The sun indeed did begin to darken as the hours wore on. Wakeling surmised they had arrived on the plane on its equivalent to mid-afternoon, the sun shining high above darkening, bit by bit, as the day reached its finale. It finally dimmed, its light extinguishing completely like a cupped torch sconce, near dinner time, right as the guild was streaming back to the base camp. The resulting darkness caked the entire plane – the only light coming from the Nora Lanterns that they hung around the place, miniature moons that shone bright white light. It gave Joseph a strange, lonely feeling as he watched Nash take pieces of chalk and toss them into each lantern. The light they gave off felt industrial, and almost LED-like in a way that he couldn't quite place his finger on. They were far too overbearing, as they easily drowned out the only other source of light on the plane.

Joseph could see them if he went to the edge of the camp, stared down at the dark water, and squinted until he could just make them out. It helped when he used his soul, the eagle's head covering his own, its superior vision taking over as his regular eyes shut. Bioluminescent algae, neon blue in coloration, fuzzing the dead cities below.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” he heard a voice behind him. Joseph turned. On the pier was Lady Sunala, a book in hand, flanked on either side by Spinlock and Nelthel.

“Yeah, if you look hard enough,” Joseph replied, “Becenti and all the others, they keep saying that this is a dead plane. But it's not.”

“Indeed, it is not,” Sunala agreed. She drew closer, standing beside him. She was easily a head taller than he was, imperious and tower-like, and the way she stared down towards the world below, unmoving and unblinking, made the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“Of what?”

“Of all of this,” she gestured out, “Of this plane.”

“It's neat,” Joseph said, “Pretty. I like the buildings.”

“Just the buildings, then?” Sunala prodded.

“Yeah,” Joseph stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, “It's... interesting. I dunno, I'm not good at this sort of thing.”

He glanced over to her, desperately trying to move the conversation away from himself, “What are you reading?”

One eyebrow cocked up. Sunala looked down at the book she was holding, a faded old tome with yellowing paper. She opened it up, squinting her eyes to make out the writing. Joseph's soul sparked to life, covering his hand like a glove. He lifted it up to cast light on the writings.

“Thank you,” Sunala said, “It's a book on the relationship Chliofrond had with various Elven nations.”

“Makes sense,” Joseph said, “That tracks. You being an elf. Being on a metahuman plane.”

He gulped, unsure of where to go from there. Sunala turned away from her book, a light smile playing on her face.

“You don't know much about the multiverse, do you?”

“I did my reading,” Joseph said, “But, ah...”

“Reading only gets you so far,” Sunala said, “I remember you sitting in that library for quite a long time.”

“I can do cramming,” Joseph said, “I must've read a thousand books for this.”

“Can you remember much of it?”

Joseph sighed, then shook his head in defeat.

“A metahuman, who knows nothing of his people?” Sunala said.

“Ah, cut me some slack,” Joseph said, “I'm new here.”

“How new?”

“Only been out here for a few months,” Joseph said, “I'm from Earth.”

“An isolated plane,” Sunala said.

“Yeah, exactly,” Joseph said, “I didn't find out all of this... existed, until one day I tumbled out of a coffin on Kelstonda.”

“I am from an isolated plane too,” Sunala said.

Joseph's eyes widened.

“Vilthanduil,” Sunala said, “The Third Birthplace. A bastion of elvenkind. It's only in the forecast once every thousand years.”

“Jesus,” Joseph said.

“It's at this point,” Sunala said, casting a wry smile at Joseph, “That people ask my age.”

“I'm new, not dumb.”

“A smart answer. It's been over two hundred and twenty-seven years since I left Vilthanduil. I was a hundred years old, back then.”

Joseph did the math, nodding as he put it all together.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Sunala said, “My father is still there. My mother. I haven't spoken to them since I left.”

Her gaze fell on the water.

“We did not part on the... nicest of terms.”

“I know that feeling,” Joseph said, “I'm the youngest of my family. The one people forgot about…”

He took a deep breath. Then another, forcing down unwanted emotions.

“Or tried to, at least,” he finished.

“It's only been a few months,” Sunala said, “Though I know for your people, that must be a lifetime.”

