Joseph awoke early in the morning. The Inner Sun was just cresting through the open window, inking the orange sky and smearing away the star-like lights of the other Landmasses. He was not sure what had woken him up – but then, he had slept lightly. Phineas's soft coos mumbled from underneath the bed. Not wanting to wake up the Deep One, Joseph was quiet as he pulled on his jacket and walked out of the room.

Much of Castle Belenus was quiet, pregnant with an air of excitement and nervousness. The week had been frantic, with movement just on Joseph's peripheral vision of guildmembers loading supplies, repairing the Titania Amber and the Dreamer's Lament, and preparing final spells and weaponry. He wished he could have done more to help, but Becenti had made him sit in the library for almost the entire week, only letting him free the day before. The experience roiled Joseph's belly – he would not forgive the older man anytime soon. Nonetheless, his brain (foggy as it was from the endless cramming) was filled with metahuman facts and histories, enough to write an essay if this were a college course. He supposed that would be enough.

Trays floated around the castle, mugs and coffee pots atop them with creamers and sugars. Joseph took his usual mix and gave it a sip as he wandered around the Castle. There were few of his guildmates around – Whiskey wandered by him for a little while, though the puppet made for awkward company, and eventually he lumbered downstairs while Joseph went up.

There was no real aim to his walk – it was just to kill time as he sipped his drink. To be honest, it was mostly there to give physical motion to his own emotions. He was ready, sure, but Joseph could feel a nervous, foreboding sort of anxiety that held in his gut, mixing with his soul. There was a fear of the unknown.

And there was, shockingly, a greater fear that he was excited about the expedition. He could not deny that.

“Maybe,” he whispered aloud.

And he kept walking.

He opened up a door that led outside, onto a large balcony. He had seen it a couple times before, looking at it from the garden below. Joseph was glad he had finally found the door that led out to it – slowly but surely, he was memorizing Castle Belenus's layout.

He was not alone on the balcony, either. Nash was there. They wore a bomber jacket and jeans, a lit cigarette in one hand as they looked out past the walls of Scuttleway and the land beyond.

“Morning,” they said, not turning to face Joseph.

“Mornin',” Joseph replied.

“Chilly one.”

“Mm,” Joseph agreed, “Mind if I stay?”

“Two’s better than one,” Nash said.

Joseph nodded, walking over and standing beside the Far Traveler, resting a hand on the balcony.

“So,” Nash started, “You ready?”

“I...” Joseph considered, “I think so.”

“Lots of preparation, and it's finally here,” Nash said, “Feels weird, doesn't it?”

“Like a field trip,” Joseph said.

“That's a good way of putting it, save we don't know what the dead plane will be like,” Nash said, “Good chance it's just empty space, or filled with radiation that kills us, or it's just a big old desert.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, “Thanks. Got me real excited now.”

Nash gave him a lopsided grin, “Sorry, Joe. Bad joke. But really, you should be prepared for whatever we find.”

“Becenti's sure that it's a metahuman plane,” Joseph said.

“Myron always thinks it's metahuman,” Nash said, “He might be right with this one. Fits the calculations and forecast.”

They took a drag of the cigarette, “I don't want him to be wrong. He's been wrong too many times.”

“Gotta get a win once in a while, right?”

Nash gave him a sad smile, “You've no idea.”

***

The rest of the guild came to life as the morning waned on – loading up their personal bags and carry-ons like they were passengers on a plane. Joseph, who owned very little, had only the clothes on his back.

“Ah, good,” Barbara said, “You can help me carry my bags.”

And she loaded him down with two large sacks full of books. Joseph groaned as they weighed down on him.

“And don't you dare use that eagle of yours to do any heavy lifting,” the toucan snapped, “It could damage the books, and some of them are older than Wakeling.”

“Ha!” Wakeling cackled, “Barbara, you know I’m only forty.”

“Right,” Joseph said.

“I’m serious, Joseph,” Barbara said. She leaned in, so close that her banana beak nearly pressed against Joseph’s nose, “If I find even one scratch, stain, or scrape on any of these, I will make sure you return to Earth in pieces.”

Joseph blinked. He hefted up the bags.

“Right,” he said, “Pieces. Books. Don’t break ‘em. Right.”

“Good,” Barbara said.

“Oh, lay off him, Barbara,” Wakeling said, “Follow us, Joseph, I’ll show you where to put them down.”

The guildmaster and the toucan chattered to one another, laughing and chuckling like a pair of old bats as they went aboard the Dreamer’s Lament. Joseph groaned on behind them, feeling the bag’s straps dig into his shoulders.

Twenty of the Amber Foundation had been chosen for the mission. Twenty, plus Sunala and her two attendants. The noblewoman had her own personal airship for the trip, to which Rosemary and Wakeling were a few of the only members allowed onboard. The rest of them crammed themselves onboard the Dreamer and the Titania Amber. Joseph sat down on the couch, squeezing in between Broon and Contort. Contort had a gaming device, Broon had a book.

