The plane was known as Entheos, the World of Death, and it was a name well earned. All here had died long ago – the people, the trees, in some parts the very land itself. Revived in a sort of half-life, the denizens of Entheos were all manner of undead beings – vampires, zombies, liches, and more. The sky was forever in an overcast gray, the sun having been smeared out of existence long ago. Naturally, this made it cold. All the world was rendered in an eternal winter, great mummified mammoths trudging the icy steppes, Dracoliches flying across frost-covered sky. The mountains were capped to the point where they were nearly painted white, black rock poking out here and there the only evidence that there was stone beneath. Legends spoke of a mythical Summer King who would one day come and bring life back to the land. Would return the sun, would break the clouded sky.

But it was just that.

A legend.

One that was fading into the same place as folk tale and myth.

Entheos was Heyma's home plane, though she had left it several years ago. She had only returned to Entheos a few times – once for her grandfather's Second Funeral. Another time to celebrate the marriage of her sister to the Vampire Queen. A third time to help her sister through her divorce with the Vampire Queen.

That had gotten messy. She had not wanted to return here again. Castle Belenus, with its cheery warm orange and its proximity to the Inner Sun, was home now.

But duty called, and Lady Sunala wanted passage through Entheos. It was a roadblock between them and the dead plane, though Heyma doubted there was not a plane as dead as here

As she stepped through the Traveling Point, she shivered. As much as one such as she could shiver – there wasn't much of a body in the mail. But no matter what, Entheos did that to you, the way it worked its way into the soul. Made you realize that everything cold was just cool compared to its ice age.

At least she was in good company. G-Wiz stepped through behind her, wearing a heavy coat that covered most of her form. Her Zumbelaphone had been repaired – rather haphazardly – by Ichabod and Lylana. Duct tape criss-crossed the neck, and Lylana had used a blowtorch to literally weld the broken halves back together, giving it a cool lightning-bolt design on the back. Heyma thought it gave the thing personality. G-Wiz's face shriveled into disgust when she looked at it.

“God, I hate this,” G-Wiz said.

“Same,” Heyma said, “No place like home, right?”

G-Wiz glanced around the landscape. They appeared to have emerged on a hill overlooking a grayscale landscape of winter. Ash from the nearby volcano mixed with the snow, peppering it like an old man’s beard. In the distance, perhaps to remain in proximity to any warmth in this blasted place, was a city – the capital, G-Wiz remembered, of Murdok, the Realm of the Dragon.

“Why'd you bring me to a place like this?” G-Wiz muttered.

“Because Becenti said you needed to get out more,” Heyma said, “You haven't left the castle since...”

Dark memories rankled G-Wiz's mind. Heyma, realizing this, trailed off.

“Whatever,” G-Wiz said, “Damn nice place to take me, you know. Nice and sunny. I feel better already.”

“Hey, poor form,” Heyma said, “I don't want to be here, either. But it's nice to bring a friend.”

The honesty in her voice always got to G-Wiz. She gave her a small smile.

“Alright, fine. You damn guilt-tripper.”

Heyma gave her a thumbs-up.

“So where are we headed?” G-Wiz asked.

“I don't know how Wakeling did it, but we're going to a meeting with Skarnorex.”

“The... Dracolich?” G-Wiz said.

“Yup. Ruler of Murdok. In that city, right over there.”

“Wicked,” G-Wiz said, “A Dracolich. Not bad.”

The two of them made their way down the hill, half-sliding at the end and trudging towards the city. There was no road.

“Don't need one,” Heyma said, “There's too much snowfall, so it covers any markers you make. Besides, most of the people around here are zombies, like Gluh.”

“So they just wander around and moan?” G-Wiz smirked.

“Yeah, something like that,” Heyma said, “Means that people don't really care if you're on time or not.”

“Except the Dracolich.”

“You're right, there. Let's hurry the pace, yeah?”

Heyma began jogging. G-Wiz let out a curse and followed after her, tripping halfway through her second sprint. Heyma turned around.

“Climb on!” she said

G-Wiz scrambled up onto Heyma's back, the armored woman re-doubling her pace, clomping through the snow towards the city. Since Heyma was just a suit of armor, she didn't tire as she ran forward, making it to the city's entrance without much of a hassle. She let G-Wiz down, the two of them laughing as she almost fell over before approaching the guard. He was a vampire, by the looks of it – pale white skin covered in an inky black armor with a draconic motif to it – his helmet was a Dragon's maw, and the spear's point was styled as a drake's tooth.

“'Sup,” G-Wiz said.

“Hello!” Heyma said, “We're here to see Skarnorex.”

“Guildfolk?” the guard said, “Very well. Ye may pass.”

The city was, for the most part, abandoned – neither Heyma nor G-Wiz saw much around here. Why there was a guard posted right at the gate was anyone's guess – he was guarding a ghost town.

“Oh, duh,” Heyma said, “Ghosts. I'm an idiot.”

“Why can't I see them?” G-Wiz asked.

“'Cause they don't want to be seen,” Heyma replied, “I can feel them, though. Cousins, and all that.”

That meant, since most of the citizenry was composed of the spiritual kind, that the regular amenities of the city were missing. No inns or taverns – ghosts didn't need to sleep and most were of a religion that forbade drinking. They practiced this even in death.

