The southern city had been a religious district of some sort. Temples with strange, spiraling pillars holding them aloft were scattered across a mountain of stairways and ramps, most of which had been beaded with blue and green stones, mosaics on the floor that spun and twisted in intricate, flowing designs on the road. Metahuman religion was as myriad as the metahumans themselves. A thousand pantheons, scriptures, and prophecies had been written and worshiped throughout Epochia's history, and thus there were multiple temples dotting this specific city, statues of metahuman saints and deities lining the pathways and fountains, heroes from a bygone age that Becenti was sketching into his notebook as he spoke to Nash. He sat on an overgrown park bench, resting an arm on a root that had grown over it like a great, draping tentacle.

“Rend was a metahuman thief known as being quite the scoundrel throughout Epochia,” he said, “A metahuman equivalent to 'gentleman thief,' if you will.”

“Ooh,” Rosemary's voice was distant and tinny through the communicator. Becenti reasoned she was most likely on the other side of the room.

“Indeed, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said, “He was infamous, wanted by both Epochia and the Federation alike. And his metahuman ability certainly helped him attain such a status – the power to tear open a gate from one place to another, so long as they were on the same plane.”

“Useful,” Joseph said.

“Brilliant,” Sunala said, “Mr. Becenti, what about the rest of this... place?”

“Where are you?” Becenti asked.

“We're in the royal bedchambers,” Nash said, “It's untouched, like it's... frozen in time, almost. Rend looks like he's been dead only for a couple of hours. There's a giant gash in the floor and wall, but no water's coming in – neither is there any coming through the door we came through, and we're in the sunken parts of the city.”

“Odd,” Becenti said, “Metahuman abilities, most likely.”

“For this long?” Joseph asked, “I can usually only keep my eagle active for a couple hours.”

“And my heat constructs only stay for as long as I concentrate on them,” Becenti said, “Nash, Milady, would it be possible to speak alone?”

“Alone...” Nash's tone became guarded, before they said, “Yeah, alright. Phineas, Joseph, Rosemary, I need you guys to wait outside.”

“...It's flooded,” Joseph said.

“I know. Phin, your spell's still up, right?”

“Yes,” the Deep One rasped, “It is.”

“Then get out.”

There was some grumbling that came through the communicator, Joseph saying a few choice words to Nash, before the Far Traveler said, “Alright, they're out.”

“Good,” Becenti said, “I'm patching the other teams through. Tek, would you get Wakeling for us? And Broon.”

“On it, boss,” Tek said.

Becenti looked around. The rest of his team were wandering around the park, taking note of the statues aligned around one of the fountains, Ichabod taking a couple notes on the architecture of one of the temples. Far away from him. He would shoo them away, if needed.

Or perhaps they'd be able to overhear him. Privately, Myron wished for that.

***

Deep in the silver spire, Broon's communicator – which he had lazily kept dangling from his belt – began to pulse and vibrate. The half-orc didn't notice until Ezel snapped it off and showed it to him.

“Pay attention, dear,” she said.

“Aye,” Broon said, “Right.”

His voice echoed off of the silver-hued walls as he spoke.

“This is Broon.”

“Ah, good,” Becenti's voice said, “Broon, I'm calling in this meeting based on something Nash has found. Could you step away from the rest of your group?”

Ah. One of those conversations. The half-orc glanced over at his team.

“Set me down somewhere, Ezel,” he said.

“Secrets are unhealthy, Broon,” Heyma said.

“Don't have to tell me twice,” Broon said, “But the client insists.”

“You can stop off here,” Ezel's voice was withdrawn and cool. She wasn't liking this, either. Neither did Mallory, whose arms were crossed, a fire burning in her eyes. At least Meleko didn't care – the Jugdran was yawning loudly, pointedly ignoring the conversation.

They were still in the honeycombed labs, and the top set of rooms was just shallow enough that Broon could step off the platform and have the water go up to his knees. The table in this room was bolted to the floor, which was now a wall, so Broon stepped over to it and rested his back up against it. He gave a sigh.

“Alright, what's up?” he asked.

“Nash has found something of note,” Becenti said.

“Yeah,” Nash said, “Room frozen in time, body here that looks freshly dead – plasma burns in all the right places, missing a hand.”

Broon's eyes widened at that.

“A pale hand?” he asked.

“Indeed,” the Lady Sunala's voice crackled in, “A metahuman criminal known as Rend. Disguised himself as a diplomat, by the looks of it.”

“Well, I got the hand right here,” Broon said, “Mallory found it in the water.”

There was silence on all lines as his words sunk in.

“Well, the mystery deepens,” Sunala said.

“Where are you, Broon?” Wakeling asked.