Joseph had nothing.

This was going to be a long trip.

***

Fortunately, they were not on Londoa for long. The three ships rose up to the sky, curving around to the outer shell of the planet, levitating higher still, leaving the world far behind as they flew upwards. The Traveling Point to Yuradal, the next stepping stone on the journey, was high in the sky and only recently discovered.

“By us, of course,” Dama Runebreaker laughed, “Me and Urash, we were testing out one of Tek's new flying contraptions. Couple moments later, we're in a swamp in the middle of nowhere!”

And indeed, Yuradal was a swamp. The World of Swamp, it was called. Traveling the rainbow waves, the distant sky melted into a land of mud and myth. They went above the twisted treelines of that place, watching the red sky for God-Mosquitoes and the old flying mountains with great eyes that always looked downwards, hunting for something.

“Never liked this place much,” Contort commented, “I wonder why?”

They flew over Yuradal, never touching the ground, for two days. Nothing changed much as they went – the empty sky stayed empty, the dense swampland stayed dense. The days were spent playing cards, trading stories, and complaining about the claustrophobia. Joseph would sometimes look out the window to see the two sister ships of the expedition. Meleko and Becenti, as well as a few of the others, were in the old Titania Amber. Joseph could tell she could far outstrip the Dreamer and Sunala's flying galleon, but the starship kept pace. It was better to stick as a group, after all. He could also see Sunala's ship sometimes, a gleaming ivory beauty, and became jealous of the room the Lady no doubt had to spare.

***

As it happened, there was little room inside the Lady Sunala's ship, the Gil-Galad. Rosemary, Wakeling, the titular Lady, and her two attendants were the only inhabitants aboard. They also hung primarily around the top deck of the ship, watching the world sail below them, reading books and commenting about their journey. Most of the hold below-deck was taken by crates full of either supplies for the expedition or – near the back, where the Gil-Galad’s bay doors, meat.

Bags and bags of meat.

Rosemary glanced towards the Titania Amber. And she desperately wished she could switch with someone there. The Lady Sunala was a force of nature, a beacon that drew all light around her. But Nelthel and Spinlock were boring. They whispered to each other, or looked tall and stiff and stuffy, reminding Rosemary of servants back home. The days aboard were spent studying, research, and debating. Most of the time it was Wakeling and the Lady Sunala doing the talking. But occasionally, Rosemary would see the noblewoman’s eyes slide over to her, a silent request for her opinion. And she would give it, naive as it was, but satisfactory enough for the Lady to give a nod of approval.

The Lady Sunala favored her. Had vouched for her, had promised not to throw Rosemary under the bus. And for that, Rosemary could tolerate a bit of loneliness and boring conversation.

Besides, Sunala knew a lot about her kind. If Rosemary was going to walk the walk, she needed to learn to talk the talk.

***

Entheos, the World of Death, was the next plane they traveled to. The rainbow miasma between planes engulfed the flying caravan, and the steaming swamp became an ice-cold wasteland. Heyma took charge here, taking the wheel as they entered the plane. Joseph stayed up on the bridge with her, watching as Phineas, Nova, and Contort play a board-game in the corner (the table downstairs having been taken over by Barbara's books.)

“You had a deal with the... ruler of this place, right?” Joseph asked the knight.

“Yeah, G and I came out here,” Heyma replied, “Nothing too fancy – almost easy, even. Safe passage for a song.”

The ships wandered through ice-colored clouds, staying high above and away from the ground, where Joseph could see armies of the dead on the march.

“Entheos is always at war with itself,” Heyma said, “Not the nicest place to grow up.”

Joseph nodded, “Hence the need for safety.”

“The ruler of this place themself is escorting us,” Heyma said, “Their personal guarantee that nothing will harm us here. Look, you can see them if you look hard enough.”

Joseph walked over to the window, soul's eagle eyes washing over his own, his vision sharpening. Far below them, but flying parallel, was a skeletal Dragon, waves of blood-red magic blanketing their wings to keep them aloft. Joseph considered it, remembered the Dragon he had met back at Lake Oval, and felt an odd, nostalgic feeling run over him. He wondered if Becenti felt the same.

***

“There they are, on the scanners,” Mallory stated, “Skarnorex, the Dracolich of the North.”

“The Dragon of Omperstellicad,” Becenti said, “That's what they used to be called, long ago. A friend to metahumanity.”

The Steamer glanced at the older man.

“You ever met 'em?”

“No,” Becenti said, “I wish I could have, though. Heyma and Galatea got the better job.”

“Hey, we were repairing a starship,” Mallory objected, “Nothing wrong with that.”

Becenti turned to her, a smile playing on his lips.

“Indeed. And with fine company. And with Mr. Kron, too, I suppose.”

“I take offense to that,” Meleko said in the back, “I'm great company.”