That, and they physically couldn't drink, but it was the thought that counted.

“Damn, pretty busy out here,” Heyma said.

“It's really quiet for me,” G-Wiz said.

“You can't sense them, but they're all hustling and bustling about,” Heyma said, “Sorry, 'scuse me, pardon-”

They made their way to the great keep built into the side of the volcano. It was a square-shaped construct, built from dark stone, the windows carved from the obsidian that dotted the volcano's outside. There were few torches here – evidently Skarnorex preferred the darkness – and what sconces that did exist were lit with a pale blue fire that seemed to cast more shadow than light. G-Wiz had to respect the vibe the Dracolich was going for.

The attendant guiding them down a skeleton in a business suit. She led them down dark staircases, past empty rooms and lonely dining halls, further and further spiraling into the keep and beneath it.

Most Dragons had hoards. A physical manifestation of their brilliance and of the possibilities of the multiverse. Natural Far Travelers, Dragons did not need Traveling Points to shift across the breadth of reality. As such, their hoards were often diverse, reflecting their many expeditions and ventures.

Dracoliches were no exception. Skarnorex had been caught in the wave that had twisted Entheos into the World of Death, but that did not mean they were going to change their nature. Their great, cavernous lair was flooded with jewels and golden weapons from hundreds of different medieval worlds. Technology from the Silver Eye and beyond was littered between them – bits of starships, plasma weaponry, and discarded replicators hung among the sea of gold. Crystallized spells and incantations floated in the air around the great Dracolich, their breath having suspended them in time – for magic, too, could be collected. Balls of fire hung like will-o'-the-wisps, neon green acid spells floated in orbs of glass, a healing spell cast by Aldr Fatebreaker floated overhead like a miniature star, light perforating and flowing in slow motion.

Skarnorex themself was sitting on their hoard. Long ago, they were known to be scaled in dark crimson, with four horns adorning their head, a graying beard snaking down their chin and to the floor. Now, however, the power of Ontheos had rotted away the scales. Skarnorex had lost one of their horns to a rival, leaving them with two curling on one side, a single cracked horn on the other. The beard was gone, having decayed off of their skeletal head. They were a complete skeleton now, their ribs acting as a cage for their soul, a dark red thing that pulsed like a beating heart, spreading power over their form, magic having taken over the basic functions of the body such as movement and speech.

“Welcome,” their voice was a miasma of whispers that rang in their heads, “Amber Foundation! I hope the journey here was amicable.”

“Hello, Skarnorex,” Heyma said, her voice tinny and small in the vastness of the lair, “My name's Heyma, this here's G-Wiz.”

Skarnorex drew themself closer to the pair of them, who were on an outcropping of stone just at the entrance of the cavern. Skarnorex's head was a sightless skull, yet they stared as though they had eyes, considering the two of them.

“What brings you to my land?” Skarnorex asked, “You are a guild. There must be something. People like you don't travel for free.”

“We're needing to purchase passage through your lands,” Heyma stated, “We know that your kingdom's roads are dangerous this time of year, the skies more so.”

“And you'd like my guarantee that you'll be protected,” Skarnorex purred.

“Correct,” Heyma said.

“Why?”

There was a dangerous, greedy edge to that question, but Heyma was prepared, “We've recently discovered that a job we've taken requires passage to Redenia, the World of Monsters. We're going to be using one of the lesser known Traveling Points to reach its eastern continent.”

“And where will you go from there?” Skarnorex asked.

“To the plane that our job is required on,” Heyma answered.

A half-truth. They both knew it. But the Dracolich was polite. They reared upwards, considering their words.

“The eastern continent?” Skarnorex asked, “The more dangerous of the two.”

“We've got... other insurances for Redenia,” Heyma said, “We'd like to make sure that we get to our destination safe and sound, with as few delays as possible. I'm sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Skarnorex said.

The Dracolich considered their request. Heyma stood stock-still, waiting for Skarnorex's answer. There was no sound. The only movement came from G-Wiz’s nervous shuffling and the spells cast overhead, eternally undulating in their spheres.

Skarnorex pointed a great, skeletal claw at G-Wiz.

“You.”

G-Wiz straightened her back, felt a thrill of fear run up her spine as the Dracolich's sight fell on her.

“You are from Doremi, are you not?”

“Yeah, I am,” G-Wiz said.

“You don't carry yourself like one of them. You aren't dressed like one of them. Yet you bear that plane's scent.”

“I'm an Electron,” G-Wiz replied.

“Ah, a rebel, then,” Skarnorex said, “Good. The multiverse could use more like you.”

They let out a low humming noise, and then said, “Very well. I will allow you to pass my lands. But the payment need not be anything long-term. No money is required. All I would like from you is a song.”

“A... song?”

“With that Zumbelaphone of yours,” Skarnorex said, “I hear you can produce energy with it, convert music to power.”

G-Wiz gulped, looking over to Heyma with a worried expression knit on her face.

“A moment, please,” Heyma said.

“Of course.”

The armored woman took G-Wiz back, the two of them halfway up the staircase that led to Skarnorex's cavern.

“You good?” she asked.

“I don't know,” G-Wiz whispered, “I don't know at all, I...”

She unslung her keytar, looking it over.

“It got repaired, and everything, yeah, but no matter how much I tune and re-tune it, it doesn't sound the same...”