“Yeah,” Joseph felt something get caught in his throat, “I-it is.”

“Do you miss them?”

“I think I do.”

“Do you think they miss you?” Sunala said.

“...God, I hope so.”

***

“The star lives,” Phineas said. Not liking the artificial light of the Nora Lanterns, he had cast from his spellbook a false fire, one that was shining cheerily from its pages, though the flames gave off no heat. He, Mallory, Rosemary, and Nash were all arrayed around it. The sizzling smell of dinner was wafting through the camp – eggs and hash, courtesy of chef Gluh. No one was sure how the zombie had learned to cook. Nor how he had won awards for his cooking before he joined the guild. But they had learned not to question how God gave his gifts.

“It... lives?” Mallory asked.

“Yes,” the Deep One said, wringing his webbed hands, “Not in a way one can know. Can comprehend.”

“Like a plant,” Rosemary said.

“Similar,” Phineas rasped, “I do not know how to explain it. It is alive in the way I am alive.”

“So it can... talk?” Mallory asked.

“No, but it has...” the Deep One rubbed his face, “I cannot explain it. You cannot comprehend.”

“It's alright, Phin,” Nash said, “What matters is it's alive. What else did you find out?”

“Wakeling believes it was created by a metahuman,” Phineas said.

“Shocker,” Mallory said.

“One who had a power connecting to beings such as the Eternal Engine and It of the Infinite Mind,” the Deep One said.

“So, those dark places,” Nash said, leaning in.

“Indeed.”

“You ever see stuff like that on your travels, Nash?” Rosemary asked.

Nash nodded, “You see it occasionally. Sometimes some planes have a... personal connection to the outer places.”

“Amzuth,” Phineas said.

“Amzuth,” Nash agreed, “Tsaeyaru has a bit of that, too. Prime does – they have a Seer, who combats those forces whenever they come up.”

Their gaze turned to the false fire, their expression going dark and dramatic. Rosemary, fully absorbed in the Far Traveler's words, leaned in.

“Sometimes, though, you see cults. Dark ones. The kind that worship more than money and fame,” Nash continued, their voice oozing with theatrics, “I've seen a few of 'em, in my time. You can pick out their members easily enough – they're of the robed affair, blood red ones that ripple in the cold winds of the night.”

Rosemary's eyes were starting to widen as she stared slack-jawed.

“I remember one of them, on a distant plane. The world was Pohanda, and it was distant. Far in the forecast,” Nash's voice was a dramatic whisper, “They had taken a young boy, the cult. But this one was different. More insidious. The villagers, they hired me to save the kid. So I went out. For three days and three nights, I tracked the cult as they moved across the Glass-Like Wastes, picking past the corpses of those clergymen who had been too weak to continue, left behind by their brethren.”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?” Mallory chuckled.

“Hush, it is a story,” Phineas said.

“They had hidden in a cave,” Nash said, “And as I went down, they had already begun the ritual. A dark one. They spoke in an... evil tongue.”

“I am vaguely insulted,” Phineas said.

“Sorry, Phin,” Nash said.

“It is alright. It is only vaguely.”

“Nash, what happened after?” Rosemary asked.

“I went down there, and they had sacrificed the poor kid. The cult's leader, knife slicked in the boy's blood, lifted it high into the air, where it disappeared into shadow. And they spoke the creature's name, the Outer God that they were trying to summon.”

“...Who was it?” Rosemary asked.

But Nash was quiet.

“...Nash?”

“BL'NDAGA!” they roared, jumping up. Rosemary let out a scream of shock, jumping back and knocking Mallory over. The scream dissolved into laughter as she pulled herself back up.

“Sorry, Mal,” she said.

“S'alright,” the Steamer said, “You're too easy, Rose.”

“I am! I have to stop.”

“Makes it fun, though,” Nash said, “The day you grow a spine is the day I cry, Rosemary.”

“I have a spine!” Rosemary said, “Just not a good one for... y'know...”

“Scary stories,” Phineas said.

“Yeah, that.”

“What'd you think, Phin?” Nash asked, “Did I do good?”