“Sure, sure,” Mallory said, “Whatever you say, pal.”

The two began sniping at each other. Becenti ignored them, taking another look at the viewscreens to watch Skarnorex soar through the sky on fell wings. Very much diminished from what they once were – Becenti had heard stories of the golden dragon's glory. A flying, decrepit thing, picked clean like a corpse in the desert, bones having moldered to gray.

Diminished, yet still beautiful.

***

From Entheos to Redenia. Rosemary, the Lady Sunala, and her attendants went below-decks for the transition, feeling the ship nearly shake itself to pieces while planeshifting. They emerged to a clear blue sky, the clouds having been left behind, the land below them an open field that led out to the sea.

“Have you ever been to Redenia?” Sunala asked Rosemary.

“No, but I've heard of it,” she replied, “The World of Monsters, yeah?”

“Precisely. Hence why we're up here,” Sunala said.

Far below, Rosemary watched as Ezel walked outside onto the observation platform of the Dreamer, climbing up a couple ropes until she was on top of the airship. She held a pike in hand, and began scanning the horizon for trouble. The Titania Amber's weapons powered on.

“Ah, one of those planes,” Rosemary said.

“World of Monsters, indeed,” Sunala said, “But the biggest trouble, at least, is avoided.”

“The meat in the hold?”

“Smart girl. But Nelthel and Spin will be taking care of that. For now, let's enjoy our time in the cool air. Dangerous as it is, Redenia is a beautiful place.”

“Definitely warmer than Entheos,” Rosemary sat herself down at the table, plucking a book from the unread pile and opening it up. The Lady Sunala smiled.

“Indeed.”

***

They left the eastern continent far behind, cruising over the dark sapphire sea for the next day or so. Nothing accosted them, though Joseph noted that Ezel and Contort took trips watching for trouble. Phineas's dark tome was open, and Joseph would watch him whispering to himself over the open pages, the words making his mind water. Occasionally the Deep One would snap out of his trance, and give instructions to Ichabod.

“To the east, there are monsters.”

“What kind?” Ichabod would ask.

“Big ones,” Phineas would reply, followed by a visible shiver.

“You've been saying that for every creature you've detected,” Ichabod said.

“They are all big.”

Ichabod sneered, but he followed Phineas's directions, and they were left for the most part alone.

Early in the morning on the second day, Joseph was shaken awake by Broon.

“You're not going to want to miss this,” the half-orc said.

“Mm?” Joseph groaned, “Miss what?”

“Tek and Aristo came out here already to negotiate passage to the Traveling Point,” Broon said, “You're about to see our payment.”

He extended out his hand. Joseph took it, pulling himself up. The two of them made their way up the stairs and onto the bridge. Already a few other guildmembers were awake and watching.

“Hey, Broon,” Contort said, “Morning.”

“Morning,” the half-orc replied. He turned to the helm, “Joe and I are heading outside.”

Ichabod, who was flying the ship, nodded.

Broon smiled, and opened the door to the observation deck. Joseph followed him out, the cool, sea-scented wind blowing through his hair. He momentarily squinted, eyes adjusting to the bright morning sun.

“Surprised no one is out here,” he said.

“Ezel's already watching for trouble,” Broon said, “The rest of us played cards for the chance to be out here while we made the payment. Figured, as the new guy, you'd get a look, too.”

Joseph gave a smirk, “Free of charge?”

“Ha! Hell no, you're sleeping under the table tonight.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, his smile dropping.

“Great. My favorite.”

“Ah, it's just for one night,” Broon said, slapping him on the back, “Oh! There! The Gil-Galad!”

He pointed. In the distance, hovering high over the sea, was Sunala's galleon. Joseph still couldn't figure out how the Gil-Galad stayed afloat – there were none of the magical runes carved into her underside like the Dreamer, nor were there great wings like a few other airships he had seen on Londoa. No, the Gil-Galad seemed to float of her own accord, rebel to nature, a ship floating in the air as though it were nothing, her sails unfurled and the orange-and-blue flag of Scuttleway fluttering in the morning wind. Together, Joseph and Broon watched as the bottom of the ship peeled open, expelling her storage on the bottom decks.

Piles and piles of food. Salted meats. An entire herd of cows by the looks of it, butchered, salted, and prepared for this one specific moment. Enough food, seemingly, to fill a castle. Feed a city. A field's worth of cattle. Faded red, the hunks of flesh dropped into the briny water below, bubbles fizzing up from each splash as though the sea was a caffeinated drink. Seabirds wheeled around the feast, strange bat-like creatures with fins instead of legs, screeching and snarling at one another. A few of the more fearless ones dropped down to land atop the marbled castaways, teeth digging into the tough flesh.