“It'll still be music from Doremi, though,” Heyma noted.

“Yeah, but it won't be good,” G-Wiz said, “You think that’s what Skarnorex is expecting? What if it’s not… good enough?

What if I'm not good enough was the unspoken question, and it hung in the air between the two of them. It was a vulnerability she had not really conveyed in the guild before, except for perhaps to Nole.

“I can’t do this, Heyma.”

“Hey,” Heyma put a hand on G-Wiz's shoulder, “You said you're an Electron, right? I don't remember you ever mentioning that to anyone.”

“...Nole knew.”

“He knew a lot about you, didn't he?”

“Yeah.”

“What are the Electrons like?” Heyma prodded.

“We're... exiles. Doremi's got a certain...” G-Wiz struggled to find the words, “Cadence to it. A genre. Electrons, we don't like it. Too classical. Too flowing, too much emphasis on what's been made then what can be made.”

“And that's why you wanted Ichabod and Lylana to repair it, rather than going back,” Heyma said.

“I can't go back,” G-Wiz said, “Doremi's... not a good scene. Not many Electrons are there now. Most of us left, dig? The road's our home now.”

She fingered the Zumbelaphone, “Now... I don't know. I don't feel right anymore.”

Heyma was quiet for a moment, glancing back down the staircase. Perhaps they could find another payment for Skarnorex. Find another way. But Dragons were fickle creatures. They wanted what they wanted.

And Skarnorex was among the more stubborn of them, so stubborn they had clung to life even after death.

“...There's really no other way, is there?” G-Wiz asked.

Heyma shook her head. G-Wiz wilted.

“You're saying that it doesn't feel right anymore, right?” Heyma said.

“Yeah, somethin' like that.”

“Are you sure it's not just different?”

“It ain't just different,” G-Wiz spat, “It's wrong. Weird. I can't vibe with it. Trust me, Heyma, I've tried.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure!”

Her voice echoed through the hallway, ringing through the hollow joints of Heyma's armor. They both heard Skarnorex rustle below them. G-Wiz took a deep breath.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “It's just – Ever since Nole died, nothing feels right.”

“He was your friend,” Heyma said.

“It was more than that,” G-Wiz said, “He understood me. Knew what I was like. How to help me... cope with shit, y'know?”

She sighed, pressing a few keys on the keytar. Heyma couldn't hear any difference – it sounded exactly the same as it had the first day G-Wiz had first arrived at Castle Belenus. The Electron glared at the instrument, pressing a few keys before thumbing a couple of buttons on the top, trying to tune it to her liking. Small bolts of blue light sparked around her as she did so.

“It won't sound good,” G-Wiz said.

“It'll sound different.”

“But not good.”

“Not yet,” Heyma reasoned.

G-Wiz snorted, “Maybe.”

A silence settled between them.

“They're waiting,” Heyma said, “G, we can find another way.”

“...I'll do it,” G-Wiz said.

She gripped the keytar, “Fuck it. It's what Nole would do. No belly-achin' from me.”

“Alright, then,” Heyma said, “You got this.”

“'Course I do,” G-Wiz's voice trembled with false bravado, “Time to kick ass.”

She turned and began going down the stairs.

“G-Wiz!” Heyma called.

The Electron turned around to face her.

“I've got your back. You can do it.”

Something crossed across G-Wiz's face, but she broke into a more genuine smile as she turned down and entered back into the great cavern. Skarnorex was waiting expectantly, their great form rising high above, their neck craning upwards and their skull silhouetting against the cavern's roof.

“Took you long enough,” they said.

“Sorry,” G-Wiz said, “What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything, really,” Skarnorex said, “It's the power behind it that counts.”

“Right, I'm gonna free-style, then,” G-Wiz said. Without another word, she pressed the first few keys of the keytar, a deep, thrumming sound emanating from the lower keys as she started to play.

***

Heyma wasn't sure what G-Wiz had been worried about. She was a muse, real and true to herself. The instrument was just a vessel as G-Wiz played, sparks and light dancing around her, swirling in electrical zig-zags with each note. Skarnorex chuckled to themself as she continued on – the music didn't have any particular melody to it at first, but soon took on different melodies and pieces as she went on, transitioning from one to the other. Occasionally, she'd slip up – her finger would slip, land on the wrong key that would almost cause her groove to snap.

But Heyma noticed something. When slip-ups happened, G-Wiz always glanced back at her. Her face was set as stone, but her eyes betrayed all of her emotions – the anxiety, the fear, the nervousness. But they dissipated when her eyes fell on the spirit in armor.

She had her back.

Energy streamed from the Zumbelaphone, electric blue and neon greens, swirling together into a multicolored ball. Imagination, the lifestuff of the multiverse, pure possibility that the mortal mind could only partially comprehend. It collected itself, spun on Skarnorex's outraised claw, before they breathed into it, forming a cocoon of air and magic around it, holding it fast, the sphere floating up to join the rest of the spells floating in the cavern.

“Not bad, not bad at all, Amber Foundation,” Skarnorex chuckled.

G-Wiz took a few steps back, exhausted from the effort, her brow slicked with sweat. Heyma rushed over to support her.

“You sure you don't want to stay here, kid?” Skarnorex mused, “I need a new bard, most of the ones I used to have can't play anymore – don't have the lungs.”

