unexpected time.”

“I do,” Becenti agreed, “Please, call me Becenti.”

“Very well, Shimmer,” Windwalker said, “What can I help you with?”

“I wish for you to be our protector here,” Becenti said, “Act on our behalf with the other guardians.”

“And the payment?”

Becenti took out a small, golden ring. Windwalker's expression dimmed.

“I will not be imprisoned again, Shimmer.”

“You misunderstand. I am giving it to you for your own uses.”

Becenti did not mention that Windwalker was imprisoned anyways, far below the earth, but he chose not to bring that up. A curious eyebrow twinge from Windwalker was enough. The jinn took hold of the ring, considering it for a brief moment, then he tucked it beneath his robes.

“Very well,” he said, “So that you are not accosted by the other denizens and guardians of this place, I will act on your behalf.” His physical form disappeared as he blew away like a summer breeze.

“Nice guy,” Acero said.

Becenti ignored her comment. They continued going further into the prison, crossing the natural cavern, the magic of Kwe'z'en paving the way. What had been earth and ice carved itself into something vaguely civilized – or as much civilization as a prison brought. The way became darker and darker, whatever natural illumination shining from the walls of ice disappearing. Lights from Acero's suit clicked on, twin beams cutting through the half-shadows and lighting the way for the rest of the group.

“Almost there, now,” Kristandi said. He, too, had taken off his helmet, and his breath came out as a cloud in front of him, “Now, if you'll all stand back.”

Acero's light guiding his hand, the Lobidian stepped forward, taking off a glove and pressing his bare, scaled hand against a flat part of the ice. A hand-scanner appeared around it, green lines waving across the palm.

“I am Kris Kristandi,” he announced, “Right hand of Olendris Valm. I have his writ of passage here.”

He produced a small, golden ball from his robes. The ball opened up, and the too-calm voice of Valm began speaking in High Speech. Becenti suppressed a shudder. It had been a long time since he had heard the Prime Voice. Valm's cadence didn't seem to have changed a bit – still painfully sincere, yet with all the barbed venom of a politician with a career spanning over two centuries.

The ice before them cracked and rearranged itself, opening up into one final cavern. The light had returned here – but it was not from the natural lights from the ice. That had been blue – glow-worms that festered by the billions, eating their way through the cold.

No, this light was a deep, glorious orange, produced by the massive pillar of amber in the center of the vast, coliseum-sized cavern. It had been a natural thing, taken from some distant plane, jagged and broken by nature, a tower of sap harvested from an apparent world tree.

Yet it did not glow by its nature alone, but by its prisoner. He floated there, suspended in the amber. His eyes still shone like twin stars, glaring down at the cavern below.

“Is he awake?” Becenti said.

“We're not sure,” Kristandi replied.

“I'm putting some feelers out,” Acero said.

“Be careful,” Becenti said, “He's broken psychics before.”

“I read the file,” Acero dismissed, “Though, it's like trying to push back against a wall... I'm not making any purchase.”

“Best you get out, then,” Becenti said. He looked up at the figure, “I'm just glad he's here.”

“If he got out, we'd know,” Kristandi said, “The entirety of the 700th is guarding him.”

“I know,” Becenti said, “But you've heard whispers, haven't you?”

Kristandi was quiet. He looked up at the prisoner, then turned to leave.

“We don't know if he can hear us,” he warned, “Best we talk elsewhere.”

“Aye.”

They walked back through the door. Kwe'z'en's magic began to recede, the door converting back to natural ice, the passage swallowed up by earth as they ascended up to the surface. They talked as they walked.

“Nothing too major,” Kristandi said, then, after a moment, he added, “Yet, of course. Sensors on a hundred Listening Worlds picked up a few palpitations. A couple pirate groups are starting to coalesce. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Except?” Becenti prodded.

Kristandi heaved a great sigh, cold breath welling around him, “Well, there have been rumors that someone's been supplying them. Someone off-plane.”

“Agrippa?”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Kristandi muttered, “Like father, like son.”

“There is another thing,” Acero said, “I don't think you'll like it.”

Becenti stopped, looking up at her.

“The Irregulars and I, we had an encounter in Seattle about a month ago,” Acero said, “We think it was Dakos.”

The color drained from Becenti's face. His hands shook slightly as he took a deep breath, “Then it's begun again?”

“We're still not sure if it was him,” Acero said, “But we're-”

“Reasonably sure,” Becenti began walking forward. He slipped his helmet back on, the light whine of the suit's atmosphere crying through the cavern, “I've fought gods on 'reasonably sure.'”

***

Far above, on the surface of Avro, Phineas's spell blinked, his eyes clouded over by the magic of Kwe'z'en, the Bitch of Chains. He had piggy-backed off of Arcadia's spell, part of his conscious circuiting along the leylines and oaths that had been uttered long ago. Becenti's outburst a few days before had unsettled the Deep One. That, as well as the fact that Arcadia had even been here meant that there was something down there, something bigger than Becenti was letting on.

So Phineas had worked his magic. His ears were the cavern's ears, his eyes were the cavern's eyes. He was shaking, and not from the cold.

“What do ya hear, Phin?” Meleko asked.

“Dark things,” Phineas rasped, “Very dark things.”