And then the water bubbled more. Joseph saw a dark shape silhouette against the surface, easily large enough to swallow the Gil-Galad whole. His spine tingled and his soul sparked as a great serpentine being twisted upwards, cleaving the surface, mouth opening wide, spire-sized teeth shining like pearls in the morning sun, its maw taking in seawater, the dried meats, and anything unlucky to get caught between the two. It reminded Joseph of nature documentaries, the way that the largest whales fed, simply rising out of the water, mouth open wide, closing on the sea and all held within.

Only this creature was several times larger than a whale. Far larger – so large that Joseph couldn't believe it could fit in the ocean. An impossibility that swam.

Its mouth snapping shut, the sound like the crack of a whip, the monster fell back into the sea. Only its arrow-shaped head and long, tower-like neck had risen out of the water. It soon disappeared beneath the waves, and the silhouette faded away as it swam into the darker depths of Redenia.

“Elzan Chi,” Broon said, “The Queen of the Monsters.”

“Holy shit.”

The half-orc smiled. Joseph's hands were gripped on the balcony, his knuckles white. Blue sparks danced around him.

“There's no way,” he said, “There's no fucking way.”

“Without that payment, she would have gone for the ships instead,” Broon said, “She's... territorial. Keeps to herself, unless you cross her sea.”

“What kind of territory does something like that have?” Joseph said.

Broon's brow furrowed, “If I remember right, Ichabod and Wakeling said her current territory comprises the entire ocean between the two continents. Something in the realm of... fifteen thousand miles across?”

Joseph gave Broon a haggard look.

“It's the multiverse, Joe,” the half-orc chuckled, “The impossible is normal. Come on, let's get some coffee.”

***

They sailed the winds of Redenia until far into the evening, eating a breakfast of coffee and cereal and a lunch of dried fruits and vegetables. The sun was casting below the shimmering sea as they approached the Traveling Point.

“There,” Ichabod said, “Right there. That spot. See how the wind seems to ripple against it like clothing on a drying rack?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Yeah I can see it.”

The three ships stopped, floating in the air as they prepared to make the jump. Contort came back inside, closing the door and barring it. Phineas whispered a spell, and the glass surrounding the bridge became covered in purple runes. The Titania Amber's shields powered up. The Gil-Galad became engulfed in a sphere of light.

Ichabod took out a small radio, clicking a few buttons on one of the consoles as he did so. Wakeling's voice crackled to life.

“Alright, people, this is it,” she said, “Make sure the hatches are properly battened and you're all holding onto something. No telling what'll be on the other side, so let's be prepared.”

“Are we sure that's a good idea?” Ichabod said, “Perhaps we should send out a scout, or something.”

“Coward,” Dama Runebeaker replied.

The cyborg curled his lips into a sneer.

“The Titania Amber will go first,” Wakeling said, “She's the toughest of us. Ichabod, you follow on through afterwards. Lady Sunala and I will push through last. Everyone got it?”

Of course, it was a one-way radio, so there was no way to tell.

“Alright!” the guildmaster said, “Let's do this. Myron, you're up!”

The Titania Amber roared to life, thrusters pointing back as she rushed forward, speeding into a blur of gunmetal as she rushed through the Traveling Point, disappearing into thin air, the sky rippling as she tore through.

“By God, those spells of yours better hold, Phineas,” Ichabod took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow, “If they don't, I'll kill you.”

“We will already be dead, though,” Phineas replied.

“Figure of speech, Phin,” Joseph said.

“No, it isn't,” Ichabod prodded the Dreamer forward, the ship meandering towards the break in reality. One moment, there was the evening sky.

The next, a surge of rainbow. Intense, more intense than Joseph had seen before in his previous travels. Rather than coasting them like waves, the energy pushed them forward without regard to control or grace. Joseph's stomach leaped into his throat as he felt the entire ship tip to the side, the wall becoming the floor, Ichabod letting out a high-pitched scream that was lost in the electrifying warp through imagination itself. Reality smeared around them, tossing the Dreamer this way and that, until she tumbled out, righting herself as she slammed into the water, white waves exploding around her.

A few heartbeats passed. Joseph groaned, suddenly aware that Calacious Nine was on top of him, their bell-shaped body inverted and covering him like a jelly blanket. Colors swirled around him – blues and greens, which Joseph had learned were signals of an apology.

“S'okay,” Joseph said, “S'okay. Can you... just... get off of me?”

They extricated themselves from the other, rising to their feet (or tentacles, in Calacious's case). The other guildmembers got up around them, rubbing backs and moaning in muted pain. Phineas was peeling himself off of the glass wall, rasping and coughing.

Ichabod, silver hair askew and sunglasses cracked, cursed to himself as he ran back to the ship's wheel, spinning it.

“The Gil-Galad!” he said, “She's right behind us! Everyone, get ready!”

He spun the wheel, lurching the Dreamer forward and to the side, just as the Traveling Point opened again. The Gil-Galad sang forth, crashing into the water, her hull just inches from the Dreamer. She took to the surface like a swan, cutting into it for a moment before pitching back into place, rocking back and forth a bit as the ship recovered from the journey.