“I think I'm good,” G-Wiz said, “I've got...”

She looked at Heyma, a triumphant smile on her face, “I've got people back home who need me.”

“Ah, well, your loss,” Skarnorex said, “Very well, guildfolk. My land is yours to traverse. My skies are your skies.”

They extended out a claw.

G-Wiz shook it, an exhausted but triumphant smile on her face.

***

Mallory awoke early in the morning with a fire burning in her heart. She got out of bed, careful not to wake up Rosemary, and pulled on the same ratty overalls she'd owned since she'd joined the guild. A couple of her experiments were on her desk – a couple of mechanicals from back home that she'd been tinkering with, as well as an alembic that she'd been pumping steam into every morning as a favor for Rathia. Her thermos was always filled with water, so she took a few gulps and poured some steam into the alchemical device before she went downstairs. It was early in the morning – the Inner Sun had not yet appeared. Out of everyone in the guild – save for those who didn't sleep, like Nova or Whiskey – Mallory was the among the first to get out of bed in the morning. Most of the time, she was doing her daily chores, working on the upkeep of the technological devices strewn around Castle Belenus, such as the lights and the indoor heating (which broke down more often than you'd think, but it kept her busy.)

Once in a blue moon, she'd be joined by Tek, but he often slept in until well into the afternoon, and he only went with her on those rare days where he was still awake and still puttering around the halls of the castle like an oversized teddy bear. But she was alone this morning.

Of no concern, as she went down the stairs leading into the great hall. She wasn't working on the usual machinery today. Oh no, her heart was thundering.

Today she was helping with a starship.

***

It was the entire reason why Mallory had left Rensville so long ago. Why she had snuck through the Traveling Point that connected Kelstonda to Iria, had led her to journey from plane to plane until she made it to the Silver Eye.

It was why she had joined the Amber Foundation, since they were a guild with a starship.

Sure, the Titania Amber wasn't anything too grand. She was a beat-up, dumpy box with more plasma burns than Tek had fur, but she could still fly with the best of them, could still curve across the night and light up the sky.

Becenti was waiting outside as well, a cup of coffee in hand. He was wearing a white t-shirt, though already there were several neon blue stains that bloomed down the front and painted his arms and fingers.

“Starting without me?” Mallory said, “Not fair, Becenti.”

“Nothing much,” Becenti said, “Just checking the engine, making sure everything's burning bright. Meleko not up?”

“That old shark? Not a chance,” Mallory replied.

“Then I guess it's just us for now, Ms. Freemason,” Becenti said, “Well, I suppose some people need their beauty sleep. Shall we get started, then?”

“Don't need to ask me twice,” Mallory said, a smile blooming on her face, “What do we start with first?”

They got to work. Becenti had already pried open the lid to the ship's engine, which was located beneath the flooring. It was just big enough for one of them to fit inside the small opening, which Becenti did, cramming himself down, sweat beading down his forehead as he became drenched in the hot orange light of the engine.

“She's running to some degree at almost all times,” he said, “Nothing dangerous, but we'll want to make sure the lid's closed nice and tight when we're all finished. Too much ambient radiation can cause serious problems for most of us here, down the line.”

“Right,” Mallory said, lying down beside the opening, “What do you need?”

“Well,” Becenti thought for a moment, “I was just checking the engine, making sure she was running, had enough fuel, the whole nine yards.”

“Fuel?”

“Yes. I believe Broon should have dropped some off yesterday.”

“Is it in the storage room? I could grab it,” Mallory said.

“No, she’s fine for now,” Becenti said, “Best to fill up just before you head out, old pilot’s trick. Ah, hand me the alicorder. That box-shaped sensor. Perfect.”

He took the alicorder from her and pressed it against the engine.

“As I suspected, a couple of the gauges are off. We'll need to re-align them.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

Becenti looked at the engine for a few more moments. A sense of anticipation rose up in Mallory's chest as he looked it over. The engine was a bizarre thing to her – cube-shaped, with red neon lines running all along it in intricate swirling designs. Each line served a specific purpose, and each one pulsed in a rhythmic heartbeat. It were as though the entire thing were alive, complex and strange, so far beyond what Mallory was used to that-

“Get me a wrench,” Becenti said.

She blinked. “What.”

“A wrench, Ms. Freemason,” Becenti said, “So I can unscrew the front.”

“R-right,” she said, reaching over to grab one, “Here.”

Becenti nodded as he took it, giving her a light smirk as he did so.

“What, expected something more... futuristic? The reliable is the mundane, Ms. Freemason.”

There were screws that had been hidden in the corners of the engine's front. Becenti began unscrewing each one, bit by bit, until he could take the entire face off. He did so, hefting it up and lifting it for Mallory to grab and put out of the way. The interior of the engine was dominated by a blood red core of stone encased in glass, tubes connecting it to various parts of the inside of the cube and to the rest of the ship. Becenti huffed in satisfaction.

“This here's a Rigellian Geode,” he said, “From Kwellian, a planet in the Inner Reach known for producing some of the most stable engines in the Silver Eye.”

“Isn't this a bit...” Mallory glanced at it, tapping her finger on the floor nervously, “Isn't this dangerous?”