The Deep One rubbed his chin.

“It was alright. Bl'ndaga prefers the old for his sacrifices, though.”

Nash blinked.

“I... I made the name up.”

“Perhaps you did, perhaps he put it in your mind,” Phineas gave a devious grin, “He does that. I can feel his presence now, hanging over this plane. He's looking at you. Many eyes, many mouths. All of them, hungry.”

There was silence. Rosemary gave a nervous laugh.

“That was a joke, right?” Mallory said, “Come on, Phin.”

“Oh! The dinner bell!” Phineas rose up, “I hope there are vegetarian options. I do not eat meat.”

And he waddled off. The remaining three looked at each other.

“We never heard that?” Nash suggested.

“Never did,” Rosemary said.

“Nope,” Mallory said.

“Agreed,” Nash said, “Come on, let's eat.”

***

Dinner was a busy affair, the guild rising up as one, clambering and shouting and making their way to Gluh, the zombie moaning out groans in response – then, he only made groans in response. Plates were passed around, meals were plopped atop them, affairs of eggs, meat, and potatoes (though, in Phineas and Ezel's cases, the eggs and meat were substituted for rice and tofu). They then, as a single creature, spread out, many limbs making their way to folding tables and chairs, for campfires created through magic, or sitting by the Nora Lanterns that now floated of their own accord over the camp, courtesy of Wakeling's spellwork.

The guildmaster herself was with the head of each expedition party as each of them gave their reports. They were joined by Sunala and Tek, the group of them sitting as one by the landed Titania Amber.

“Right,” Broon said, “Guess I'll start. We went beneath this particular city. Much of it's underwater – Ezel thinks as much as two-thirds of it is sunken down.”

“Any sign of it sinking further?” Wakeling asked.

“Not that she could tell,” Broon replied, “Though she's not really sure what's keeping it afloat, either.”

“By all accounts, it should be on the bottom with the rest of them,” Tek noted.

“There must be something holding them here,” Sunala said, “In my notes, I did read that Chliofrond was held aloft by the plating underlining the city.”

She turned to Becenti.

“Is that correct?” she asked.

The old metahuman nodded, “You are. Stories tell of special technologies that wind and flight-based metahumans could channel their abilities through. These technologies magnified their powers and spread them across a network.”

“If such a network still existed, do you think it could hold these islands in place?” Sunala asked.

Becenti thought on that, crossing his arms, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Such technologies would need to have constant upkeep to them,” he said, “A constant flow of energy, if you will.”

“So that's out, then,” Broon said.

“Perhaps not,” Becenti said, “Either there are still metahumans living here, and they're doing the smart thing and hiding, watching us from a distance. Or...”

He glanced over to Sunala. The elf said nothing, returning his gaze. Something silent passed between them. Becenti didn't react as he took in the realization.

“Or there's something here that's capturing metahuman abilities and keeping them in stasis,” he said, “But the only thing that could do that...”

“Would be a Shard of Imagination,” Sunala finished, “You're rather perceptive, Mr. Becenti.”

“...Shit,” Nash said darkly.

“Explains why the sun is still there, and hasn't burned out,” Tek said.

“Also explains why we're here,” Nash said, “Man, of all the fucking guilds you could've chosen...”

“That's enough, Nash,” Wakeling said. She turned to Sunala, “Though I must agree with them, the subject of this expedition is...”

“Quite the subject, indeed,” Sunala said, “Are you still up for the challenge?”

“Of course,” Wakeling said, “It's why we're here.”

“You knew,” Becenti said.

“One of the requirements written in the contract was that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone,” Wakeling said, “I'm sorry, Myron.”

“It's... understandable,” Becenti said, “On a need-to-know basis. Just business.”

“Correct,” Sunala said, “A... Shard of Imagination, acquiring one is difficult. Keeping it, moreso.”

“The less people know, the better,” Broon reasoned.

“Which is why this conversation doesn't leave this group,” Wakeling said, “I hope that's alright with all of you.”

