“Iresine,” Chadwick said, “Was a metahuman. Much like you.”

“You said as much,” Joseph replied.

“He was from one of the last great kingdoms that made up Epochia,” Chadwick continued, ignoring Joseph, “Chliofrond, I believe it was called. A nomadic nation, its people living in great, floating cities that traveled the skies of the multiverse. You see, in those days, the war with the High Federation was at its height; being able to move from plane to plane was an absolute necessity.”

“Makes sense,” Joseph said, “How come his name was ‘Iresine’?”

“The ability to manipulate and grow any plant, so long as his blood was the fuel,” Chadwick said, “A powerful ability, when used correctly. Lord Iresine was an explorer of the multiverse, constantly poring over the planes for new discoveries to be used to strengthen Chliofrond. The past was a weapon, the tombs of dead civilizations potential for new, more destructive means of war. To Iresine, to explore was to survive.”

“Sounds like an intense guy,” Joseph muttered. He took out the diary, letting his soul's hand spark to life, drenching the old journal in cyan light, “And this was his journal?”

“Written in a dozen languages, no doubt,” Chadwick said, “Go ahead, I'm a cat of my word. Lay the page in front of me, and I may know its contents.”

“May?” Joseph narrowed his eyes.

“May,” Chadwick reiterated. In the light of Joseph's soul, the cat's shadow was splayed on the wall, dancing and surging like waves, and Joseph could make out wings hiding in his form, “Languages are difficult, especially dead ones. Iresine lived a long, long time ago. It's difficult to bridge and remember knowledge, you see.”

Feeling as though there was no other choice, Joseph put the diary down, flipping to the page with the sarcophagus. Chadwick took a look at it, his eyes glowering down, their light fading a bit as he concentrated.

“Ah,” he said, “Indeed, this is Iresine's script...”

“You seemed to have known the guy,” Joseph said, “An old owner?”

“A cat has no owner,” Chadwick said, “But he owns many mortals. Few understand that, Ichabod among them.”

“But you knew him,” Joseph said.

“Ah, perhaps,” Chadwick's eyes became soft and sad, “Once. I shouldn't have asked for that milk, I think. Just Iresine's writing was enough...”

He went silent. A soft paw went up to the page, turning it to see the next as the calico became lost in his own head. Joseph wasn't sure how to respond, letting him have his moment. Chadwick took his time, turning page after page. After a little while, he looked up.

“I recognize the language that Iresine was using with those... sarcophagi, correct?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said.

“Anuté and Inweth,” Chadwick said, “'Question' and 'Answer.' They came from an ancient civilization that used to rule all of Melmaen.”

“Melmaen,” Joseph said, “That's where the guild got the Dreamer's Lament from, right?”

“Indeed,” Chadwick said, “Melmaen, the Plane of Rebirth, it is called. Always destroying itself and rebuilding. Well, all planes do that. Melmaen's the one people pay attention to, because who wants to know one’s own grisly history of destruction and rebuilding? Better to just assign it to someone else and call it a day.”

“So what do they do?”

“Hmm? The sarcophagi?” Chadwick said, “Ah, yes. They allow passage in the multiverse. Anuté and Inweth function much like doors – one opens, the other closes. They possess magic and enchantments that haven't been seen in the multiverse for a very long time.”

“And one's on Earth,” Joseph murmured.

“And the other one is somewhere,” Chadwick said, “What makes you so interested in them?”

“You don't know?” Joseph asked.

“A cat only knows things that are important,” Chadwick responded.

“Ha ha,” Joseph said, “I came here through this coffin. Through... Anuté.”

He looked down at the upside-down journal, flipping over to the page with the sarcophagus. Iresine's sketch was both frantic and measured, detailed yet still having a quick edge to its movements. Uncomfortable memories swam in his head, of being trapped within it, pulled forward towards apparent oblivion, unable to forge the waves of the multiverse as he traveled towards the other side.

“Where is it?”

“Hmm?” Chadwick said, “You must provide context, otherwise I won't know what you’re talking about.”

“The other sarcophagus. Inweth. It was left behind on Kelstonda. Do you know where it is?”

“Oh you poor fool, of course I don't.”

“Know someone who would?”

“Of course not,” Chadwick stretched himself out, purring in content, “Of course, I might have my memory rattled if I got some milk...”

Joseph let out a weary sigh, “Where's the saucer?”