“Afraid of the radiation?” Becenti said, “No, even with it out like that we’re in no immediate danger. The radiation is a byproduct of the chemical process used to convert the Geode into energy for the ship. That's still occurring, mind you, just not in any lethal amount.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Mallory said, “And the fuel?”

“Also necessary for the chemical process,” Becenti said, “Now, as we're a multiverse-faring guild, we need to be versatile. Most things we normally associate with combustion can be used – coal, oil, the like. The Geode adds that extra kick that allows for greater energy output.”

“Right,” Mallory said, “So it's like a steroid.”

“A good analogy,” Becenti said, “Now, our Geode looks good here – we'll just realign a few of the gauges so they read out correctly. We can use a hammer for that, followed by a reset on the dial.”

“A... hammer?”

Becenti nodded, “If you'd please.”

It was certainly an eye-opening experience for Mallory. She acted as Becenti's assistant, giving him tools as he hammered at the engine. Working on a starship, she realized, was like working on any other machine – though the technology was exaggerated and far too advanced for her current mindset, the methods of their upkeep and repair involved the same commonplace tools that she had grown up with. Inwardly, she wondered if these were modifications Becenti had made, or if other starships used more esoteric tools.

“Right,” Becenti finished closing up the engine, “That's done.”

It was close to lunch time now. Mallory helped the older man out of the opening. He gave a light gasp as he clutched his back.

“Dammit,” he muttered, “Getting too old for this.”

“Looks like you're having fun, though,” Mallory smiled.

“Worked with cars all the time with my old man,” Becenti said, “He was a mechanic on the Rez. Guess some of his know-how rubbed off on me.”

He glanced at the Titania Amber, massaging his back.

“I'm working on a bit more than old Chevys and Jeeps now, though.”

Mallory nodded at that, “Same hat. Used to work on steamcars with my Da back in Organia.”

“Organia?” Becenti said, “Didn't know you grew up there.”

Mallory shrugged, “Nice place. Lots of new bits and bobs there, with plenty of rich folk with money to spend it on. They didn't know a firebox from a boiler, though, so my Da had lots of work.”

“I'm sure it was a bit easier on him, what with your abilities and everything,” Becenti said.

Mallory tapped the side of her head, “It's in here that matters more. Steam's just a tool. But like Da said, anything can be a tool if you try hard enough, even a rock tied to a stick.”

“A wise man,” Becenti said.

“You could say that,” Mallory said, “Miss him lots. Still get letters from him sometimes.”

“Mm,” Becenti hummed, “Let's move on, shall we? I want to take a look at the warp coils.”

***

The warp coils were on the back of the Titania Amber – the entire back wall having to be torn away in order to reach it. They spent most of their supposed lunch break working with a power drill to unscrew pieces of the wall from where they had been screwed in, laborious work that left them both exhausted lifting and putting down large sheets of metal. Mallory was realizing more and more that the Titania Amber was a room that flew – past the seats and fold-out beds and the console, it was a metal cube with the means of flight almost taped onto it. All of it could be taken apart – and easily, at that.

“How did she survive so much?” Mallory asked Becenti, “I mean, come on. You're flying an apartment with wings.”

“Luck, mostly,” Becenti said, “But the outside is tough as nails – real military-grade metal there. That's why we're opening it up in here. You can’t get to any of the vital areas from outside, since the Titania Amber needs to be able to tank a glassmaker.”

With a grunt, he peeled away another part of the wall, “We’ll get to the ceiling next.”

“Right.”

Meleko joined them after lunch, a guilty expression on his face. Becenti and Mallory were waiting outside, taking a break after peeling the last of the back wall away. Becenti was sitting on the pile of metal sheets, Mallory next to him, both of them breathing heavily and sharing her thermos.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Meleko said.

“Took you long enough,” Mallory muttered.

“I'm sorry!” Meleko said, putting his hands up in surrender, “Broon and Urash needed help unloading a couple of the Nora Lanterns, then Phineas needed help with a spell he was working on, then Joseph needed help tracking down a book on the Silver Eye, then-”

“Quite alright, Mr. Kron,” Becenti said, “What matters is you're here now.”

He rose up, “In fact, neither Ms. Freemason nor I are tall enough to comfortably reach the ceiling.”

Meleko, eager to get to work, nodded.

“Right,” he said, “Get me a drill. Let's do this, then.”

The Jugdran got to work, pulling off pieces of the ceiling by the warp coils. True enough, they were coils – thousands of them, each the size of Mallory's fist, neon blue and sitting next to each other, all of them slotted into the wall, from the top to the bottom, a few of them lining the ceiling. Meleko looked at them, four eyes squinting as he considered them. A low growl rumbled from his throat.

“Damn, Becenti, look at this. This color ain't healthy at all.”

Becenti nodded, “It's been a couple years. Haven't had a chance to get them replaced.”

“What color are they supposed to be?” Mallory asked.

“Your eyes can't see it,” Meleko said. He tapped the center of his hammerhead, “I've got a fifth eye here. Sees a bit more than you all can. Nova and Calacious Nine can see it, too, but they're no good with Silver Eye tech.”

“So it's still neon blue,” Mallory said.

“Yeah, though it's a shade too fruundl,” Meleko said, “Becenti, might be a good idea for Rathia to brew something up for this.”

The older man nodded, “Alright. We'll get to that once the expedition is over. We shouldn't need to use the warp drive anyways.”

