They spent the first three hours waiting.

It was boring. Nash's sour mood made any light conversation dissipate as they carved through the ocean's glassy surface, disrupting it in a way that made Rosemary feel odd, like they were disturbing something that preferred to remain fast asleep.

She made small talk, once or twice. Just simple, silly observations. The weather. The water and how it liked to sleep. Joseph's windswept, bedhead hair since she and Phineas had stolen his only comb. But Nash glared at them, then twisted that glare over to the Lady Sunala and her two attendants, and then returned to staring out at the Royal Monolith that was approaching.

Quite the old thing, too. It rose as a spire out of the waters, a full half of it submerged, algae covering its bottom half, an army of trees, weeds, and vines throttling those parts exposed to the open air. Statues – metahumans and their statues! – were arrayed in a circle around it, a few of them having sunk to their hips, a few more on upraised platforms so that they could watch the world around them, like that Statue of Liberty on Prime.

There weren't any docks here – those were underwater by now. So Gluh and Phineas hopped into the water and guided the boats to the base of one of the statues. The statue was tall – almost eight stories, by the looks of it, her face cast in a kind, dead expression only statues could have, her pupil-less eyes staring out towards the horizon, three arms reaching out in greeting.

“You know the name of that one, Joe?” Rosemary asked.

“No,” Joseph said, “Probably did, at one point.”

“But...?”

“Cramming,” Joseph gave a sheepish smile, “You learn half the shit you read, you forget the rest.”

“More like a quarter,” Nash said, the first words they had spoken during their ride out, “Make sure that rope's tight, Phin. I don't want the boat drifting away.”

“Is silent, the water,” Phineas said, “The boat will not drift.”

“I don't give a shit, just make sure it's tied up alright.”

“...Very well,” Phineas added another knot to the rope, securing it to the small outcropping of rock. Joseph and Rosemary exchanged a glance at one another. But they said nothing. Nash was in a bad mood, and they didn't need a missing comb for that.

The Lady Sunala rose up from the boat, then alighted with a serene grace onto the old, worn stones of the Monolith. Spinlock and Nelthel were behind her. They weren't like regular attendants, Rosemary noted – Spinlock wasn't doing the polite thing and getting off before her, proffering a hand to the noblewoman to guide her to shore. Nelthel sneered as he glanced up at the statue.

More like glorified bodyguards, if anything.

“Right, then,” Nash said, “Gluh, you take point. Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Ughhh?” Gluh asked.

“For anything,” they replied to the zombie, “Anything looks out of the ordinary, got it?”

“Tek said there wasn't anything out here,” Joseph said, “What's there to watch out for?”

“Scanners lie,” Nash said, “This isn't my first metahuman rodeo, Joe. Your people are good at hiding things from Fedtek.”

Joseph had a way of crinkling his nose whenever metahumans were mentioned, but he nodded. His soul's head thundered out, replacing his own and making him look like a bird-man.

“Better vision,” he said.

“Good, keep those peepers out,” Nash said, “Alright, let's go.”

***

They first went upwards. Up the still-usable stairways that ringed up and around the central tower, latching onto vines and using them as handholds to climb across broken chasms that had once been roads and bridges. Passages that, had the city not been dead, they would have casually walked across with nary a thought.

Not here, not with the entire city crashed – and this particular city was not as much of a museum piece as the base camp's urban slice. The camp had been overgrown, yes, but it was still in relatively pristine condition. The Royal Monolith had seen battle, and wore scars from tens of thousands of years of combat. Entire portions of the tower had been hewn off, cracks ran along the walls and deep into the firmament. Faded blue plasma marks pockmarked the northern portion of the tower, plasma that had long ago shorn off lookout balconies and the built-in defenses of the monolith.

“Here,” Nash said. They pointed into one of the larger holes carved into the monolith, “Let's get inside.”

They clambered in, stepping over cracks in the great, spiraling ramp that mirrored the stairway outside. It was patterned in blue and green squares, most of the stone beads making up the mosaic having become victims to time and wear. As with the stairway, parts of the ramp had broken off sometime in the past. It was a wonder, Joseph thought to himself, that the ramp even supported their weight at all, what with bonsai roots having taken over parts of the stone, cutting deep, their trunks, leaves, and branches stretching towards the center of the tower. The ceiling was gone – light shone down from above, shining down on the trees, gilding their leaves and providing light for the entirety of the interior. The monolith extended down underground, where it had sunk to the point that water had flooded the lower levels.

“Shit,” Joseph said. He looked up and down the length of the tower, “It's just... hollow?”