“In one of the towers of our city,” Broon replied, “A silver spire, seems to have been a laboratory of some sort.”

“Can you describe the hand?” Wakeling said.

“Give me a moment,” Broon put the communicator on his shoulder, using his cheek to hold it in place as he unlooped the hand from his belt, having fastened it there with a bit of rope, “Yeah. It's white. Pale. It's got skin on it, and the skin hasn't even wrinkled from the water.”

“Odd,” Wakeling said, “I may have a theory. May I?”

“Of course,” Sunala said, “Anything helps.”

“Go for it,” Nash said.

“Rend was a metahuman gentleman thief, wasn't he? Myron, what did he go after the most?”

“He was in it for the thrill,” Becenti said, “The more protected something was, the more he wanted to get it. He was said to have stolen the tears off of the queen of Darha's cheeks, the shadow from the Prime Voice of the Federation, that sort of thing.”

“An ignoble end, then,” Sunala said, “Laid out by three plasma bolts and a missing hand.”

“Do you think he was perhaps targeting the Shard?” Wakeling suggested.

“Makes sense,” Becenti said, “It's a valuable target, for sure.”

“He must have come in during Chliofrond's fall,” Nash said, “Maybe have been responsible for it, even. I'm not sure, but he doesn't seem to have the shard with him.”

“We would know if he did,” Sunala said, “So the question is, what happened to it?”

“A lot of basic necessities here are missing,” Broon said, “There are just empty tables and plants. Nothing else. The water here is salt water, though that might just be from a metahuman.”

“Same with what we've been scanning for,” Wakeling said, “It seems that the survivors of Chliofrond really cleaned house when they left.”

“Maybe they took the Shard,” Broon said.

“I don't believe they did,” Sunala said, “Think: the cities, which should have sunk deep into the sea, are still floating. The sun itself hasn't burned out and seems to be self-regulating, as does the power in this room.”

“The metahuman powers used here are still intact,” Becenti said.

“Indeed,” Sunala said, “For some reason, the metahumans of Chliofrond left this plane – but without the Shard.”

“Perhaps the Shard is still in its chamber,” Becenti said, “Rend failed. I think he was killed. And I think the Shard's in the same tower as Broon's team.”

***

They all heard him talking into the communicator. Mallory's eyes widened. Meleko grimaced. Ezel was silent, continuing to listen as intently as she could. Heyma, however, looked confused.

“What's a-”

“Ssh!” Mallory hissed.

Broon was quiet. Perhaps he heard them. Perhaps he didn't, and was letting the information sink in. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“You're sure,” his voice was quiet and careful.

“...Reasonably,” Becenti said, “There are... records, of metahuman guardians sworn to protect Shards of Imagination. They were scattered throughout Epochia's history, titles that were gained and passed from master to student.”

“And there was a guardian for this Shard,” Nash said.

“Precisely,” Becenti said, “One who got into a fight with Rend.”

“And won?” Broon said.

“Well, Rend doesn't have the Shard.”

“That doesn't amount to much,” Sunala said, “It could very well be that the Shard was lost in the fighting.”

“Rend was a teleporter,” Becenti said, “And his hand is in one place, his corpse in another. I think his fight went south with whoever was guarding the Shard, and he expired in the bedchambers.”

“Kinky,” Nash muttered.

“Nash,” Wakeling admonished, “We're with a client.”

“Right, sorry,” Nash said, “Alright, but how does that explain how this room's still around? And how Rend isn't decomposing?”

“There was a guardian,” Becenti said.

“And?”

“What do you think their power was?” Becenti prodded.

Nash sighed.

“Time,” they said, “They could stop time.”

“Precisely,” Becenti said.

“That gives us two potential locations for the Shard, then,” Wakeling said, “Either it's somewhere in the bedchambers, or it's in the silver laboratory with Broon's group.”

“Narrows it down a bit,” Broon said, “We'll keep looking. What should I tell my team if we find it?”

“If you find it, leave it there,” Sunala said, “Don't touch it.”

“'Tis bad luck,” Nash said.

“We'll be careful,” Broon said, “We'll leave it be.”

“...I assume you have a means of transporting it,” Becenti said.

“Of course,” Sunala said, “It's... en route, if you will.”

“Already?” Nash growled.

“Indeed. Time is of the essence here,” Sunala said, “Come, let us be off. If the Shard of Imagination is here, we'll want to make sure to turn this place upside-down to find it.”

“Keep moving, Broon,” Wakeling ordered, “And be careful.”

“Will do,” Broon said. He turned off the communicator, and went to rejoin the others. As he stepped back onto the platform, he turned to look at each of them.

“You heard,” he said.

“We did,” Mallory said.