“Mmm, true,” Meleko said, “It'd take her awhile to get the brew made, anyways.”

“I want to take a look at the actual core, if that's alright,” Becenti said, “Make sure that doesn't need to be replaced.”

Meleko winced, “Your funeral. I'll get the gloves.”

He went to the pilot's seat, reaching down underneath it and pulled the gloves out, snapping them onto his fingers. A grimace painted his face as he made his way back.

“Never liked this part,” he said.

“You're the only one the gloves fit,” Becenti said.

“The things I do for job security,” Meleko reached back, pushing a few of the coils to the side, which brushed back like leaves on a branch as his entire arm sank into the mass of neon. He felt around for a moment.

“Alright, I got it,” Meleko said.

Becenti averted his eyes, “Pull it out. Don't look, Ms. Freemason.”

Mallory did so, staring at the wall as Meleko grunted, pulling the core out. He cursed to himself as he did so.

“Hand it to me, Mr. Kron,” she heard Becenti say, “Gently now.”

A wave washed over the ship. Warm, almost acidic. Emotions ran through Mallory, emotions that were not her own – anger, happiness, misery.

Above all, curiosity, as she made a quick glance over. Becenti was using his metapower – a rare occurrence, a solid block of mirage-like heat emanating in his hand. Atop it was the core, both a three-dimensional cube and a two-dimensional square. It was dark blue, though it rippled with energy and emanated both rainbow light and dark shadow. Her mind watered.

“Seriously,” Meleko snapped, “Don't look at it!”

Mallory cast her gaze away once more.

“Interesting,” Becenti said, “Still as old as the day I got it.”

“It still works, though,” Meleko said.

“Of course,” Becenti replied.

“How come you can see it?” Mallory asked Becenti, “I look at it and my mind starts crying.”

“Every core is just a small slice of what the Federation calls the Warp,” Becenti said, “Pieces of underlying reality. Pure possibility. Imagination given physical form. The same source metahumans pull our abilities from. Through the Warp, it's possible to bend the rules. Let ships slip into angled places and fold space in half.”

“Alright,” Meleko said, “Gonna have to ask you to give it back to me so I can put it back. Damn thing always gives me the creeps.”

“Apologies, Mr. Kron. Our warp core is in stable condition.”

The old metahuman handed it over to Meleko, who returned it to its place in the reef of coils.

“And that's that,” Becenti said.

Mallory's head was still spinning. She put her back to the wall and let out a groan.

“Want your water, Mal?” Meleko asked.

“Thanks,” she said. Meleko went outside to grab her thermos, “Wild stuff, there.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said, “I wouldn't mind too much about the Warp core. They're stable. Some of the most stable items in the multiverse. It's what's around them that needs upkeep.”

Meleko returned, handing Mallory the thermos. She took a greedy swig of it, the room settling down again around her. Meleko and Becenti looked at her.

“You good?” Meleko asked.

“Yeah,” Mallory said, “Just needed a quick drink, is all. Gotta keep moving. What's next?”

That prompted a smile from Becenti.

“We've got more work to do,” he said, “I don't like how the thrusters have been off. I could feel them, the last we were flying. A few of them aren't getting juice the way they should.”

“Right,” Mallory said, “Let me guess, we're unscrewing a few more panels?”

“By the end of this, the Titania Amber will be more panel than ship,” Becenti said, “Come, let's get to it.”

***

Rosemary slept through the entire day after she and Urash had returned from Kelphaven. Napping on the desk at first, until Joseph and Broon carried her up to her quarters, where she had been laid down. She had been aware of Mallory getting up in the early morning to go about her daily chores – she had never been sure how the Steamer could get up before the crack of dawn with no alarm clock. Rosemary eased in and out of consciousness throughout the day, the sounds of guild life distant and warped by her dreaming mind.

Someone knocked on her door. Rosemary, her head pounding and smeary, rose up like a zombie from the grave. It was dark outside – Mallory's gear-themed clock read out 6:23, around the time that the Inner Sun began fading.

“Comin',” she groaned.

The door opened up – the electric-blue hand of Joseph's soul curled around the knob. The claw itself was coming out of Joseph's elbow as a second forearm, his human (metahuman? Fleshy?) hands holding a tray, atop which was a bowl of soup and bread.

“Evening,” he said, “Becenti noticed you didn't come down to eat, so he said to bring you some food.”

“Thanks,” Rosemary said, yawning and rubbing her eyes, “You can... leave it on the table.”

Joseph nodded, putting it down. He gave her a sympathetic glance as she let out another moan.

“My head feels like a boiled egg,” she said.

“Join the club,” he said, “Sorry, mind if I sit down?”

“Be my guest.”

He did so, collapsing down on the chair beside her table. There were deep rings under his bloodshot eyes.

“Geez, Joseph, what are they havin' you do?”

“Becenti's making me do research on metahumans,” Joseph's voice was haggard, “I'm no stranger to cramming, but... yeesh, doesn't mean it's fun.”

“The sacrifices we make, right?” Rosemary let out a miserable chuckle, “I know they're going to get me back to work as soon as morning comes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Joseph said, “Becenti was going on and on about it. He told me you're going to be working on the toilets of the castle for the week since you've slept in so much.”

“Hardy har har,” Rosemary said, “Seriously, what's the news?”