The radio crackled again. Becenti's voice came through.

“Well, we're here,” he said, “I believe you owe me a drink, Nash. It's a metahuman plane.

“It's Chliofrond.”

***

Of Joseph's studies, he had read on Chliofrond the most. It was one of the most well-traveled metahuman kingdoms in the multiverse. Oh, he had heard tales of its most famous ruler from Chadwick – the cat had been waxing poetic about Iresine since he had confided in Joseph. But Chliofrond after Iresine’s passing was one of the major players in the multiverse, in the war with the Federation, a rebel kingdom that denied all authority. Even Epochia’s.

The kingdom's famous floating cities had fallen down, great circular masses of stone and vine that had crashed into this plane of water, the tall granite towers overtaken by the lush vegetation that Chliofrond had been known for. There were several still bobbing on the surface, ruins of castles and keeps, temples and shrines, houses and manors. The great statues of prominent figures in metahuman history rose high above the ruined urban forest, decorated with vines and wildflowers that bloomed through the cracks in their makeup. Rather than degrading them, the vegetation seemed to add to the statues' beauty, as though they had always worn them as crowns and sashes.

The rest of the plane was water. As far as the eye could see. Calm water, as still as a lake's, for there was no moon overhead. The sun pitched over the sky, and there was nary a cloud to be seen.

The three ships converged together at the closest floating city, the Titania Amber landing just past the docks. Broon, as well as Sunala's attendants, moored their respective vessels to a sturdy-looking statue. The Dreamer's entrance was opened up, and the guild poured out. There was hardly any wind here, Joseph noted, and the air was still and sweet.

Ichabod dipped a finger down into the water and licked it. His face veered into a look of interested surprise.

“Freshwater,” he said, “Not salt. Unexpected. Almost illogical.”

Phineas dipped his head into the water, peering down into it. Those who weren't unloading turned to watch him as he pulled himself up.

“Water is deep, but not deep enough that I cannot see,” he rasped, “Cities beneath.”

“Sunken cities? Oh god,” Ichabod groaned, “I hate swimming.”

“Luckily there's enough up here for you to take a look at,” Broon said. He was carrying a crate on his shoulder, “Now quit whining and help us unload.”

***

They made camp just past the docks, pitching up tents and setting up scanners and supplies. The Gil-Galad held the bulk of the electronics – an entire sensor array, easily four table's worth of electronics, with a box-like mobile generator.

“Now, normally we need to connect it to the Titania to jumpstart it,” Tek said as he connected the wires to the computer, “But, for the sake of experimentation... Joseph, was it? Yes, can you, ah, zap it?”

Joseph smirked at that, feeling his soul pulse for a moment as he pointed. A stream of lightning flew from his fingertip and fizzled into the generator, which then began shaking and groaning, the gears on its side beginning to turn like a watermill's wheel.

“Ah, good!” Tek said, “Good, we can use that in the future. Now, Joseph, was it?”

“...Yes, that's my name.”

“Good! Right, now, Joseph, I may need you to turn this on...”

He helped them get the array set up, listening to the sounds of the plane as they did so. Save for the sound of the guild, the world was almost supernaturally quiet. There were times, in-between Tek and Calacious Nine arguing about which wire went where and helping Broon's posse unload the crates from the ship, that Joseph would stop and stand, listening, trying to get a feel for the place.

More and more, he felt unsettled. The plane was too quiet. Too calm. Like they were in a museum late at night, and they only had the silent exhibits for company.

Becenti was standing off to the side, facing the waters while the guild worked behind him. Joseph, taking a moment to break away from the hustle and bustle, made his way over.

“So...” he said, “What do you think?”

The older man turned, an inscrutable expression written on his face. Becenti looked up and around, taking the plane in once more.

“Like the stories told,” he said, “Right down to the detail on the cobblestones. All overgrown, of course.”

“Adds to the appeal, I think,” Joseph said, “You recognize any of the statues?”

And Becenti's eyes glittered.

“All of them, Joseph,” his voice was quiet, “All of them.”

***

“Right, that's all of them set up, then,” Tek said, “Scanners are online and running.”

“Meleko's up above, now,” Wakeling said.

The two of them were standing at the completed sensor array – four tables topped with boxy computers and scanners from a dozen technological eras, all powered by the generator Joseph had set up before. Wakeling was floating in the air over Tek's shoulder, looking down as he typed on the console and powered on the radio.

“Alright, can you hear us, Meleko?” Tek asked.

“Loud and clear,” Meleko responded, “Everyone ready?”

Wakeling turned to everyone, “Everyone! Come on over, we're ready to start our first sensor sweep of the plane.”

The rest of the expedition dropped what they were doing and gathered around. An air of excitement bubbled around them as they whispered and murmured. Tek clicked a few more buttons as several monitors powered to life, reading out lines of information. The great, shaggy mound read them all, whispering to himself as he did so.