“...Let's move on,” the half-orc's voice was but a whisper. For a moment, the rest of the team looked at him – glared at him, in Mallory's case. Then Ezel nodded, and the platform began to skim across the water once more.

***

Becenti put the communicator down, rubbing his temples. A rare light breeze picked up, whistling through the trees and adding a relaxing symphony around him. He looked down at the sketch he had been making. It depicted Archaic Mosaic, his bronze helm covering his face, a coy smile playing on his lips. Like the great idol guarding the entrance to the temple across the garden, Archaic Mosaic's arms were folded across his bare chest, ink running down his shoulders and hips. A lurid, sensual image. Then, the metahuman himself was lurid and sensual.

A voice rang behind him.

“I knew it wasn't a simple expedition.”

Ichabod drew forth. Even in the relative warmth of the day, under the full cast of the metahuman sun, he still wore his dark raincoat, drawing it close around himself as though the light breeze was a gale on a stormy day. He stood beside the bench, awkwardly shifting. Becenti could just barely make out the glass-glow of his mechanical eyes beneath his shades.

“It... it should have been,” Becenti said. He closed up his sketchbook, “An archaeologist's dream. A romp through history. Oh, it would have been lovely.”

“So you call picking a corpse's bones clean and putting the scraps in a museum,” Ichabod said.

“Not a museum, nothing so crass,” Becenti said, “I've had enough of my life put on display, both before and after my metahumanity.”

“Hmm,” Ichabod said, “Then why come here, if you know what’s going to happen?”

“To learn,” Becenti said, “To observe. To see the legacy of my ancestors. And they are my ancestors.”

“How can you be sure?” Ichabod said, “Can you trace your line directly to one of the people of Chliofrond?”

Becenti went quiet at that.

“No,” he said, “But I share their heroes.”

Ichabod gave a sneer. But then, Ichabod always sneered.

“And now, what I had thought to be an intellectual exercise turns out to be a farce,” Becenti said, “Another play for some world-ending artifact on some dead plane. Really, I've lived such stories plenty of times.”

“The past is power,” Ichabod said.

“The Lady Sunala certainly thinks that to be literal.”

Ichabod sneered again.

Below them, Contort and Dama Runebreaker had finished surveying a temple. They began climbing up a few stairs, chattering to each other, returning to Becenti and Ichabod.

“I would ask,” Becenti said, “That you don't tell them about our... real mission, here.”

“Going to step aside on this one?” Ichabod said, “A typical move.”

“The guild comes first,” Becenti said, “Let them have their fun. Let them explore. Let me still show them that I love this place for what I want it to represent.”

“A callback to better times,” Ichabod said, “As opposed to some bitch's power grab.”

“Precisely,” Becenti said.

***

The floor after the honeycombed labs was arrayed with ritual and shrines, open-air spaces which held tipped-over fountains and ninety degree idols.

“Say what you will about Chliofrond,” Broon said, “But they really liked their statues.”

Indeed, the first room alone held four of them – each one arrayed in a cardinal point, staring at one another in the diamond-shaped room. The northern statue, depicting a man with the head of a rat, had been cleaved in half. The southern statue had toppled completely, her features marred by the brine of the saltwater flood.

The next held much of the same, though the figures were different, and the statues were considerably less damaged than their compatriots.

The third floor was almost completely destroyed. A battle had taken place here. All four statues had been destroyed, broken and shattered by some force, the walls sporting blue and red plasma burns. The discarded remains of an archaic energy cannon had been bolted to the center of the room, some sort of sap keeping it welded to the floor. Smoke rose from its barrel crushed-in barrel.

“Recent,” Ezel said.

“I didn't hear anything, though,” Heyma said.

“No, you didn't,” Broon said, “We're in the rooms influenced by that chronal metahuman. Looks like a good chunk of this area is frozen in time.”

“How much, though?” Ezel asked.

“Nash was in a zone like this, and they seemed fine,” Broon said, “Same with the rest of their group. I think we're alright, here.”

“It's metahuman,” Meleko said, “Can never be too careful.”

“Agreed,” Ezel said, “We'll take it slow.”

The circle of water supporting them visibly shrunk, wilting inwards until they were squeezed in together. Mallory's hands began to produce steam, which she then began fogging through the room, thick clouds streaming through the air, wafting this way and that under her control.

Some of them stopped in mid-air.

“Can't move 'em,” she said.

“We keep away from those, then,” Broon said.

“And as we get closer to the Shard?” Meleko asked, “And the whole room's locked down?”

“...We figure it out,” Broon said, “Every metapower has a weakness.”

“Yeah, well my steam's not going anywhere anytime soon,” Mallory said, “I'll just leave it be, I suppose.”