“Not sure, ask Phineas,” Joseph said.

“Joseph!”

“Alright, alright,” the metahuman laughed, “From what I've heard, we're almost done with everything. Becenti, Mallory, and Meleko are doing upkeep on the Titania Amber, and we've sent out feelers to the planes we'll be crossing so we can get there safely. Broon just announced that the last shipment of supplies rolled in.”

“What's Sunala been up to?”

Joseph shrugged, “I only see her now and again. Mostly it's just those two attendants of hers that we see, requesting books from the library to take up to her quarters.”

“Girl likes her privacy,” Rosemary supposed.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Look, I got to get back down there. Becenti is paying Barbara to make sure I stay in the library to get research done, and she'll snitch if I'm not back down there soon.”

“Go on then, you slave of knowledge,” Rosemary said.

He rolled his eyes, then returned her smile as he wearily rose up and went out the door.

***

She was right. Mallory shook Rosemary awake the next morning.

“‘Sup,” she said.

“‘Sup,” Rosemary replied, “What time is it?”

“6 in the morn.”

“Alright, I'm gettin' up.”

Mallory huffed as Rosemary got up. She wiped her face and looked at the Steamer.

“How do I look?”

Mallory winced, “Might want to clean yourself up a bit.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Rosemary said, “The showers, they're...?”

“No one's in there, you're fine,” Mallory said.

“Thanks,” she beamed at her friend before getting up and running over. She got ready for the day, taking a quick shower before putting on her usual leather armor and burgundy cloak. Someone – Broon, maybe – had put the cloak through the wash, and it smelled faintly of lilac now. She'd need to find out whoever did so, and thank them.

But for now, work was the priority. Rosemary stepped out and made her way down to the Great Hall, laughing to herself as she glanced at the library to see Joseph still trapped there, a pile of books surrounding him. The poor guy looked to be on the verge of tears. Tek was talking to Nova and Whiskey, a tablet in his hands, while Chadwick lazed atop Titania's blade, the Glass Slipper, his eyes dancing with lazy amusement.

“Ah, Rosemary!” Contort called out.

She turned around to see him coming down the stairs behind her.

“Glad to see you up and about, Rose,” he said, “Those toilets won't clean themselves.”

Rosemary blinked, “Wait, Joseph was right?”

“Ha! He told me to say that to you,” Contort laughed, “Please don't hurt me. No, Wakeling asked me to tell you to grab a few books that Lady Sunala wants.”

“Why me?”

“You're an elf, she's an elf, guess Wakeling thought it was appropriate,” Contort said.

Rosemary huffed and rolled her eyes, “If she wants to think that, sure. What books?”

“Here's a list.”

She read over it. Most of it went over her head – metahuman this, metahuman that. A couple of pieces that should have been foisted onto Joseph's workload.

“Alright, I'll grab 'em,” she said.

She ran back up to the library. Becenti was in the library now, sitting across Joseph. The old man was in his mechanic's clothes – jeans and a ratty white t-shirt that was stained blue and brown. The two of them glanced at Rosemary.

“Ah, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said, “Relaxing day off?”

“Yeah,” she said, “Grabbing a coupla books for Lady Sunala, now.”

“Mm,” he turned back to Joseph, “As I was saying, the first kings of Hyzodriad came from the Ten Dynasty, and were all wielders of fire of some sort...”

Not wanting to be pulled into some boring conversation, Rosemary quickly went to work, gathering the books and scrolls for the noblewoman, waving at Barbara, the great toucan dipping her beak in acknowledgment. She took a few of them from Joseph's table, the metahuman giving her an exasperated glare, then rolling his eyes as she gave him a guilty smile as she stole them away and ran back to the stairwell.

The Lady Sunala's room was located near the top of Castle Belenus, personal quarters for well-to-do guests in the eastern tower of the guildhall. Rosemary never really went up here, save for the occasional dusting or when Chadwick needed to be found. Not to say she hadn't explored it – there were very few nooks and crannies that Rosemary was not privy to – but there was just nothing interesting here. It was nice in its own way. The stairways wheeled upwards to rooms of varying upper-class quality, with nice beds and nice tables and nice whatevers. No charm. No substance. Wakeling kept things pristine up here, to here's detriment.

She knew which room belonged to Lady Sunala by the fact that her attendants were standing outside it. Thin Nelthel and barge-like Spinlock, the two of them standing on either side of her door, looking thoroughly bored out of their minds. Both of them wore the uniform of their station – military wear, blue leather armor that bore the orange crab of Scuttleway, batons at their sides.

“Heya,” she said, “Got those books for Lady Sunala.”

The two glanced at one another, as though unsure of how to respond. Finally, Nelthel cleared his throat.

“Er, right,” he said. He opened the door without another word.

“Rudeness,” Sunala said, “At least knock, Nelthel.”

“Right, sorry,” Nelthel said.

“Sorry,” Spinlock echoed, “The elf girl's here. Got your books.”

“Ah! Of course, let her in.”

Rosemary stepped into the room. The Lady Sunala had taken over the place completely – dresses hung on the curtain rod, rich red and blue and purple affairs that covered the sheer green curtains completely. Books were piled on the table, on the windowsill, a few of them resting on the bed, a couple sitting atop a dresser. Letters mixed with these books, communications between the Lady Sunala and her colleagues, written in a couple of languages Rosemary recognized and a dozen more she did not. The Lady herself was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in hand (and a small pile of used dishes next to her) and yet another book in the other. Her eyes flickered up to Rosemary as she walked in.