“Over there, by the rat.”

Joseph stepped over, making a face as he moved the half-eaten rat corpse off of the milk saucer. His electrical hand shot over to the crate on the other side of the room, opening it up and pulling out a container of spiced milk. He returned to Chadwick, pouring out a cup of it into the dish, the strong scent of maple and cinnamon drifting through the relative dead air.

“Thank you,” Chadwick began lapping gently at the milk. Joseph crossed his arms.

“Well?” he said.

“I said I might have my memory rattled,” Chadwick said, “Unfortunately, it was not. Have a nice day.”

***

“Well,” Elenry growled, “It won't scar, if that makes you feel better.”

Joseph was silent, wincing as the Gloivel scraped the blood off of his face with a washcloth. She murmured a few magic words, the surprisingly deep scratches left by Chadwick knitting themselves shut. Nash was in a nice suit, arms crossed and waiting at the door. They gave a wave to Joseph, a sympathetic – and proud – smile playing on their face.

“Did you get what you needed?” Elenry said, “Everything?”

“I need to talk to Broon,” Joseph said.

That was the wrong thing to say. Elenry glared at Joseph. Joseph quailed beneath her gaze, which had the force of a hundred tons.

“Yeah, sorry,” Joseph said.

“What, by the Sky, drove you to leave your room?” Elenry asked.

“I needed to get some info,” Joseph said.

“Info?” Elenry's voice had a new edge of exasperation.

“To... get home,” Joseph said.

Elenry was quiet at that. She considered him for a few moments, and Joseph noticed the way her magic-infused fist hovering over his face wasn't quite as clenched.

“Every day, I hope that this guild doesn't get into some sort of shenanigans,” Elenry said, “And every day, I'm disappointed. Well, I suppose no matter what I do, you'll try to talk to Broon, yes?”

“Sorry,” Joseph said.

“You know he won't quit, El,” Nash said.

“Not a word from you,” Elenry growled, shooting them a glare. They turned back to Joseph, “Very well. I suppose I must once more throw away all of my medical training and say: If you open up your stitches talking to Broon, I'll be very upset indeed.”

“How would I open up my stitches talking to Broon?” Joseph asked.

“Please, Joseph, this is the Amber Foundation,” Elenry made for the door, extending an arm for Nash to loop through, “Things like this tend to happen.”

***

“Ah, Joseph!” Broon called out, “Just the guy I wanted to see. Here, help me out with this, will you?”

The half-orc was lifting one of the last few crates into the storage room, positioned precariously on his shoulder. Joseph nodded, wincing a bit as his soul surged outwards, expanding to its full form to pick up the other crate. The two of them began moving out of the hall. The trolls who had been hired to help carry everything in had finished up and gone home for the day, leaving the two of them alone to work on the task. A few other guildmates were in the Great Hall, maneuvering out of their way as they went. The bustle of the day had retreated somewhat as the members of the Amber Foundation began their nightly rituals – retreating to their rooms for studies, or going to the bars in town.

“Funny how we don't have a bar here,” Joseph commented.

“Becenti wouldn't allow it,” Broon said, “Even after Ichabod cried.”

“Cried?” Joseph gave a sly smile.

“Don't tell him I said that,” Broon said, “Anyways, he's pretty strict on that. No bars. Sure, you can bring in drinks from outside, but he very much disapproves of all of that anyways.”

“Understandable,” Joseph said. His soul reached out with a free arm to open up the door. Broon murmured his thanks as the two of them went into the storage rooms. They had been filled by this point by crates and barrels of supplies – after Joseph put down his crate, he opened it up to see old computer ware inside.

“Geez,” he said, “This looks like it's from the 80s.”

“Looks pretty high-tech to me,” Broon said, “But different planes, right?”

“That's true,” Joseph said. He went quiet for a moment, unsure of how to broach the topic. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, “Broon?”

“Aye, Joseph.”

“Do you... You don't remember what happened to the airship, right?”

“Joseph, there are a lot of airships out there.”

“The one you found me on,” Joseph detailed.

“Ah,” Broon scratched his chin, rising to his full height. Even in the half-light of the room, Joseph was still shocked at how truly massive the half-orc was, “The... Fortune's Favor, I believe she was called. Why?”

“I'm doing some research, is all,” Joseph said, “Trying to find out what happened to that sarcophagus.”