“If this room's locked down, it means we're close,” Broon said, “That's good. I don't want to be in here any longer than we have to be.”

***

Joseph's soul roared to life as he manifested the full eagle. It rose over his back, glaring down at the world, cobalt light flooding the bedroom and painting it a cool blue. Sunala's eyebrows rose at the sight, before settling down.

“Metahuman, indeed,” she said, “Is that... lightning?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “It is.”

“A bit random, wouldn't you agree?” Sunala said, “An eagle... man... made of electricity.”

“It's abstract,” Joseph said.

“It is,” Nash agreed, “Real Picasso-like.”

“Ah, shaddup.”

“Where should we start?” Rosemary said.

“Not sure,” Nash said, “But let's be careful about all of this. Joseph, come over here.”

Joseph made to move, walking to join Nash at one of the desks shunted over to the side.

Then he stopped.

“...I can't,” he said.

“Sure you can,” Nash said, “What's-”

The Far Traveler turned to face him. Then looked up.

“Oh,” they said, “Yeah, that'll do it.”

The eagle's head was caught fully in place, its body being dragged around on Joseph's back like a leash held fast to a tree branch. Joseph gave an experimental tug, forging forward, wincing as cold pain ran up and down his back.

“Never gonna get used to that,” he groaned.

“It's only the head,” Sunala said, “It's... suspended, as though it were caught on something.”

“How do you feel, Joseph?” Rosemary asked.

“This is... weird,” Joseph said, “I don't...”

The feedback from the eagle was starting to lapse into his human form. Joseph's mind began to swim as he let out a gasp of surprise. His friends were around him, moving and looking concerned. Yet from his eagle's vision, they hadn't moved from their spots, frozen in place as though they were sculptures.

“Yeah, hate this,” Joseph wheezed, “This isn't-”

“Phineas, get rid of it,” Nash ordered.

“Agreed, we want our metahuman in the right mind, please,” Sunala said.

“I am looking through the book,” Phineas said, “One moment.”

The Deep One was flipping through the pages of his tome with an uncharacteristic panic. His eyes were glancing this way and that, Rosemary noted his hands to be shaking.

“Phin, deep breaths,” she said, “You got this.”

“I got this, I got this, I got this,” Phineas said. A small mantra, repeated three times, as he flipped to a page, “I do not got this.”

“Bullshit,” Nash said, “Take your time, Phineas.”

“Is that really the best thing to do?” Joseph said, “Your head isn't stuck in time-”

Nash glared at Joseph.

“You want out or not?” they snapped.

“Right,” Joseph said, “Just get the damn spell, Phin.”

He could feel himself heating up, bit by bit, like a fever was starting to take hold over him. His mind was not having a good time, comprehending two paces of time at once. Joseph gritted his teeth as he waited for Phineas to bring out a spell.

“I have it,” he said, “It is a reversion spell. But...”

“But what?!” Joseph said.

“It reverses...” Phineas thought for a moment, “How do I describe it...?”

“Mr. Phineas, our friend's face is going red,” Sunala pointed out, “And not from anger.”

“I run the risk of flooding the room,” Phineas said.

“We can swim,” Nash said, “Do it, Phin.”

The Deep One clapped his hands, letting out a rasping snarl, his voice overlayed with a deeper being's. There was a distinct pop, and Joseph's soul freed itself from the stop in time, teetering over him, cold pain rushing down his body.

“T-thanks,” he said, “What was that…?”

Nash glanced at Sunala, then up at the spot where the eagle’s head had been.

“Metapower,” the Sunala said, “Of a powerful variety.”

“Great,” Joseph said, “What's... keeping it here?”

Nash didn't answer.

“There aren't metahumans here, are there?” Rosemary said, “Aside from Joe and Becenti, I mean.”

“Let's start searching,” Nash said, “Phineas, start identifying cold points like that, will you?”

“Of course,” Phineas said.

The Far Traveler looked at Joseph.

“Are you good?”

“...Yeah,” Joseph said, “Yeah, I'm good. Let's be careful, though.”

“Interesting abilities,” Sunala said. She was glancing around the room, eyes darting from point to point, as though trying to see the fixed points in time, “Not only does this place not age, it has specific pockets where time completely stands still.”

“It is layered,” Phineas said, “Not magic. Metapower. Hnzz, difficult to explain.”

Joseph sat down by the Deep One, rubbing his head. A nasty, warm headache was stabbing at his skull.

“Sorry for snapping at you,” he said.

“It is alright,” Phineas said, “Your mind was cooking. If I was not quick, I-”

His voice caught.

“I would have lost you.”