“A decoy, most likely,” Sunala said, “A glorified observation platform. Most of the weapons are gone, by the looks of it.”

She gestured to the holes in the wall.

“Most of these should have been weapon emplacements. They're gone now. Taken by survivors of the kingdom before they left, or destroyed by the Federation.”

“And we're sure it was the Feds who did this?” Joseph said.

“It's the logical conclusion,” Sunala said, “Metahuman plane. A dead one, with plasma scarring?”

“No Federation ships, though,” Rosemary said.

“Gluhhh,” Gluh said.

“A fair point,” Nash replied.

Joseph looked at the zombie, then to Nash, then back to the zombie. He felt as he did with Archenround, how everyone but him was able to understand her sign language.

“What did he say?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry, Joe,” Nash said, “Gluh mentioned that whatever caused Chliofrond to crash might have happened on another plane.”

“And they came here to hide?” Joseph said.

“A fair assessment,” Sunala said, “We should try and see if there are any Federation records of the forecast from that time period. It bears further investigation.”

“Let's concentrate on...” Nash glanced at Sunala, “Finding more info here.”

They had obviously thought on their words, veiling their true meaning. It was so on the nose Joseph raised an eyebrow, though no one could see it due to his soul's head. Nonetheless, he glanced at Rosemary and Phineas.

“Water looks clean,” Phineas said, “And much more of the complex lies within it.”

Nash nodded, “Wish Ezel were here.”

“Should we split our party?” Sunala said, “Mr. Phineas and Sir Gluh can breathe underwater, yes?”

Nash grimaced, “I don't like the thought of that.”

“I can handle myself,” Phineas stated.

“I know you can. So can Gluh,” Nash said, “But... It rubs me the wrong way. We should stick together, at least until we can get our bearings.”

“I still think-” Sunala started, but Nash was glaring at the noblewoman, as though daring her to disagree. Finally, she nodded.

“Very well,” she said, “It is... a fair assessment.”

“Should we get to the top of the tower?” Joseph said. He glanced upwards, his eagle's vision giving him a sharp, pristine look at what awaited them, “It looks more unstable as we get to the top.”

Nash joined him, taking out a pair of binoculars and looking up.

“Yeah, looks like the top of the Monolith took the most damage,” they said, “The ramp straight up disappears right as you get to the roof. It's quite a jump.”

“I could make it,” Rosemary said.

“If you don't, it's a long fall,” Joseph said.

“And water is not soft,” Phineas added.

They looked at one another.

“We'll have one of the ships take a look at the roof,” Sunala said, “Let's go down towards the water.”

“...Fine,” Nash relented, “Together, though. We'll figure out what to do then.”

The course decided, they began making their way down. The ramp was slick with moss and vine as they went down, and Joseph felt his stomach invariably crawl up to his throat as they walked downhill, jumping across the gaps in the path. He felt soft chills in the tips of his toes as Phineas, at one point, missed a jump. He hit the other side of the ramp, lost his footing, then began scrabbling as he slipped off the stone.

And then Spinlock was there, leaping to the other side, twisting his bulk around, arm the size of a full-grown man reaching and grabbing the Deep One. In one fluid motion, Sunala's attendant hefted Phineas's small frame up onto the ramp, patting his head before turning to join the noblewoman.

He was silent as he did so, even as Phineas rasped out a “Thank you.”

“You alright, Phin?” Nash said.

“I am fine,” the Deep One said, “Let us keep moving.”

***

They reached the bottom of the tower in short time. Joseph reached down to poke at the water, watching the still surface ripple at his touch, the water cool on his fingertips. Not uncomfortably so, though. Joseph glanced over at Phineas.

“Well, it'll be a nice swim, at least,” he said.

“Indeed,” Phineas said. He turned to Nash, “Shall Gluh and I begin?”

“...Alright,” Nash said, “I don't like it, though. Keep close. Keep in touch.”

“Of course,” Phineas said, “I will keep a spell available. Keep a spot in your head for me.”

The Far Traveler nodded. Phineas dove into the water, barely causing a splash as he cut through it like a knife. The water was so clear, Joseph could see his friend's form dart from rock to rock, scouting out the bottom floor of the tower. Three hallways were arrayed, two across from each other, the last on the southern wall. Phineas swam over to that one, and was about to pass through its threshold when Nash spoke.

“Keep close to Gluh, Phin. Got it?”

The Deep One let loose a stream of bubbles in reply. Nash nodded at Gluh.

“You be careful, too,” they said.

“Gluhhh.”