“Mm,” Broon nodded, “Still trying to get home?”

There was nothing to those words. Broon was being his usual, conversational self. Yet for some reason they stung at Joseph and stabbed at him like accusations.

“Something like that,” he evaded, “Do you know what happened to the Favor?”

“Well,” Broon thought for a few moments more, “I’d suppose she would have crashed.”

“Crashed?” Joseph was incredulous.

“That Steamer probably killed everyone onboard,” Broon said, “He was a damn good one, too – almost got me and Rosemary during our little spat, if I remember right. With no one to steer the ship or to keep the engines hot...”

He didn't finish the question. Joseph felt a hollow pang in his chest.

“So the sarcophagus...”

“Might be in the sea,” Broon finished, “I'm sorry, Joseph.”

“You're sure?” Joseph prodded.

“No, I'm not,” Broon said, “All I’ve got is conjecture, along with what little news I received after the job was done – a little side project of mine, is all. I just wanted to know what happened.”

Joseph let out a defeated sigh, sitting down on one of the crates. Broon gave him a sympathetic look, then sat down, patting him on the shoulder with his one arm.

“You really want to go home, don't you?”

“I do,” Joseph said. He looked up at Broon, “I...”

“I know that feeling,” Broon said, “You don't have to say anything.”

The half-orc looked away, focusing on the wall. Joseph followed his gaze, staring at the outline of the orange sandstone bricks in the darkness. The two of them were silent for a time. Broon produced a small bottle from his pocket, uncapping it with one of his tusks and taking a quick swig. He passed it to Joseph, who drank the bitter beer within.

“You're lucky,” he said, “Most folk in the guild, we don't have a home to go back to.”

“'In Exploration, New Meanings Made,'” Joseph quoted.

“The guild motto,” Broon smiled.

“Phineas repeats it at least once a week. Will it be on the test?”

“You’ll need to write an essay,” Broon chuckled.

“...That motto,” Joseph said, “It goes beyond just simple exploration, right?”

“Of course, otherwise it wouldn't be a very good slogan,” Broon said, “Guilds are in place for a variety of reasons. Becenti says they're there for control. Someone like Mordenaro would see them as a challenge, I suppose. But guilds are also there for people like me, or Rosemary, or even Chadwick.”

He took another swig, apparently finishing it off, as he gave it a sour look before returning it to his side.

“Guilds are there for the disenfranchised, the lost, the lonely. People with nowhere else to go. In guild, one finds home and tribe.”

“So that's why I'm lucky, then,” Joseph said.

“My parents were killed when I was seven,” Broon said, “I had no other kin. I wandered the woods for most of my childhood until I left it when I was around twenty. I'm also a half-orc – reviled by most of my parent country, more spawn than child. That... ridicule, it led me to do dark things.”

He glowered down at the ground.

“And then the Amber Foundation found you,” Joseph said.

“A bit later,” Broon said, “Almost too late. But aye, they found me. Wakeling herself picked me up in both arms-”

“She has arms?”

“Don't interrupt,” Broon chided, “She picked me up and helped me to my feet. I've been with them ever since.”

“She gave you a new outlook on life.”

“Aye,” Broon said, “Through the guild, I've learned to... how should I say it... I've learned that the past is the past. I can't change who I was, only who I am.”

“And a lot of the guild feels like you do,” Joseph said.

“G-Wiz is an exile. Ichabod has his own dark past. Rosemary just showed up here out of the blue one day – we don't even know what plane she's from, and she doesn’t like to talk about it. Even folk like Elenry have darker aspects to their life.”

“So I am one of the lucky ones, then,” Joseph murmured.

“Aye, and some folk here might be jealous of that,” Broon said.

“Why... why are you telling me all this?” Joseph asked.

“I'm...” Broon struggled, “I'm actually not sure. From what it sounds like, I feel like a parent admonishing their mewling child, telling them that other people have it worse.”

“My mom always was like that,” Joseph said.

“But what I'm trying to say is, even if you can't get home, you always have us, Joseph,” Broon's smile returned, “No matter what, Castle Belenus is your home just as much as Earth is.”

He was unsure how to react to that. Instead, Joseph merely nodded.

“Thanks, Broon.”

***

Broon did point out one last thing before the two of them returned back to the Great Hall. The guild kept records – including records of every mission they had gone on.

“Paperwork and bureaucracy go hand in hand, like bananas and milk,” the half-orc said.