A tense silence followed. Broon gave a shrug and a nod, though a dark shadow had crossed over his brow. Nash glared at Sunala, looking mutinous as they rose up and walked away. Tek simply nodded. Becenti's arms were still crossed as he leaned against the airship. His jaw was set and his voice was quiet and controlled as he spoke.

“Quite the goal, milady,” he said.

“It is,” Sunala said.

“A bad goal, too,” he said, “If I'm being honest.”

“I am... aware of the superstitions,” the noblewoman said.

“They're not superstitions,” Becenti said, “I've seen a Shard of Imagination only twice in my life. The first time, it corrupted its user. Killed them before they could properly use its power.”

“And the second time?” Sunala prodded.

“Silver Arthur. The Manticore. California.”

The elf nodded at that. She chose her next words carefully.

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Becenti,” Sunala said, “But this is still something I'm willing to pursue. You're not the first one to question my mission, here. There are many in the Scuttleway government who reacted in the same way.”

“But they still complied with the expedition,” Becenti said.

“They helped fund it,” Sunala said, “These are dark times, Mr. Becenti. A power source such as a Shard cannot simply be put to waste, can it? This plane is dead, after all.”

Becenti didn't reply. He shook his head, gave a disappointed glance to Wakeling, and walked away, heading over to sit down by Joseph, Phineas, and Rosemary.

“That went as well as I expected,” Wakeling said.

“You know how he is,” Broon said.

“And you're... alright with this? Broon? Tek?” Wakeling asked.

The half-orc shook his head, “I think... I think you're risking a lot here. But you agreed to this, Vyde. I'll follow your judgment.”

“Tek?”

The great mound shrugged, “This expedition certainly became a lot more interesting. I won't breathe a word, though.”

“Alright,” Wakeling turned to Sunala, “We'll move out tomorrow morning, fan out from this city to the others. I'll talk to Nash, see what they think. Make sure they don't go blabbing their mouth off to everyone.”

“I will accompany them tomorrow,” Sunala said.

“Are you sure about that?” the guildmaster said, “They aren't the happiest with you.”

“They're also leading the team that's going the farthest out,” Sunala said, “To be frank, Wakeling, I am tired of reading and waiting. It's high time I went out myself.”

“Right, then,” Wakeling said, “I'll see what they have to say.”

***

Joseph was content to listen to Phineas and Rosemary jabber among themselves as he saw with them in the small, false fire that the Deep One had created. The three of them sat around it, the conversations of the rest of the guild drifting in and out, rising and falling like dozens of waves, an orchestral din of voice and laughter. He ate his food silently, ignoring the ache in his legs and the exhaustion seeping into his body. Their team had scoured the entire perimeter of this specific city, walking through the myriad gardens and overgrown buildings in order to get a scope of the place. The entire time, the Far Traveler had been taking notes in a journal, sketching out a rough map, their brow furrowed in thought and the spark of adventure dancing in their eyes.

That spark had smoldered as they returned back to the base camp. Some conversation they had with the rest of the expedition's leadership had stamped it out completely as they made their way back into the camp, a dark look on their face, their fists clenched as they went to the edge of the tents and lights. The only sign that they were out there was the small, bright flame of their lighter as they lit a cigarette, though that cooled down to a mere orange dot that Joseph needed to use his eagle's vision to see.

“Wonder what's got them in a mood,” he wondered to himself.

“They were discussing the future,” Phineas said, “Disagreements happen. Who goes where, why go there, all of that.”

“Must've been some intense disagreements, then,” Joseph said.

“Should've been watchin' them,” Rosemary said, “Dinner and a show.”

“Quite the show, indeed,” Becenti said.

The old metahuman had made his way over to them, sitting down by Joseph and letting out a tired, almost angry sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Joseph said.

“Certain... revelations, shall we say, just came out,” Becenti said.

“Are you at liberty to reveal them?” Phineas said.

“No, Mr. Phineas, I am not,” Becenti said, “It's need-to-know.”

“Aww, come on, Becenti,” Rosemary said, “You can't hold out on us like that.”

“I can, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said, “And I will. Please, let's leave it there.”

“Alright,” Rosemary said, “But when you're allowed to tell us, you will, right?”