“Good luck, Gluh,” Rosemary said.

The zombie continued moaning as he stepped forward. Rather than diving in like Phineas, Gluh made his way down the ramp, tromping downward, ignoring the water as he went, sinking down until he was walking on the pool's floor. It was as though the freshwater sea did not exist, save for the way that the loose parts of his nice, pinstripe suit picked up around him as though he were in deep space.

“Where's he from?” Joseph asked.

“Dunno,” Rosemary replied, “Some dead plane, I think. Was a businessman, 'fore he went all dead like that.”

“Rare to see an undead like him with such... sapience,” Sunala noted.

“Yeah, we Amber Foundation are full of surprises,” Nash's voice was deadpan and distant, “Hopefully they don't run into trouble.”

***

Gluh and Phineas went through the southern hallway first. Phineas, at ease in his natural environment, danced and twirled as he went, rocketing from room to room, waiting for Gluh to catch up. Gluh, ever patient (and also dragging a leg behind him), took his time. Most of the rooms were bare save for the usual greenery that had sunken into this place. The marble lining the walls, floor, and ceiling had begun to show signs of obvious wear, roots growing through their cracks and moss covering the floor. The water here took on a chlorophyll-tinged green. Tasted green, too, as Phineas took in a gulp.

Many of the hallways and rooms were empty. There was little here, the stone tables in the rooms having been mossed over, the wooden chairs having moldered and rotted long ago.

“Living quarters,” Phineas bubbled, “All of them. This was where people slept.”

Gluh moaned in response.

“Indeed, there would be a master bedroom,” Phineas said, “Perhaps not here. What king sleeps next to a servant?”

***

They returned back to the tower's base, relaying their discovery to the team.

“Right, nothing there, then,” Nash said.

“Disappointing,” Sunala said, “And you looked everywhere?”

“Yes,” Phineas said, “Every room.”

“You were awfully quick about it,” Sunala said, “Are you sure?”

“I am quick,” Joseph detected a hint of agitation in Phineas's voice, “I swim fast. See fast. I saw nothing.”

“If he says it, he means it,” Joseph said.

Sunala nodded, “Very well. Excellent work then, Mr. Phineas. Forgive my... underestimation.”

“It is alright,” Phineas said, “Shall we continue our scouting?”

Nash nodded. Phineas dove back into the water, he and Gluh moving towards the western hallway.

“Not much for us to do,” Rosemary said.

“Not unless you can swim underwater,” Nash replied.

They stood there for a few moments.

“Anyone got any cards?” Joseph asked.

***

Phineas was right. The second hallway had more bedrooms, though these were obviously guest quarters and rooms for the richer folk of Chliofrond. The beds here had been made of (what else?) plant matter. Old oaks, melded by plant-controlling metahumans, curved into circular beds, though whatever had been the cushions had been lost to time, and the oaks had grown since Chliofrond's fall, trunks growing upwards through into the roof, roots knitting across the floor. Leaves, of all things, had grown here, swaying ever so slightly, just barely disturbed by Phineas and Gluh's movements.

Yet these rooms, too, were relatively bare. More decorated, sure. The walls had more mosaics tiled onto them, though they had faded and pieces had broken off here and there, more often than not giving incomplete images of the figures they represented. Statues had been worn by the water, and had been crushed by the wildlife. The trees high above did not care that their roots were submerged, for they were just as common here as they were above ground, twisting and snarling across the floors.

“Disappointing,” Phineas said, “Ms. Sunala will not like that we find nothing.

Gluh gluh'd in agreement.

“Perhaps we should turn back?”

“Gluhhh.”

“Perhaps,” Phineas agreed, and rather than turn back, they pressed on. A staircase went further down towards the city's bottom, though it had been almost completely covered in moss and slime.

Gluh stopped. Sniffed.

“Gluhh.”

Phineas blinked.

“Fresh air?” he asked.

The zombie made a vague nod. They swam down the stairs, the hallway snaking to the right in a smooth curve. At the end of this crescent moon path was, shockingly, a door. A wooden one, undeterred by the water, as fresh and shiny as the day it was carved. Phineas could even smell a whiff of mahogany.

“Odd,” Phineas said.

“Gluhhh.”

“Indeed. Perhaps we should return to Nash? Tell them what we've found?”

Gluh made for the door. Cold, clammy hands closed around its knob, and the zombie twisted it, flinging the door open with a surprising grace. Phineas looked inside and found...

***

“A body.”