“That's disgusting, but I get the analogy,” Joseph said.

“Try it, and I'll have you singing a different tune,” Broon said, “Good luck, Joseph.”

So he ascended up the stairs, climbing flight after flight, the Great Hall becoming dizzyingly small below him – he saw Rosemary's burgundy cloak fluttering below as she ran, a red triangle in the sea of orange stone. He finished his journey at the step in front of Wakeling's study. He knew that he probably shouldn't disturb her – she was most likely exhausted after a long day of paperwork and preparations…

But he needed to know. Joseph brought up a hand to rap at the door when he felt her voice in his mind.

“Ah, Joseph. Come in, dear.”

He found he had been looking up as he heard the voice, as though she had been speaking from the sky. Joseph looked back at the door and heard a small click as the lock unlatched. He opened the door and went inside.

Wakeling's office was different at night. Quieter, if that were possible. Older. The already ancient books seemed to glow in the darkness of her study, light runes glowing blue on their spines. The roof disappeared, the spire ceiling seeming to morph into glass, showing the night sky high above. Yet it wasn't the night sky of Londoa, with its many-colored lights from distant cities on the other side of the plane. Joseph felt a pang as he saw it was his night sky. The Big Dipper and the Little Dipper. Eridanus. He also recognized constellations Nai Nai had taught him from China – Crooked Running Water and Firebird were out tonight, glittering like old friends. Wakeling's head rested on the desk, a calm smile on her face.

“Do you like it?” she asked, “A difficult spell to weave. It always shows the night sky of your home plane – I see Delexus and Noonian on my end.”

“It's beautiful,” Joseph said.

A small sparkle twinkled in Wakeling's eye. Her face broke into a lopsided smile.

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Zheng?” Wakeling asked.

Joseph stepped forward. The only sources of light in the room were the runes of the books and the brighter stars of the night above. Wakeling's face was cast in a dull blue glow as he sat himself down.

“I need a record,” Joseph said.

“Of what job?” Wakeling asked.

“Of the mission involving the Dragon's egg and the Fortune's Favor.”

“Ah, feeling nostalgic, are we?” Wakeling chuckled, “It's only been a few months, Mr. Zheng.”

“I wanted to know what happened to the sarcophagus,” Joseph said, “See if it crashed into the sea.”

An inscrutable expression sketched itself onto Wakeling's face. Her smile disappeared as her eyes flashed silver, lighting up the room like two miniature moons, before the record Broon had written appeared in front of her. Invisible hands took hold of it, floating it down in front of her as she read it.

“...Well?” Joseph's voice was taut with apprehension.

“Well, you're going in the wrong direction, if you think that looking through guild records will get what you're looking for. I presume you spoke to Broon?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then you already know what he knows,” Wakeling said, “Broon isn't like Ichabod or Chadwick. He's an open book about what he does. He wrote the record, and it's probably got the same thing he said to you. Down to the letter, in fact.”

Joseph's heart sank at those words.

“No,” Wakeling continued, “You'll have to do research on what happened after. And that includes getting information from Kelstonda.”

A newspaper appeared in front of her, levitating towards Joseph's hand. He took it, looking at the front page.

“King of Marlish Empire found choking on enormous-” Joseph read.

“No, not that one,” Wakeling said, “It wouldn't be front page news. Airships are lost all the time. Turn to page... ah... five, we'll say.”

Joseph turned the pages, settling down on a small article that read 'Famous Ship Lost With All Hands, Artifact Recovered By Pantheon.'

“Pantheon?” Joseph said.

“Oh yes, another guild,” Wakeling said, “Owned by that snake, Agrippa. Regardless, I decided to do a bit of research of my own after everything was settled, especially once I heard how you came here...”

“And you didn't tell me?” Joseph said.

Wakeling was quiet, then said, “I didn't want to get your hopes up. Especially when you know who retrieved the sarcophagus.”

“Pantheon,” Joseph said, “Who the hell is Agrippa?”

“A businessman on Neos,” Wakeling said, a tad dismissively, “Don't go near him, Joseph. He outright owns Pantheon, and he uses them as... 'messengers,' of a sort. Pantheon only takes jobs related to Agrippa's public dealings, a message to others that the artifacts they pursue belong to him.”

“So it's on Neos?” Joseph said.