“I assure you, Ms. Rosemary, you will be the first to know.”

She beamed at that, “Right, boss.”

She and Phineas returned back to idle conversation. Joseph pulled away from them, taking a moment to study Becenti. The old metahuman was pretending to listen to his guildmates, nodding as Phineas explained the nature of the artificial sun that had extinguished above them. His gaze was pulled away as he noticed Wakeling float away from the group towards Nash, disappearing into the shadow outside the lanterns' perimeter. He couldn't hear them – not at first, anyways.

Then Nash roared out, “It's BULLSHIT, Vyde! You’re playing with fire, is what you’re doing!”

This drew the attention of the entire camp, who turned like a many-headed hydra to watch as Nash returned into the light, still shaking and shuddering in a vile sort of anger. They made their way to their tent.

“Must've been some conversation,” Joseph said, “That 'certain revelation' had some oomph to it, eh?”

He was trying to keep the mood light, while still prodding at Becenti. The older metahuman shook his head.

“Let's talk about something else, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti’s voice was quiet and warning.

“...Alright,” Joseph said, “Okay.”

It was long into the night, as the guild went to bed, that Becenti began to speak again. He and Joseph were alone, Phineas having gone to bed and Rosemary having wandered to chatter with Mallory. The Deep One had mercifully let some of his fire spell remain, though it had begun to die out, petering into an ember that lit very little. The night itself was cool in its summer twilight, reminding Joseph of back home, of nights on the beach or on the town, when the world was open and there were no worries in his head. Becenti lifted up his head, a physical acknowledgement of his forcing his own anxieties away. He looked intently at Joseph.

“So,” he said, “Did you recognize anyone, Joseph?”

“A few,” Joseph said, “What about you?”

“Plenty,” Becenti said, “Multiple statues of Iresine.”

“He's shorter than I thought he'd be.”

“Did you happen to see a statue of a man with the head of a vulture?” Becenti asked.

“...Yeah, actually,” Joseph said, “Supporting the staircase in the northern parts of the city? Where that market was located. Nash said it was a market, anyways.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said, “Telran, the King of Gold. A famous metahuman, who was known throughout Epochia in his time. Had the power to manipulate coinage of any variety.”

“A patron saint of cash,” Joseph said.

“Indeed. Though he visited Chliofrond often, he never lived here.”

“I recognized Archaic Mosaic,” Joseph said, “He was High King Coral's... brother?”

“Indeed. Did you find Seeks-New-Roads?”

“Coral's husband,” Joseph said, “Right? I didn't.”

“In the southern parts of the city, where the temples used to be housed,” Becenti said, “Trivia question, Mr. Zheng, but what were the three called?”

Joseph racked his brain, groaning, “Alright, Coral. Seeks-New-Roads. Archaic Mosaic. The... Brothers and Lover.”

“Good, Mr. Zheng.”

The older metahuman gave a proud smile to Joseph, devoid of its usual bitterness and bile.

“There are a few other local metahumans I recognized,” he said, “Eminence, the First Alchemist. Kydrion, the All-Beast. She was quite the figure, now – defended Chliofrond against the entirety of the Federation's Thirty-Third Fleet, during the height of their wars.”

“There was a statue of a serpent with the head of... a lion?” Joseph said.

“Ruthmandeer,” Becenti said, “Speaker in the Fog.”

“They were... metahuman?”

“Yes,” Becenti said, “Not all of us look human.”

“Makes... sense, I suppose,” Joseph said, “Weird, though.”

“How so?” Becenti prodded, “Baseline humans share ninety-six percent of the same DNA with the chimpanzee. Ninety percent with the domestic cat. Sixty, with a banana.”

“Alright, alright, you've made your point,” Joseph waved Becenti off, “Metahumans can look weird, I already knew that.”

“Indeed, Mr. Zheng. Your mirror would tell you that much.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, letting Becenti have his jab. Becenti let out a good-natured chuckle, though that quickly died away as he turned to look out into the darkness. Joseph followed that gaze, the two of them sitting in relative silence. Most of the guild was going to their tents, now. The only others who were still up was Wakeling, who pored over a few books by the Titania Amber, and Sunala's attendants – Spinlock and Nelthel, Joseph remembered, the thin and the large.