“Almost ready, Tek?” Wakeling asked.

“Of course, of course, just a few more... Ah, there we go. Alright, Meleko. You can start the sensor sweep.”

High above, the Jugdran piloted the Titania Amber. He glanced at the viewscreen to the outside as he prepared the scanners aboard the starship. The ruins of Chliofrond were gray and green specks, small and lonely against the overwhelming blanket of blue around them. There were no other landmarks around them. Nothing rose on the horizon. There weren't even waves – the water was still, and Meleko wasn't sure why.

“Well, time to find out,” he muttered to himself, flipping the last switch. A small whine escaped from the console as the scanning program installed in the ship's OS began chugging along, using the sensor array far below to boost the scanner's range and depth.

The Jugdran leaned back, taking out a candy bar as he did so.

“Alright, Tek, you should be good to go,” Meleko took a bite as he spoke.

Tek nodded, clicking a few more buttons. The information reading out on the monitors doubled as he hummed to himself. Then, after a moment of typing and reading, he spoke again.

“Alright,” he began, “Preliminary information's coming through.”

The crowd got a bit closer to him. A few of them who could read the monitors started doing so, though the lines of code and readings sped up as the scanning continued, to the point that it soon became a blur only Tek could read.

“It's an eternal plane,” Tek reported, “Extends out in every direction for… well, for forever. All of it is freshwater, with no organic life signs detected save for our own and the vegetation here.”

Joseph glanced at Becenti at that. The older man was standing next to him, and his breathing had tripped at Tek's news. But Becenti said nothing as Tek continued.

“The water's all freshwater. Goes down two hundred feet – three hundred at some points – beneath the surface. Bottom's rock. Marble.”

“And no salt,” Ichabod said, “Wonder why that is.”

Tek shrugged, “Not enough movement. No weather. It's just water, but none of its reactions.”

A murmur came from the expedition team as he said this. Wakeling cleared her non-existent throat.

“What about the sun above us?” she asked.

“Stationary,” Tek replied, “Must be artificial.”

“Myron, any star-makers in Chliofrond that you can remember?” Wakeling asked.

Becenti thought for a moment, “A few. One near the end of recorded Chliofrond history – Starchild, she was called. Could make points of light. But to this degree...”

He glanced up, squinting his eyes to stare at the sun for a few moments, his face contorted in thought.

“It'd require a lot of juice.”

“We'll need to investigate it further,” Wakeling said, “Phineas, Nova, I want you to take whatever readings you find on the sun and work on seeing if there's anything magical to it. I'll be there to assist you.”

The Deep One nodded, the elemental sparked in answer.

“As for the water – are you sure there's nothing below us, Tek?”

“Sunken cities, and that's it,” Tek responded, “No fish. No amphibians. Not even seaweed.”

“And the cities beneath?” Sunala interrupted, “Anything coming from them?”

“It's a bit difficult, getting anything concrete from them,” Tek said, “Though they're mostly made of concrete, heh...”

“Metahuman tech, presumably,” Becenti said, “Mr. Zheng and I can take a look at it.”

“Ezel, anything off about the water, aside from that it's freshwater?” Wakeling asked.

Ezel walked over to the edge of the docks, thrusting a hand downwards. Water welled up around her, snaking up her arm and holding shape as it rose up into a great whip.

“Nothing,” she said, “It's just water. No god rules it. It follows my command mindlessly.”

“So we're not pissing anything off, then,” Broon said.

“Not in the water,” Ezel said, “Would you... call this a sea, maybe?”

“If it looks like a duck...” Ichabod said.

“My power over it is certainly reduced,” Ezel commented.

“We'll talk about semantics later,” Wakeling said, “Tek, Meleko, keep scanning for anything. Everything. Whatever you see, scan it. The rest of you, I want a perimeter scouted – let's see if we can't get a good hold on the architecture of this particular city. Myron, you'll lead it. Phineas, Nova, we stay here. We'll start with the ritual to find out what the deal is with the sun.”

Nova pulsed. Phineas nodded, gripping his book nervously. He gave a thumbs up to Joseph as he walked over to the floating head.

***

Joseph fell in with Nash, Rosemary, and Gluh as the rest of the expedition filed out. They left Phineas behind – the Deep One had opened his tome, dark purple magic towering out of its pages as he spoke with Nova and Wakeling. Nash led the way, splitting off from the rest of the guild as going down while they went up.

“I reckon they'll want to get a lay of the land, even now,” they said, going down a few steps. Beside them was a flooded street, the sidewalk just raised enough to keep them above water. Ezel, Broon, and their group were on the other side of the makeshift waterway.

“Makes sense,” Joseph said. He glanced as he saw Ezel lead her group down a flooded tunnel, the water reaching up to their ankles, “What's Ezel's deal, again?”

“Demigod from Prime,” Rosemary said, “Her dad's some god or other from there.”

“Huh, neat.”