“Takes more than a cooking mind to get me down,” Joseph chuckled, trying to alleviate Phineas's anxiety. He'd never seen the Deep One sound so lost and forlorn.

“Your mind would have cooked, warmed up to the point of insanity. You would have babbled dark secrets. Odd words. Then you would have died,” Phineas said, “I was... I was almost not fast enough.”

“But I didn't,” Joseph said, “You were fast enough. You saved my life, Phin.”

He put a hand on the Deep One's shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Phineas gave a watery smile.

“Alright, smarm time's over,” Nash said, “Let's get looking.”

“What are we looking for, Nash?” Rosemary asked.

“...You'll know it when you see it,” Nash said, “Let's go.”

***

The final room in the tower was the very top. An observatory, though there had been no openings in the top of the tower. No, instead, in those far off days of metahuman glory and knowledge, they had built the ceiling to be clear and see-through. Metahuman magic, or a metahuman ability that still held due to the power of the Shard of Imagination. Whatever the case, it showed the sky, blue and clear, a great telescope taking up the center of the room, a bronze and glass chute, attended by a small, simple chair and nightstand. There was no water here.

Oddest of all, it was not tipped to the side like the rest of the tower.

“...Close the door,” Ezel said.

“What?” Meleko said.

“Close it!” Broon barked, realizing what Ezel was saying. He spun, closing his eyes as he did so, slamming the door behind them. The platform of water sunk beneath their feet, spinning into a ball in Ezel's palm.

“It's...”

“Right-side up,” Ezel said, “While the rest of the tower isn't.”

Mallory took a few tentative steps into the room. Steam swirled ahead of her like arms, snaking this way and that, feeling for null places in time. The room was covered in a lush, dark red carpet that reminded her of Wakeling's office. The walls did, too – shelves were lined up with books in dozens of languages, with three desks arrayed beside them with various scrolls and scribbles. A mannequin was set to the side, specific points marking where the heart would be, the brain, pressure points that were dotted by black marker.

“It reminds me of the Warp,” the Steamer said.

“On a grander scale,” Meleko replied, “Yeah. It's like that. Don't go looking too hard at what's inconsistent.”

“But we're here now,” Broon said, “The top of the tower. And it's right-side up. No water, either.”

“Hasn't aged a day,” Ezel said, “Like the hand. Like the thief.”

“Like Nash's room,” Broon said, “Wonder how that works, exactly.”

“Specific zones of timestop,” Ezel said, “If it seals a room, it keeps it intact.”

“And the hand?” Meleko said, “It was just in the water.”

Ezel was quiet. She had no answer.

“Well, if the room's like this, then it means that something's off,” Heyma said, “That sounds like a place for a Shard to me, right?”

“Aye,” Broon agreed, “Let's get moving, folks. Mal, keep your steam going around this place. If it freezes somewhere, let us know.”

“On it,” Mallory began pouring more steam from her hands, moving it this way and that as the team split off to different parts of the room.

“Are you thirsty, Mallory?” Ezel asked.

“No, still got a bit in me,” Mallory replied, “Going to need something soon, though.”

The demigod nodded. She walked over to the telescope, sitting down at the chair. Atop the nightstand was a small notebook, which an astronomer had scrabbled notes on in a language she didn't recognize. The constellations and stars she did, however.

“...Prime,” she said.

“What was that?” Broon said.

“These are constellations from Prime,” Ezel used the ball of water in her hand to pass over the notebook, ensuring that there wasn't a void space that had been placed over it. Then, she turned a few pages.

“Orion,” she said, “There's Orion there. I recognize his belt. The Big Dipper, the Little Dipper...”

“You saying these guys came from Prime?” Meleko said, “That's home turf for you.”

“They may have traveled there. Or it was the plane they were on before Traveling to here,” Ezel said, “Could be any variety of reasons. But Prime's... far from here...

“Not finding anything on these shelves,” Heyma said, “Becenti's going to have a heart attack when he sees all these books, though.”

“Nothing on this desk here, either,” Mallory said, “A sketch of a human body – no engine, though...”

“Not all humans have engines,” Ezel said, “Only Steamers.”

“Ah, right,” Mallory said, “Well, it's not a Shard. Just a stupid drawing.”

They searched around for another twenty or so minutes, poring through the place, trying to find any sign of the Shard. Finally, defeated, they all stopped. Mallory's stomach rumbled.

“I'm starving,” she said.

“Agreed,” Broon said, “...Lunch?”

They sat down, pulling out a few of the chairs and sitting down. Lunch was a quiet affair, ham sandwiches that had been packed lovingly by Gluh, put in paper bags with an apple and a bottle of water. Ezel chuckled at that.

“We really are on a school trip, aren't we?” she said.