“Ah, Rosemary, was it? Welcome in.”

“Good day, Milady,” Rosemary glanced around, “Where do you want the books...?”

“In that pile, there,” Sunala said, “No, not that one. Sorry, the one next to it. That's the pile of books that I haven't got to yet.”

The two piles were of comparable sizes, and Rosemary wasn't sure which one the Lady was pointing at. She did her best guess – which seemed to be sufficient, as Sunala didn't reprimand her.

“Thank you, Rosemary,” Sunala said.

“Of course, Milady,” Rosemary replied, “Do you, um, need anything else?”

The elven noblewoman considered her for a moment. Rosemary felt a small twinge of nervousness as Sunala's eyes seemed to pierce through her soul. For a brief moment, the two stood there. Then, Sunala looked down at her book.

“Tell me, Ms... what's your family name?”

“It's just Rosemary. I don't have a surname.”

“Odd, for one of our kind,” Sunala said.

“Decided to cast it off, is all,” Rosemary said, “You know how family names go. They've got their own weight to them.”

“Their own life,” Sunala agreed, “Still, it's odd.”

Rosemary shrugged, “It's what I decided to do when I joined the guild.”

“Indeed,” Sunala said. She flipped another page in her book, “Tell me. I need your opinion on this.”

“Ohh, I'm not the best person for this,” Rosemary said, absently twisting at her cloak, “I'm not much one for history books.”

“It's one on our people,” Sunala said, “The elves of Owenfel.”

“Owenfel!” Rosemary laughed, “Of... of course. What's your question?”

“It's pertaining to the relationship between the high elves who lived there and the sea elves who traveled there from Murn. In it, it speaks of the union between Prince Glander of the high elves and Prince Zornadayne of the sea elves.”

“Good for them,” Rosemary said, “Was it... loving?”

“Perhaps,” Sunala said, “If both were not found dead in their sleep the day after their wedding.”

“Oh,” Rosemary said, “And I suppose you're going to ask me what would have happened if the two had lived.”

“Perhaps.”

“It would've been joyous, I guess,” Rosemary said, “I don't know half as much as I should about Owenfel, if I'm being honest. It would have united the two people into one, and Owenfel would've been a nice place to live, all things considered.”

“It is,” Sunala said, “Owenfel has always been a peaceable plane. The high elves and the dark elves had been allies long before their alliance, and the two princes' union was nothing new. The assassination was part of a dark ritual the two royal families practiced for the sake of worship of Owenfel's god.”

“...Oh,” Rosemary said.

“All elves know of this,” Sunala said, “Owenfel is one of our major homelands.”

Rosemary scrunched her cloak even more, desperately wishing to run out of the room.

“Rosemary,” Sunala pressed, “What plane are you from?”

“I'm... um... from a plane with elves on it?”

The Lady Sunala gave her a look. Rosemary wilted.

“Fine, you got me.”

“You're not truly an elf, are you?”

“...It's a bit complicated,” Rosemary said.

“Hmm,” Sunala gave her that soul-searching look again, “A cousin to us, perhaps?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, if you chose a race to impersonate, you could not have chosen one better. The elves are a proud and ancient race.”

“Don't have the best track record here,” Rosemary said.

“That is... unfortunately correct,” Sunala said, “The elves of Londoa... we've made quite a few mistakes, haven't we?”

The two of them were quiet at that. Rosemary, defeated, sat down on a pile of books.

“You aren't...” Rosemary said, “You aren't going to rat me out, are you?”

“Dear Rosemary,” Sunala said, “I'm not a narc.”

Rosemary let out an exhausted giggle at that, “Okay, good. I don't want anyone- I mean, it'd just be complicated, sort've-”

“It's from another life,” Sunala said.

“...Yeah,” Rosemary agreed. She gave a sigh, “I didn't go out of my way to pretend to be an elf. It was just the easiest to imitate – physically, I mean. I'm sorry if I've offended you.”

“It's quite alright,” Sunala said, “As I said, you chose quite the race to live up to.”

“Bit more history than I expected,” she laughed.

Sunala thought on that for a moment, then stood up. She swept through the room – or tried to, at least, stepping over the piles of books she had set all over the floor, cursing to herself for a moment as she nearly tripped, before she picked up a book on her bed. She presented it to Rosemary.

“Here.”

Rosemary glanced down at it, “The History of Elves.”

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Sunala said, “If you're going to pretend to be one of us, you might as well be able to walk the walk.”

Rosemary opened it up. It was an ancient book – well-read and loved, the spine having been broken and the pages marred with tea stains and dried candle wax.

“Are you... are you sure?” she asked.

“I read this book backwards and forwards as a young lady,” Sunala said, “Trust me, my dear. I've got it memorized.”

Rosemary gave her a sincere smile, “Well, thanks.”

“Think nothing of it. And please, don't be afraid if you have any questions.”

The lady returned to her seat, opening her book back up once more. She gave no indication of dismissing Rosemary, who decided to read it then and there. Chores and work be damned, Rosemary had homework to do.

They read through the day and long into the night.