“Eyes on the prize, people,” Nash said, “Come on, they went down that tunnel, so we'll go down this one.”

They gestured to another passage, one that yawned downwards. Much like the other group's, this tunnel dipped down into the water, soaking up to their ankles. Rosemary's mace glowed, lighting the way, a cheery yellow will-o'-the-wisp that cut through the dim darkness. The tunnel itself was a terracotta ensemble – a blue and green mosaic that depicted the cities as they were, great floating sentinels of stone and glory. Old metahuman figures stared down at them, wrapped in azure and emerald robes. Much of it had faded with age, but there was a quality to their eyes that, even now, made them feel alive. Observers, trapped in time, watching these new interlopers.

“This entire city's an art museum,” Nash said, “Statues. Mosaics. These Chliofrond folk liked their art.”

“Like,” Joseph supposed, “There could still be a few around.”

The Far Traveler gave him a sad smirk at the possibility, their face half-hidden in the dancing light of Rosemary's scepter, “Myron's gotten you hoping too, hmm?”

“It'd be neat,” Joseph said, “Becenti's...”

“Hopeful,” Rosemary filled.

“That, yeah,” Joseph said, “I'd say let him.”

A low grumbling came from Gluh. The zombie shambled last behind them, his single eye staring ahead. Joseph wasn't sure what he was saying, but Nash nodded at that.

“Well put,” they said.

The tunnel spat them out back into the light of the city ten minutes later. A garden greeted them – or, it had used to be a garden. Joseph supposed this place was once nice and tidy, a relaxing place like the parks back in San Fran. Four ponds of water, each shaped like a crescent moon, had rounded the place. The path, still made of blue terracotta, had continued on, splitting into a cross in the center, the circle filled in with patches of green.

Now, however, the water had claimed the floor, now up to their knees. Reeds swamped the garden, chutes of green that tickled at their waists. A couple trees rose out on either side of the garden, their roots spreading outwards, parts of their network climbing against the stone walls, driving deep cracks into their firmament. A couple park benches still stood there, just barely able to be seen, completely claimed by nature, fuzzed with moss and algae. Joseph was surprised they were still standing.

“Beautiful,” Rosemary whispered.

“Yeah,” Nash replied. Their voice was quiet, too, “Let's keep pushing on. Careful of the reeds. That means you, Gluh.”

The zombie groaned.

They picked their way through the overgrown garden, forging on.

***

“So,” Contort said, “You wanna tell me why we're going up?”

“We're going to an observation platform,” Ichabod said, “Correct?”

“Precisely, Ichabod,” Becenti said. He had discarded his coat, leaving him in a dress shirt and pants, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. They exposed the menagerie tattoos lining his forearms – flowing water, the AC/DC logo just beneath his wrist. Tick marks, counting up to fifteen. But Ichabod wasn't dumb enough to ask what those were about.

“And you couldn't have had us go downhill like the rest of us?” Dama Runebreaker wheezed, “Becenti, my guy, we've been doing nothing but going up staircase after staircase.”

“What, afraid of a little exercise, Ms. Runebreaker?” Becenti chuckled.

“You don't have stubby legs like mine,” the dwarf countered.

“You skipped leg day, is what you mean,” Ichabod sneered.

“And they aren't robotic! You're cheating, Ichabod!”

“She's got you there,” Contort chuckled.

“Enough,” Becenti said, “We're wasting daylight.”

They rounded a corner, one that climbed upwards to another staircase. A statue supported it, her arms held over her head, and they had to step over her fingers, which curled over the individual steps.

“If the sun even sets,” Contort said.

“Or goes out,” Dama Runebreaker coughed, “Could be like the Inner Sun back on Londoa. Just out like a light.”

“If this plane is just eternally bright, I already hate it,” Ichabod said, “Not good for my skin.”

They crested up another staircase, reaching the top of the city. The observation tower had crumbled, leaving only a shock of white rock cascaded with vines. It had been set on a square at the highest point of the city, and this particular spot was much higher than the other floating ruins on the plane.

“A good vantage point,” Becenti observed. He put his hands on his waist as he considered it.

“We already had that, though,” Dama Runebreaker said, “I mean, Meleko's on the Titania, he's got a bird's eye view of the whole place.”

Contort placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, shaking his head. Ichabod had gone silent as well. They watched as Becenti walked over to the edge, taking the entire plane in. He stared out, his breath slow and steady, as he drank in the entire place. When he turned around, a broad smile was on his face, and his hands shook with emotion.

“Well, come on, then,” he said, “Let's see what's up here, hmm?”

***

Back at the base camp, the Lady Sunala stood a ways from the ritualistic proceedings of the guild’s spellcasters. She was flanked by her two attendants, the three of them observing the spellwork – the elf with marked interest, the thin man with passing boredom, and the large oaf with glazed eyes. The rest of the research team were watching Tek's sensor array, taking notes as he read out the information to them.