That got their attention. They all looked at Phineas as he announced his discovery, even Spinlock and Nelthel, the latter of whom dropped their hand of cards into the drink below. Three aces and a jack floated atop the pool as they crowded around Phineas, whose head was poking above the water. Gluh was below him, still on the bottom, moaning incoherently, bubbles swirling over him like a tail.

“A body,” Sunala said, “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Phineas said, “In a room with a door – and all the other doors have rotted away.”

“But not this one,” Nash said.

“No, not this one. It is pristine. Smells like mahogany. Looks like it, too.”

“A mahogany door, and a body,” Sunala said, “At the bottom of a half-sunk city. And it's not decayed, in any way?”

“No,” Phineas said, “Though Gluh took a look at it, got the cause of death.”

“Get him up here,” Nash said.

Phineas nodded, diving into the water, his voice distorted and bubbly as he rasped Nash's orders to the zombie. Gluh began tramping back up the ramp, water trailing off of his clothes like a waterfall as he rejoined the group. He smelled like what Joseph could only describe as green – the smell of plantlife, of rotting leaves, of swamp water and that nasty tea his mom always used to make him drink. Gluh let out a moan. Nash nodded.

“Translation?” Sunala asked.

“The perp's dead,” Nash said, “Three gunshot wounds, two through the chest and one through the neck. Plasma-burned. Federation gunfire, by the looks of it.”

“Which means he died during a fight with the Feds,” Joseph said.

“Feds...?” Sunala said.

“...Federation,” Joseph said. He made a note to be more careful of what to say around her.

“Any distinguishable features on him?” Sunala asked, turning back to Phineas.

Gluh groaned.

“Had a cloak on him, leaf designs and a bronze pauldron over his left shoulder, etched into which was a symbol – a three-pronged leaf, its stem producing a sort of liquid.”

“You got all of that from a moan?” Joseph asked.

“Gluh's an eloquent guy,” Rosemary said.

“Joe, you got anything on that symbol?” Nash asked.

Joseph racked his brains.

“Yeah, that one's easy. It's the official symbol of Chliofrond, the icon they used to announce their presence to the other kingdoms of Epochia. Like a coat of arms.”

“Which means this guy was... important?” Nash said.

“Maybe. Becenti said the kingdoms only used these symbols among themselves, never when they interacted with outsiders – they used the Epochian flag for that. So this guy was probably an inter-kingdom diplomat.”

“Any specific word for that?” Nash said.

Joseph shook his head, “It was some metahuman phrase. It's... not coming to me, but I remember what those guys did. They... they basically were the middlemen whenever two kingdoms interacted.”

Rosemary's brow furrowed, “So if two kingdoms needed to talk...”

“Exactly, Chliofrond would send their guy, the other kingdom would send theirs. They'd talk, debate, come to an agreement.”

“I want to get a better look at him,” Sunala announced.

“Hope you like the swim,” Nash said.

“Indeed, I would,” Sunala turned to Phineas, “How long would it take for someone like me to swim down there?”

“Gluh and I were underwater for around an hour before we found the room,” Phineas said, “Though that was with idle wandering. In a straight shot, half that time.”

“How are your lungs?” Nash asked.

“...Not quite as robust as I'd like,” Sunala said, “Very well.”

“...I did not say that you needed to hold your breath,” Phineas said.

“You got an idea, Phin?” Nash said.

Phineas took out his tome, slapped it onto the ramp, and opened a few pages. It was, thankfully, waterproof. It was also a rare moment Joseph got to take a look inside. Dark, esoteric writings were scribbled to the margins of every page, each letter seeming to belong to a different alphabet. Worse, they seemed to move if Joseph stared too long at them, peeling off the pages and swimming into different sentences. The drawings were grotesque and faded red, as though they had been inked with blood, depicting screaming mothers sacrificing their children, men torn in half by demons, and other dark things Joseph pushed to the back of his mind.

He had only held the book a few times, in those rare moments where he had to pass the book over to Phineas. The cover and binding felt like leather, the pages like dried skin.

The Deep One landed on a page. He pointed a webbed finger at a passage.

“I have been doing reading and homework, and discovered a spell of water-breathing,” he said.

“And you didn't mention this earlier?” Nash said.

“It is a difficult spell, and I forgot about it,” Phineas said, “I was busy studying a sun.”

“...Fair, actually,” Nash said.

“And it will allow us to breathe underwater?” Sunala said.

“It usually allows water-breathers to breathe air,” Phineas said, “But I believe, with a bit of experimentation, I can invert it.”

“Do so,” Sunala said, “And thank you.”