“No,” Wakeling answered, “Agrippa doesn't work like that. He plays the hero, he brought it to its original destination. That newspaper you hold there was released a day after that debacle on the Fortune's Favor.”

Another newspaper appeared. The headlines read 'Famous Neos Businessman Saves Artifact, Delivers to Melmaen.'

“Ah, I see,” Joseph said.

“Currently, the sarcophagus is held at the Museum of Unnatural History, on Melmaen,” Wakeling said, “The fact that Pantheon Nineveh brought it there means that Agrippa wants to keep it there.”

“Alright,” Joseph said, “After the expedition, let me go to Melmaen.”

“Now, now, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “What are you going to do with it?”

“I-”

“Look at it? Admire it in the light?” Wakeling let out a chuckle, “If you're thinking of investigating it, of poking and prodding, I'm afraid you're out of luck. It's a museum, Joseph.”

“And?”

“And it's an artifact claimed by Agrippa,” Wakeling said, “I'm warning you, Mr. Zheng. You won't find what you're looking for in Melmaen. And you'll only get yourself killed doing it”

Joseph glared at her, “How do you know it's not what I'm looking for?”

“Because I know, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “If the sarcophagus went the other way, you would've gone back to Earth as soon as you tried hiding from Broon.”

“'The other way'?” Joseph said. He went silent as a few things fell in place, “You knew about them, didn't you?”

“Correct, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “You're not the only one who talks to Chadwick about this sort of thing, you know. Anuté and Inweth are doors, but one is an entrance and the other is the exit. You can't go through Inweth to Anuté. Your grandmother was very specific on that.”

“My... grandmother?” Joseph said.

There was a pause. Wakeling pursed his lips, and Joseph had a dawning feeling that she had slipped up.

“...Yes,” Wakeling said, “She used Anuté often to cross back into the multiverse from Earth.”

“And what plane did she wind up on?”

Wakeling was quiet. Joseph narrowed his eyes.

“You knew her better than you've let on,” Joseph said.

The statement – more of an accusation – hung in the air. Wakeling was quiet, letting it fester as Joseph pretended the look he gave her wasn't a glare. He couldn't hide the fact that his hands were gripping the arms of the chair, or that his soul was beginning to spark around his body.

“You're not going to give me an answer,” he said, “Are you?”

“It’s something I’m not at liberty to give,” Wakeling said, “Mr. Zheng, your grandmother was involved in some nasty business. If people knew about your relation to her-”

“The High Federation already knows my name is Joseph Zheng,” his voice was quiet and harsh, “How many Zhengs do you think are out there in the multiverse?”

“Joseph, please-”

“It doesn't take much to put two and two together,” Joseph snapped, “So you might as well tell me what-”

“All this anger as soon as I mentioned your grandmother, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “Is there something you would like to talk about?”

Her words slapped Joseph in the face. He was aware he had stood up, but the admonishment spiraled him back into his seat. He gripped the arms again, his face burning as he glared daggers at Wakeling. The guildmaster returned his glare, her face sour.

“What your grandmother did is not the topic of our conversation, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling's voice was more authoritative now, “It was about where Inweth went. And you have your answer. And you also know I do not want you going to Melmaen to see it. Doing so – disrupting Inweth in any way – will paint a rather large target on your back, with one of the most powerful men in the multiverse pointing at it.”

“Why didn't you tell me about Nai Nai?” he asked, “You could've just said that you knew her.”

“I did. I knew of Zheng Chun.”

“But you two seemed to be pretty dandy pals. 'A lie of omission is still a lie,'” Joseph spat, “She said that all the time, when I tried to hide something from her.”

“Then she was quite the liar, wasn't she?” Wakeling said.

The words hung in the air for a second, before the full realization tumbled down onto Joseph's back. His stomach began to hurt from the mixture of emotions. Without another word, he stood up and made his way to the door, opening it up, the creak of its hinges sounding inhuman and distant, orange light cascading through from the other side. He gave Wakeling one final, mutinous look. Then he closed the door behind him.

Wakeling gave a sigh as he closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the darkness once more. That conversation hadn't been a deal-breaker, she knew – Joseph still needed the guild. But something had broken there. Regret hammered at Wakeling, muted due to her heart being floors below her head. High above, Delexus twinkled, five of his arms moving to reload five bows.

“Oh dear,” Wakeling said to the constellation, “I'm not very good at this, am I?”

And Delexus gave no answer.