“You wanted metahumans to be here, didn't you?” Joseph said.

He wasn't sure why he said it. But it felt right – like he was putting something to the forefront the two of them had been pushing back. Becenti blinked.

“Of course I wanted metahumans to be here,” Becenti said, “That would have been amazing. A still-living Chliofrond. Still beautiful, still great, still a metahuman kingdom, a slice of Epochia that escaped the Federation's grasp. Oh, I would have cried, Joseph.”

Joseph smiled at the image of that.

“But...” Becenti shook his head, “It's just a dream. And I knew it was, too. I just...”

He looked down at the ground, at his worn, scarred hands. His smile, bright as the moon, fell away.

“I dream too much, Mr. Zheng. You see what we're capable of, of what we can do when we're together, and you hope that maybe things will be different.”

“But they never are,” Joseph said.

“Never. Every space is invaded. Every plane dies.”

He left it there, letting his words linger in the night, ugly and bitter and full of truth. Joseph felt his insides shift as he brought up a hand, laying it on his mentor's shoulder. Becenti didn't react – didn't touch the hand, or give any indication that it was there. Then, he didn't pull away from it, either. After a moment, he turned to Joseph, and Joseph watched in real time as the sorrowful, empty eyes of Becenti re-hardened, the old metahuman once more putting on a mask of stone.

Becenti stood up.

“But enough musings. There is still much to explore. You should go to bed, Mr. Zheng. The early drake gets the gold, after all.”

“...Right,” Joseph said, “Good night, Myron.”

Becenti forced a false smile.

“Good night, Mr. Zheng.”

***

They gave the last of their reports in the morning.

Becenti's group had explored the upper towers and buildings of the city, old mansions and castles built for the defense of Chliofrond. Much of it had been overrun by the plantlife there, so thick and so overtaken that it was difficult to make much headway. The royal palace had been completely outgrown by a great oak, the trunk literally the size of the building, twisted branches snaking out, thick trunk blocking most of what was left.

Broon reported more of the same – much of the city was underwater, many of its brothers and sisters having sunk beneath the still surface of the freshwater sea. They were preparing a couple boats now to head towards the still-floating city directly to the east.

Nash didn't have much to say about yesterday. They, with arms crossed, glared at Sunala for a few moments, before looking to Wakeling as they gave their report.

“Scouted the perimeter,” they said. And that was that.

The jobs for today, meanwhile, were passed out to each of the expedition parties. Exploration of a few of the other cities, and Sunala would be joining them. She pointed out one of the larger cities in the distance.

“That one,” she said, “I will join Nash’s group for that.”

“Of course,” Nash muttered.

Becenti squinted, trying to make out the mass of stone and green in the distance.

“Agreed,” he said, “If any of them had it...”

“What's so special about that one?” Joseph asked.

“The statue at the top of the city,” Becenti said, “Can you see it?”

Joseph's eagle overtook his vision, covering the top of his head.

“Yeah,” he said, “That's a statue of... Corinthian, right?”

“First King of Chliofrond,” Becenti said, “That place must have been one of the Royal Monoliths.”

Nash spat into the water.

“Right, guess we'll go there, then,” they said. They made their way to one of the Gil-Galad’s two rowboats. Sunala followed, Nelthel and Spinlock flanking her. Their boat sagged visibly under Spinlock’s weight.

“Right,” Nash said, “We'll take the other one. Phineas, get a spell ready to propel us out there.”

“Indeed,” the Deep One clambered onto the other boat, opening his tome.

“Be careful, Phineas,” Wakeling said, “Watch your spellwork, it might disrupt the sun.”

“If it goes dark, you will know,” Phineas said, “Because it will be, ehh, dark.”

Rosemary snorted as she and Joseph climbed in. Nash and Gluh were the last two on.

“Just fucking go,” they said.

Phineas nodded, whispering a few dark words. The boats took off, skimming across the silent waters of its own accord, ripples following them like great, ringing tails.

Towards the Royal Monolith, and all that it could hold.