Phineas nodded, “I will need time.”

“We got plenty of that,” Nash said. They leaned against the wall, looking at their hand of cards, “Spinlock dropped his cards, so he's out of the game.”

“Agreed,” Sunala said, “Apologies, Spin.”

The large attendant simply nodded, clasping his hands together and sitting down politely next to Sunala. He didn't look very upset. Nelthel's snide, reedy voice rang out.

“Got any threes?”

“This is poker, Nelthel,” Rosemary said.

“...Oh.”

***

They spent the first hour waiting.

It was a relatively quiet affair, Broon occasionally pointing out details in the city, Ezel commenting on the plant life below the water, the algae that dotted the seafloor, the occasional tree growing defiant of reason on the bottom, leaves swaying in the water as their boat passed over them.

“Should've brought some cards,” Meleko said.

“Had some,” Mallory said, “I'm pretty sure Rosemary stole 'em for her group, though.”

“How come, out of the entire guild, we've only got three decks?” Meleko said.

“No money,” Mallory said, “I donate anything back to my Pa.”

“No money,” Heyma repeated, “I send my share back home to my family.”

Ezel shook her head, “I see no use for cards.”

“What about you, Broon?” Heyma asked.

Broon shrugged, “Same deal. No need for cards, I guess. To be honest, the thought never crossed my mind. What about you, Mel? Come on, you gotta have something.”

“I’ve got a drinking problem,” Meleko said, “Yeah, that's it.”

“Mel,” Ezel said.

“Fine, fine,” Meleko said, “I... spend it. On important glep. Like, ah, cards.”

“But not playing cards,” Mallory said.

“Not the kind you'd like, anyways,” Meleko's face went purple with embarrassment, “Look, I don't got the dough, alright?”

The group chuckled to themselves as Ezel steered the boat forward. All five of them fit on it with relative ease – it was certainly bigger than those little rowboats that Nash and their group had to take with Lady Sunala. Ezel's own design, actually, able to be tugged in the right direction with her power over water, with no other visible means of propulsion.

They landed at the city, which was a half-sunk mess. The entirety of the city was fully on its side, having nearly capsized at some point in its long history of abandonment. Once, it had risen high above the clouds, a crown of spires and towers, Iresine's traditional trees and gardens growing up and around the city's base and streets. Those trees had overgrown and gone wild, growing on the sides of the broken buildings, reaching towards the sun, a forest with roots built into the walls of the city.

They moored the boat at one of the sunken towers, tying it fast. Mallory glanced down to one of the broken windows of the tower. An old stone table had fallen down to the other side, the entire room a dizzying sideways affair that weirded her out.

“Odd, isn't it?” Broon said, “Careful, Mal, don't slip.”

“You should talk, Broon,” Mallory said, “I've seen goats that are more graceful.”

“Ha!” Broon leaped onto the tower. Then slipped, lost his footing, and fell. He was caught by Heyma, who pulled him to his feet. Mallory smirked at him. The half-orc gave a wry chuckle in defeat. The five of them took their bearings on the place, Meleko taking out a small scanner and giving it a glance.

“Yep, it's a city alright,” he said.

“Meleko!” Heyma said.

“Sorry, yeah,” Meleko looked at the scanner again, “Right, most of the city's underwater – obviously – and the bits that are above aren't the best looking. Lots of overgrown plant life – that's new, isn't it?”

“Meleko,” Broon warned.

“Alright, alright,” Meleko let out a dry laugh, “Sorry. I'll stop. I'm not picking anything up. Only life forms are us and a bunch of veggies.”

“As expected,” Ezel said.

“Damn, was hoping for something interesting,” Heyma said.

“I mean, it's a dead plane,” Broon said, “What did you expect?”

“Where I come from, dead means interesting,” Heyma replied, “So far, all we've seen is a bunch of broken buildings and plants. Where's the cool artifacts? The ancient secrets, held prisoner by time and memory?”

Broon was silent. Ezel noted he was grinding his teeth together, a sign of stress.

“Let's just see what we've got here. Worst comes to worst, it's just another half-sunken city. Nothing to be worried about, aye?”

“Indeed,” Ezel said, “Meleko, let's get you and Mallory into that tower, see if we can find anything.”

“Heyma,” Broon said, “You, Ezel, and I are going to go into the tower next door.”

“Right,” Heyma said.

“What should we be looking for?” Meleko asked.

“Anything interesting,” Broon said, “Your scanners say there's nothing here, but metahumans are a pretty paranoid lot.”

“Indeed,” Ezel said, “They could be hiding something that sophisticated Federation technology can't pick up.”