A couple light conversations here and there, a welcome reprieve from the hours of traveling through the tower.

“Hey Broon,” Meleko said, “Who wins in a swordfight: You, or Mekke?”

“Depends on the sword,” Broon said, “And the day. The weather, even-”

“Aw, don't be a shitter,” Mallory said, “Come on, who wins?”

“You're wielding Kilnrev,” Heyma pitched, “Mekke's wielding that gladius of hers. She's got the shield, too – but not the spear or the pistol.”

Broon blinked.

“I, ah,” he stammered, “Well, I've got the better reach, but Mekke knows that, I suppose.”

“Who wins, Broon?” Heyma said, “Come on, be honest.”

“Fine,” Broon said, “Fine. Mekke would. In a heartbeat.”

“Bullshit,” Meleko said, “You're the Wildarm! The Butcher of Evukor-”

“Meleko,” Ezel warned, “You how he hates that name.”

“Right, sorry,” Meleko said, “But seriously, you're selling yourself short.”

“I'm not,” Broon said, “I'm good. One of the best. But Mekke is better.”

They continued to eat after that, the conversation dying out with Broon's assertion. Ezel was half-chewing the last of her sandwich when a thought came to her.

“...It's in the telescope,” Ezel said.

They turned to her. The demigod was staring out, towards the great telescope, realization pooling in her eyes.

“It's...” Meleko said, “In the telescope?”

“The rest of this place is just superfluous research,” Ezel said, “The constellations are in Prime. But we're nowhere near Prime, are we? Forecast puts it on the other side of the multiverse, even from thousands of years ago. If it was close to Prime, we'd know...”

She rose to her feet.

“Prime's like a magnet,” she continued, “A black hole that attracts nearby planes to it. We'd know if this plane was near Prime.”

She stepped towards the telescope.

And looked into it.

Despite the fact that the sky was clear, and nothing but the sun existed above, there were stars through the looking glass.

***

They discovered four other null-points during their search.

That's what Sunala defined them as.

“Null-points,” she said, “Fixed points in time. Frozen time, as though it were ice, and flowing time water.”

“Neat,” Joseph said, “And if you pass into it...”

“You stop. Everything goes to a stand-still around you, and your perception of time slows to a crawl,” Sunala said, “Now, based on my calculations, I presume...”

She picked up a small piece of rubble and tossed it towards the side of the bed, where one of the null-points was located. The rock stopped in midair. Sunala took a glance at it before pulling out a small notebook, scribbling into it quickly. Rosemary recognized her handwriting as being in Elvish – though, she could only recognize half the words as she marveled at the noblewoman's quick, flowing handwriting.

“It's still moving,” Sunala said, “Ever so slightly. So slight, it can't be comprehended by most minds.”

Joseph's headache still had not abated.

“I noticed,” he said.

“How are... How are you seeing it?” Rosemary asked.

“We're long-lived,” Sunala said, “It's... difficult, I'll admit. But we are used to time being glacial around us. It's all in how one views the world.”

She gave a meaningful glance to Rosemary. Rosemary looked away, blushing a bit.

“Regardless,” Sunala continued, “It's still quite slow. So slow I thought it was frozen, at first.”

“How long until it hits the ground?” Joseph asked.

“...A while,” Sunala said, “Can't be too sure. And I don't have the equipment to run proper calculations.”

“Doesn't matter,” Nash said, “They're in the way. Phineas, has your spell revealed any more?”

“None,” the Deep One said. He was in the center of the room, resting against the side of the bed, tome on the floor and sprawled out like a comic book, “I detect nothing.”

“Good,” Nash said, “We don't want anyone pulling a Joe.”

“Please don't call it that,” Joseph said, “My self-esteem is in tatters as is.”

Rosemary smirked as she continued to look over Sunala's shoulder, the noblewoman continuing to scribe notes into her journal. Nash, Gluh, and Joseph walked around the room, peeking through the dressers and drawers for... Whatever Nash was looking for.

Joseph wasn't sure what.

And he was also sure they hadn't found it, because Nash hadn't reacted to the odd things they found in the dresser, such as the two, curved blades hidden behind a back panel or the esoteric notes tucked in the journals on the desk that Phineas said summoned the Eternal Engine into existence.

That last part – whatever dark magics Phineas was involved with – pricked at Joseph's mind.

They decided to take a break, pulling out lunch bags that Gluh provided and digging in, chewing ham sandwiches quietly (Phineas, of course, substituting the sandwich for a salad.)

“Before,” he said, “When you were trying to free me. You said it was... difficult?”

“Yes,” Phineas said, “Difficult.”

“How so?”

The Deep One chewed on a leaf of lettuce, deep in thought.