Phineas, Wakeling, and Nova were arrayed in a triangle, the Deep One's tome in the center, a pillar of purple light seizing upwards. It crackled with arcane energy, and dark voices whispered in the backs of their minds.

“Right,” Wakeling said, “So this sun is definitely not natural.”

“I-indeed,” Phineas stuttered, “M-magical. Very much so.”

The guildmaster turned to Phineas, cocking an eyebrow.

“Is something the matter, dearie?”

Nervous, Nova pulsed.

“I am not!” Phineas snarled, before he retreated into himself once more, “I am sorry. I did not mean to snap.”

“What makes you nervous, Phineas?” Wakeling asked.

“It is embarrassing, and I would much rather move on.”

Dangerous, Nova spasmed.

“Nova's right, dear,” Wakeling said, “Your anxiety could interrupt our spellwork here.”

Phineas fidgeted a bit. For the first time, he was wringing his webbed hands together. The guildmaster hadn't seen him do that for quite awhile now – not since Zheng's boy had joined the guild.

“I am nervous working with you,” he admitted, “You are a powerful magician. I just read a book very well.”

“Oh nonsense,” Wakeling said, “You are an admirable spellcaster, Phineas. You've got real potential.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why do you think I let you join the guild?” Wakeling asked.

“I do not know,” Phineas said, “Pity?”

“Ha! Pity. Well, anyone who's able to fight and mop floors can join us, but I was especially intent on getting you to stay,” Wakeling said, “You showed me that book of yours, and I knew you had something in you.”

“I am...”

“A damn good spellcaster, Mr. Phineas,” Wakeling said, “And I'm glad to have you as part of my guild. As part of this little ritual here – I don't think we'd be able to do this without you.”

“Without... me?” Phineas asked.

The guildmaster turned back to the ritual, “All stars are connected to the eldritch. To the darker annals of Imagination. Concepts and energies that can't be comprehended by the average mind. Nova's got the physical aspects of the sun up there down – they're similar in energy. I have other parts of the ritual taken care of – I've dabbled here and there, enough to get a semblance of metahuman witchcraft started up. But the unknowable parts, the parts of the star that are alive, that are beating like a heart...”

She winked at Phineas.

“That's all you, my friend.”

“All me...” Phineas rasped. He stared at the pillar of magic for a few moments, great globe eyes shining and reflecting like two polished mirrors.

“Alright,” he said, “I will not be nervous. For the spell's sake.”

Wakeling smiled at that. She felt the Deep One throw himself into the spellwork, forcing his will upon the latticework of whispers and roars, melding it to his will. There were things in the pillar only he could see – whenever Wakeling stared at those parts too long, she felt the voices threaten to overtake her. The same could be said for Nova – the neon elemental occasionally cracked and popped like a bonfire, recoiling if they spent too long sensing the places where Phineas's magic fell into place like a jigsaw puzzle. But the Deep One ignored these, plunging deeper and deeper in the spell, making it whole, filling in the spots that needed to be filled.

It took them most of the day to finish the ritual.

***

“Surprised there isn't more out here,” Broon noted.

They had gone in the opposite direction of Nash's gang, down a few tunnels and to the bottom levels of the city. These parts were completely flooded, the surface tinged green and colonized by floating masses of algae. The rest of the city lay beneath, parks and shops and homes completely drowned by the ocean. Ezel, ever the show-off, had created a bubble around them, a great sphere that acted as a mobile air pocket, and they had pressed on, going deeper to parts of the city that the others couldn't. Ever the show-off, the child of Enbilulu didn't seem to be breaking a sweat, talking and theorizing with the rest of the group as she held the literal weight of the freshwater sea at bay by will alone.

“Indeed,” she agreed, “The fact that there is water, but no life...”

“There's life upstairs,” Mallory noted.

“Yes, on the surface, on the ocean floor,” Ezel said, “But the vegetation was brought here. There isn't... natural life. Native life.”

The Steamer stopped at that, considering Ezel's words.

“None here at all,” the demigod continued, “I've dipped my hands into the water here enough to know that there's not much out there. Any life came with the metahumans. Even the microscopic ones. Without this... Chliofrond, Myron called it?”

“Aye,” Broon said.

“Without Chliofrond, there would be nothing here.”

“Odd to call it a dead plane, then,” Heyma said, “'Dead' implies something was alive.”

“There is death here,” Broon said, “Joseph said he felt like he was walking through a museum, but I disagree.”

He pointed out. They were on the edges of the city. Beyond the final stone terrace yawned a drop-off, a sharp decline towards the bottom of the plane. Bioluminescent algae lit the world below – those cities that had not been so lucky, that had sunk to the bottom, taking all hands with them. The sea floor was covered with old ruins and broken towers, urban carcasses that had been picked, bit by bit, by the vegetation around them.

“This place is a tomb,” Broon said, “Chliofrond came here to die.”