“It’s just Fedtek, Ezel,” Mallory said.

“If you're vulgar about it.”

“Let's go, folks,” Broon said, “We're wasting good daytime.”

***

They split off into the two groups, Meleko and Mallory leaping down into the first tower, Broon, Ezel, and Heyma moving towards the second. The water rippled, then hardened as Ezel formed a bridge linking the two together.

“It's a good feeling, being around it all,” Ezel said, “I don't get nearly as much of this back at the castle.”

“A lot to work with,” Broon said.

Ezel gave that smile to the half-orc, like she was hiding an entire conversation in her head. But it was enough. Broon knew what she meant.

The second tower was taller than the first, a solid spike of marble that had once risen as one of the tallest buildings in the city – perhaps in all of Chliofrond. Walking on it was like walking on the corpse of a god. It reminded Broon of a mission he and Urash had gone on once, to investigate the body of a Skywhale of Doriad. It had beached itself on an island of ruby, inflating like a balloon from the gas of decay. The Amber Foundation had been the first guild to arrive, and Urash had already taken the samples their client had needed. So it had become a social affair, as Vilthuril arrived from the Exodus Walkers and Tye, Shopid, and XI had come from Blue Sky Waiting, Danny from the Possibilinauts. They spoke, ate lunch after taking various parts from the Skywhale, Urash trading a couple of spells with Tye, Broon sparring a bit with Danny. Shopid got into a debate with Vilthuril, and the resulting conversation had pulled the guilds in like a black hole.

Save for Broon, of course. He wasn't much for conversation on the nature of mortality. He pretended to listen, nodding along with Urash's statement on philosopher kings, humming in thought along with everyone else at Shopid's assertions on this-and-that and whatever-the-hell. But the entire time, his attention was on the whale.

How it seemed to expand as they spoke, a sense of anticipation buzzing around its corpse. Carrion had come down and had begun to pick at the whale, sharp beaks driving into flesh and blubber. There was a tension that Broon couldn't put his finger on, a building-up of some great event.

That event had come when a vulture drove its beak in too deep, and the whale exploded.

Gods, the smell.

But that same knot was twisting in the half-orc's stomach, as they stepped over root and smooth marble, trying to find a way inside.

And he didn't like it.

***

They found a window into the ancient tower by making one. Broon's blade flashed upwards, then downwards, a thrust that broke through the marble like a pick on ice. Then, his single, muscular arm bulging and the runes etched into his blade flaring, he cut a gash into the tower otherwise-seamless tower, which before then had never been touched – the trees around here grew around, not from, the tower's face, a spiderweb of roots that danced on the marble before reaching down around it to the water below like elephant trunks. It was the first time in thousands of years that it had been marred like this, as Broon carefully cut another gash, and then another, then a fourth, making a haphazard square window. The marble fell as he made the last cut, unlatching from the rest of the wall and falling below, where it plunged into dark water.

Evidently not even this faceless, unbroken tower was invincible.

“How did the water get in?” Heyma wondered.

“Must be a break somewhere,” Broon said, “No plants, though. Odd.”

“No light,” Ezel said, “Broon?”

The half-orc nodded, his sword shining like a blue star as he lit the way. All three of them jumped, diving into the water, which enveloped them, then pushed them back up, Ezel forming a platform beneath them that rose up. The waterfall-like sounds echoed around them as they looked around, the only light coming from the hole above and Broon's sword.

“Empty,” Broon said.

“Hidden,” Ezel said, “The water... it's different here.”

“Different how?” Heyma asked.

The demigod reached down, plucking a couple drops from the platform and dabbing them on her tongue.

“Salt,” she spat.

“A metahuman, maybe,” Broon said, “With power over saltwater. Maybe there isn't a gash here. Maybe we're the first things to actually get in here after thousands of years.”

“Indeed,” Ezel said, “I... this place must be highly magical, if it's been able to keep water out for so long.”

“What changed, then?” Heyma asked, “How come we could get in, but thousands of years of plantlife couldn't?”

“Maybe I'm a badass,” Broon said.

“It's more your sword, my dear,” Ezel said, “It's magical, this place is magical. Like dissolves like.”

“...That too,” Broon said. He glanced at his sword, squinting in the blue light to make out the runes, “Never did really understand what these mean, now...”

“It's a find, that's for sure,” Heyma said, “Let me get Meleko and Mallory. Maybe they've got something for us.”

***

“We haven't found shit,” Meleko growled, “Nothing. Just a bunch of plants and rocks.”