“Difficult to describe. The word my people use jellies the brain.”

“Already did that once today,” Joseph said, “Try me.”

“...It is... roughly translated as-”

He said a word that made Joseph's head fuzz as though it were raked over with TV static. The headache intensified, went cold, like a spike of ice being driven through his skull. He felt his face fall into his hands. The rest of the party seemed to be reacting similarly – Rosemary groaned, Nash was wincing. Sunala hardly reacted, though her left eyelid was twitching. Even Spinlock and Nelthel, still flanking either side of the door, wavered for a few moments.

“Don't say that ever again, Phin,” Nash said.

“Gluhhh.”

“I am sorry,” Phineas said, “But it is... in-between. An in-between place. Between dimensions. Between minds. Between dreams. This place, the power here, the metahuman power... It pulls from the same source.”

He scratched at a loose scale.

“All metapower does. It is... difficult to describe.”

Joseph let the words sink in. He leaned back.

“So... even my power...”

“Yes,” Phineas looked over, “And it is beautiful.”

Joseph was quiet.

“The spell to reverse the null-points,” Phineas continued, “It is... like an axe. Not fine, like a pen. A broad stroke of a brush, not a straight line. I am sorry, I am not good at describing this...”

“Quite alright, dear Phineas,” Sunala said, “I believe I understand. The spell to reverse the null-points, to break Joseph free, could have removed all of the frozen time around us.”

Phineas nodded.

“Yes,” he rasped.

“Then we best be careful not to get trapped in any more,” Sunala said, “Come, let us continue our search. I am hungry for answers.”

***

It was after another hour of searching and re-searching that they determined that whatever Nash was looking for wasn't here. A groan of defeat rumbled from Sunala's throat, and Joseph saw a rare hint of frustration in her voice as she rose imperiously over them.

“Disappointing,” she said. She clenched a hand on the back of the desk's chair, “But... expected. This is a rather large place, after all.”

“What now?” Rosemary said.

“Let's move on,” Nash said, “I think we're done here.”

Sunala gave a final glance at the room. For a moment, Joseph saw her eye twitch again in frustration. Then, she gave a defeated sigh.

“...Yes, let's.”

“Phin, get that spell ready,” Nash ordered, “The rest of you, hope you're ready for a swim.”

“Great,” Joseph said, “My clothes just finished drying, too.”

“Try swimming around with a great ol' cloak like mine,” Rosemary said, “Feels like I'm carrying a raincloud everywhere I walk.”

Gluh, meanwhile, said nothing. The zombie stood apart from the rest of the group, staring out through the gash in the wall and the open sea.

“Gluh?” Nash said, “You coming?”

“...Gluh.”

“What?” Nash said.

“What did he say?” Sunala asked.

“He says there's a body out there,” Nash said, “He sees it. And by the way he's describing it, it's still fresh.”

Sunala blinked.

“What does it look like?” she said.

“It's... relatively intact,” Nash translated, “Joseph, I think I need your eyesight for this.”

They took out their communicator, waiting for a few moments for it to patch through.

“Becenti,” they said, “We have another body.”

***

The call rang through right as they were about to enter one of the temples. The group stopped, looking at Becenti as he fumbled the communicator out of his pocket.

“Go on without me,” he said, “Nash is giving a report.”

“You sure?” Contort asked.

“Of course he's sure,” Ichabod said, giving Becenti a meaningful look, “Stupid questions are usually reserved for people like Joseph or Meleko. I'm surprised at you, Arne.”

“Ha, shut up,” Contort said. But it had the intended effect. He nodded at Becenti and said, “We'll be waiting inside.”

The rest of his team now drawing inside the temple, Becenti stepped away, sitting down at the edge of the steps leading up to the great old ruin. He took a deep breath, before opening the communicator up to his mouth.

“Becenti here,” he said, “Another one?”

“Indeed,” the Lady Sunala's voice crackled through the other end, “Young Mr. Zheng is looking at it now with that... eagle of his.”

“Joseph,” Becenti said.

“Yeah,” Joseph's voice was distant and concentrated, “Yeah, it's definitely a body. A woman's.”

“Phineas, Gluh,” Nash said, “Can you get it?”

“I am on it,” Phineas rasped.

“What does it look like, Mr. Zheng?” Becenti said

“It's... a woman's,” Joseph said, “Dark-skinned. She's wearing...an odd assortment of combat armor and robes. Green colored, just floating in the water. A silver helmet's covering most of her head except for her mouth.”

“Does that ring a bell, Becenti?” Sunala asked.

“...Vaguely,” Becenti said, “Any idea what killed her, Mr. Zheng?”

“I'm guessing it's the several plasma shots in her chest,” Joseph said, “She's got around... I'm counting around fifteen?”