“It was pretty boring,” Mallory said, “Our building was pretty much completely flooded. Nothing cool. Not like this.”

All five of them were now in the inside of the marble spire, supported only by Ezel's platform of water. The bottom half of the tower was submerged in saltwater, and though the room they were in was rather large – easily thirty feet high, easy, there was obvious evidence of conflict. Holes peppered through the roof and floor, large gashes that had not been made by time. The floor itself was the same marble material as the rest of the tower, white and silver in color, pale in the light of Broon's blade.

“Ezel, how well are you at controlling this water, here?” Broon asked.

“It's salt, so a bit more difficult,” Ezel said, “But a little saline never hurt anyone. I'm fine.”

“Good, because I don't like the idea of bringing the boat down here, and I'd rather not swim for long,” Broon said, “Can you guide us through the tower?”

“Of course,” Ezel said.

The platform shuddered, losing form for a brief moment, before pulling back together and pushing forward. They drifted towards the top of the tower in silence. Meleko clicked on his flashlight, a beam of bright yellow light cutting through the darkness.

“Pictures,” the Jugdran said.

Etchings, not mosaics. Carved painstakingly into the wall, the images were each the size of a great room – a man in a great longcoat, his beard long, coral growing from his shoulders. A man with a bronze disc covering half of his face, ink running down his fingers. A third man, wearing a billowing cloak, fractals covering his hands and a wry, sad grin on his face. All three of them stared down at the guild as they made their way forward, past the great room.

“Recognize 'em?” Heyma said.

“...No,” Broon replied, “Becenti will want to get a good look, though.”

The floor above – or to the right, in this case – was full of honeycomb rooms. The furniture had all fallen with the city's sinking however. They had been wood, presumably, lost to time as they had rotted to nothing. The tables were built into the keep however, also marble, and had various symbols carved into their faces.

“Metahuman magic,” Ezel said.

“Always gives me the creeps,” Meleko said.

“I don't recognize the runes,” Ezel said.

“It's thousands of years old,” Broon said, “Not sure if anyone does at this point.”

They chose not to dwell on this floor, instead moving to the next, drifting up the tower towards its now-fallen peak. The third floor was much the same as the second, honeycombed rooms with circular tables. Dozens of them.

More, with the fourth floor. The same designs. The same rooms, almost to the letter.

Though the fifth room had something interesting.

They were drifting by, looking at the self-same rooms, the same halls, the same angular walls, when Mallory glanced over, by chance, upon one of them.

“Wait,” she said.

The platform came to a halt. The Steamer pointed.

“There's something in there,” she said.

“Yeah, a table,” Meleko said, “With a big ol' metahuman word on it that probably means 'death' or something-”

“No, there's something there,” Mallory said, “Under the water.”

“Ezel,” Broon said.

“On it,” the demigod reached out, closing her eyes and concentrating, “Yes, Mallory is right. It's... It's a hand.”

The water seized and surged, pulling the object towards the platform, reaching up like a ropy arm, holding the hand aloft. It was pale, clenched in a fist, the skin still covering the bone. It had even raisin'd in the water.

“Never the mind the fact it's been here for thousands of years,” Broon said, “Doesn't look rotted at all.”

He took the hand, flopping it experimentally, before handing it to Heyma.

“How long has it been missing from its owner?” he asked.

Heyma took it, giving it a lookover.

“Can't really say,” she said, “But if I'm being honest, it seems to have been... No, that's not right.”

“How long?” Ezel asked.

“Only a few minutes.”

***

Joseph didn't like Phineas's spell.

First off, he felt like an idiot. It was a globe of air that domed around his head like an astronaut's helmet. He felt ridiculous wearing it, especially as Phineas had formed it by pantomiming at nothing, holding it in his webbed hands like a mime. He didn't feel anything as the Deep One motioned it onto his head.

“I don't think it worked, Phin,” Joseph had said.

“It worked,” Phineas had replied.

Then he had pushed him into the water.

No one told Joseph that the air took on the smell of the ocean, either. And it wasn't the salty, fresh smell that he was used to back on Earth. The air was tinged with the faint scent of rotting vegetables, and he swore he could feel the smell stain his clothes, infusing their essence into him and becoming a part of his very being.

Plus, Phineas's magic whispered dark things into his mind, so that sucked too.

They swam through the dark, lonely hallways in silence. The sounds of swimming, of paddling arms and oaring legs, was distorted and odd. There was little light down here, the only source coming from Rosemary, whose mace glowed its cheery, sun-like shine through the cavern, though even that was muted in the dark green murk. She and Phineas led the way, twisting to the right and to the left, light cutting through darkness the best it could.

They came upon the door. It was indeed a mahogany thing, seven feet tall, its knob a polished bronze. Nash looked over at Sunala, the two exchanging a couple watery words. Then, without hesitation, they reached over and twisted it.

It led into the royal bedchambers. The first thing Joseph noticed when he walked in was that they were in open air – the water stopped right at the frames of the door. It also stopped at the gash in the wall in the corner of the room, where something had shorn this part of the city away. The open ocean was below them, Chliofrond's sunken legacy dotting the seafloor below. The room itself was posh and extravagant, three towering tree trunks holding it aloft, one to each corner, the fourth having been lost in whatever had blasted through this place. Leaves made up the ceiling, and the bed of the ruler of Chliofrond was a great, circular stump, atop which was piled enough blankets and pillows for an army. Paintings covered the walls – a hyper-realistic painting of ancient Epochia, of a city floating on a blanket of stars, and more abstract paintings of Chliofrond's history, inked in honey-colored paint, swirling and depicting the floating cities of old. Chliofrond as it was. Chliofrond as it should have been.

Last of all, the body. The Diplomat. Pale-faced, green-robed with the bronze pauldron on his left shoulder. Very much dead. Sunala drifted over to the body and knelt down by it. Rosemary looked over her shoulder.

“Plasma burns,” she said, “Like Gluh said.”

“He missed a detail, though,” Sunala said, “I'm surprised, Sir Gluh.”

She brushed aside an emerald sleeve. Where the Diplomat's right hand should have been was a stump.

“Gluhh.”

“He says he only cares for what kills you,” Rosemary said, “He has plenty of friends with no hands.”

“The right hand,” Sunala said, “A clean cut. Fresh, even...”

“Why isn't this place flooded?” Joseph asked.

“You tell me,” Nash replied, “We should get Becenti down here.”

“He's off doing his own thing,” Rosemary said, “Don't you have a radio, Nash?”

“Communicator, Rosemary,” Nash said, “From the Silver Eye. Give me a moment here...”

They patted around their jacket, hmming and hawing to themself, before pulling out a small, silver-hued communicator from their pocket. They clicked a few buttons on it.

“Reception's shit, here,” they said, “Becenti. Come in, Becenti? Myron, it's Nash.”

No answer.

“Your Titania Amber or the Gil-Galad have a larger range,” Sunala said, “Try patching through to them.”

“On it,” Nash said. They fiddled around with the communicator for another moment, “This is Nash, come in Titania Amber.”

“This is Tek,” the shaggy mound's slow, ponderous voice crackled, “Hey, Nash. What's up?”

“Hey, Tek,” Nash said, “Any chance you could patch us through to Becenti?”

“I thought I had left my days as a receptionist behind,” Tek mused, “One moment.”

A few minutes passed as Tek worked in the background. Joseph drew up beside Rosemary, the two of them staring up at one of the paintings. Phineas coughed. Gluh stared at a wall. Sunala waited beside Nash patiently, hands folded in her lap. Joseph noticed her foot tapping on the floor. Nelthel and Spinlock flanked the doorway, impassive and almost bored.

Then Becenti's voice came through.

“Ah, Nash,” they said, “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Myron,” Nash said, “Got a bit of a weird one for you. We've found a body.”

“Metahuman?”

“Yeah. Freshly dead, too, by the looks of it,” the Far Traveler stared down at the Diplomat's sightless eyes, “Wearing green robes. Chliofrond symbol, three-leafed with ink running down it.”

“That'd be sap, actually,” Becenti said, “Any noticeable features?”

“Green robes. Chliofrond symbol... the perp's bald, I guess,” Nash said.

“...Humor me, Nash,” Becenti said.

“Sure.”

“Are his eyes open?”

“Clear as crystal. One green, the other's blue,” Nash said.

“I don't believe it,” Becenti said, “Well, now we know where the bastard disappeared off to.”

“Who is it?” Nash asked.

Becenti let out a chuckle that could be heard even through the tinny communicator, “Good God, that's Rend! Haha, my goodness. That tracks, actually. He disappeared right around the time that Chliofrond did.”

“Who was Rend?” Joseph asked.

“Who was that?” Becenti said.

“Joe,” Nash said.

“Ah, Mr. Zheng. Good,” Becenti cleared his throat, “Rend, Mr. Zheng, was a master thief. A metahuman thief. He came here to steal something. And he died, presumably, before he could take it.”