“Damn,” Becenti whispered, “She went down fighting.”

“Her body's floating just above one of the cities,” Joseph said, “How the hell did Gluh see it?”

“Not sure,” Nash said.

“Probably smelled her brains,” Rosemary said, “That's what zombies eat, right?”

Stereotypes, Ms. Rosemary,” Becenti said.

“Right, sorry,” Rosemary said, “But it's still weird.”

“Death senses death,” Nash said, “Regardless, he and Phineas are heading out there now.”

“How long will it take?” Becenti said.

“...Ten minutes, maybe,” Nash said, “Right?”

“By my calculations, a bit more,” Sunala said, “It's two hundred feet down, remember.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

***

“Right, then,” Broon said, “I'm going to let the other teams know.”

They were arrayed around the telescope, staring at it intently, Ezel still looking through the eyepiece and taking a few notes in a notebook of her own.

“Should we...?” Heyma said.

“Try to get it out?” Ezel said, “I wouldn't recommend it. It's stuck in there tight, if it's able to view this part of Prime so effectively.”

Broon took out his communicator.

“Tek?” he said, “Patch me through to the other teams, will you?”

A few moments passed. Broon breathed in, then out.

That familiar dread feeling in his gut had returned.

***

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tek said, “But Broon's entered the chat.”

Broon, good. Joseph gave a small smile as he looked down at the small forms of Phineas and Gluh swimming towards the body below.

“Broon, good to hear you,” Nash said.

“Hi Broon!” Rosemary said.

“Hey, Rosemary,” Broon's voice was oddly quiet and polite. That gave Joseph pause.

“We're not alone,” Nash said, “Joseph and Rosemary are in the room here.”

“Ah,” Broon said. He was quiet for a moment.

The world, Joseph realized, suddenly seemed at a standstill. A crossroads. An odd feeling in his stomach was growing in his stomach, crawling up his chest. He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up on end.

Something wasn't right.

Far below, Phineas and Gluh were just getting to the body. Something had caught her fast to the crashed city below, and he watched as Gluh began pawing at her robe, trying to tear it free from between two crashed pieces of stone.

“We...” Broon was very obviously mulling over his words. Nash and Sunala stared at the communicator intently. Spinlock and Nelthel too, Joseph noted.

“We found it,” Broon said.

There was a very pronounced emphasis on 'it.' Broon's statement was curled around that word. Whatever it was, 'it' was big.

“It's trapped in a telescope,” Broon said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Joseph saw Spinlock and Nelthel exchange glances.

“A... telescope?” Sunala said, “That's odd. Is it possible to get it out?”

“...Not sure,” Broon said.

Spinlock nodded to Nelthel.

“We're in a place full of dead zones of time,” Broon said, “Not sure if the telescope is a trap or not.”

It was happening in slow motion. Joseph felt himself being spinning, beginning to generate an eagle's claw as Nelthel brought up a hand.

“Sorry, mate,” the attendant said.

And then pain. Shooting all over his body. Joseph heard Rosemary and Nash scream – could hear himself scream, too, as he felt his bones slide out of place, his ribcage pull itself inwards, and he heard several horribly sickening cracks chorus throughout his form. He collapsed to the ground, eyes wide, unable to move.

“Always hate it when you have to do that,” Spinlock said.

Nelthel's thin, reedy face was contorted in disgust.

“Agreed,” he said, “But it gets the job done.”

Joseph heard Nelthel step over Rosemary's prone body.

“Sorry, Lady Sunala,” Nelthel said, “Consider this our resignation. Thanks for your patronage.”

“We would've given our two weeks,” Spinlock gruffed, “But, uh, might've blown our cover.”

More movement as the two attendants opened up the mahogany door.

“What about the other two, brother?” Spinlock asked.

“We have twenty minutes,” Nelthel replied, “You can carry us through all of this, yes?”

“It'll be a swim to get back up to the surface,” Spinlock said, “Got your rebreather?”

“Yes, Brain, I do,” Nelthel said, “Now, what's say we get ourselves our birthright, eh?”

The two chuckled – Nelthel's something between a whine and a whinny, Spinlock's low, deep, and rumbling like a volcano. They stepped through the door and closed it with a creaking slam.

***

Becenti's hands shook as he heard the last of the exchange. He took a deep breath. Then two. For the first time in a while, he wished he had a smoke.

“You heard that, Broon?” he said.

“Every word,” Broon's voice was dark, “They're coming here.”

Becenti looked out. Towards the city, far to the north of them. Where now two were traveling. And by the looks of it, by how quickly they had taken out Nash's team, they were formidable.

“Shit,” he whispered.