The Anar Isilye was the fourth ship to crest out of the rent in reality and splash into the silent surface of the dead plane. She was a vessel of Scuttleway, bought directly from the Greater Elven Committee of Exploration. She had been refashioned by the nobles of Scuttleway into one of their largest trading vessels, a carrier able to weather anything the multiverse threw at her.

But she had started as a warship.

Three hundred years had she served as one, fashioned for the skirmishes and battles of Younger Leuthra, between the Entethia and the Silune. As such, the Anar Isilye was a hodge-poge of new wood and old planking, parts of the ship’s hull having been replaced completely in some places. Even then, she was pockmarked with scars, dark criss-crosses that had faded with age as though she were alive.

Wakeling could not help but glare at the ship as she swanned across the lake-like sea, off-white and marbled like the statues of Chliofrond, Scuttleway sailors worked to moor beside the Gil-Galad. In between their work, they gawked at the sight of the floating cities, the overgrown forests of flora and stone, stared at the calm waters, a few of them even rappelling down to cup their hands into the water and drink its green-tinted taste. No doubt this journey was the first time they had truly left Londoa behind, for it wasn't often that Scuttleway ventured out into the multiverse like this.

Such things were looked down upon by the High Federation.

Tek was holding Chronilock's journal between two of his claws. Sunala herself was being attended to by Calacious Nine, the jellyfish looking over the noblewoman’s stump of a hand in a small tent.

The bitch had paid for her secrecy, at least.

After lashing ropes to the floating city, the sailors brought down the gangplank, and the captain stepped off. He was an elf bedecked in a deep blue waistcoat, a tricorn hat atop his head from which the pure white feather of an arctic moa sprang towards the sky. He walked with a swaggering, almost excitable demeanor as he approached Wakeling and Whiskey. The great marionette had returned to his usual place of holding the guildmaster on a pillow, and he creaked slightly as he adjusted his grip so that Wakeling could stare eye-to-eye with the troll.

“Captain Rulthuril,” the elf said.

“Guildmaster Vyde Wakeling.”

“The pleasure's mine,” Captain Rulthuril said, “I've heard quite a bit about you.”

“I'm sure you have,” Wakeling said, giving a false, strained smile, “Glad that you've arrived safely.”

“Had a bit of trouble on the way over,” the captain said, adjusting his hat, “Nothing major! A few eln meia pirates back home, a bad storm on Redenia that gave us a bit of pause.”

“It is a dangerous plane,” Wakeling said.

“Agreed, on that,” Rulthuril said, “Now, where is Lady Sunala...?”

“In a bit of a bind,” Wakeling said, “We’ve injured with us, including our good lady, the client.”

“Ah, dear,” the captain said, “Sounds like you’ve had the run of it. No need to worry, guildmaster Wakeling, we’ve plenty of medical mages aboard.”

“Good. I presume you can work on the rest of us? Over half of us are exhausted or injured in some way.”

“Of course,” Rulthuril said, “Point me in the direction I need to go.”

“Whiskey,” Wakeling said, “Be a dear and guide our good captain to where Lady Sunala is.”

The great puppet gave a shuddering nod, letting Wakeling alight back to the air as he ambled away. Rulthuril tipped his hat to Wakeling, following the puppet to the small tent that held the noblewoman. Wakeling gave a false smile at the captain’s back.

A second part of the expedition, one that had come so soon. No doubt the Scuttleway government had set up an outpost on Redenia as soon as the guild had given them the map to the dead plane. Stationed ships there, hidden from the Silver Eye. A risky gamble, one that had paid off.

If it hadn’t, if the plane had been inhabited…

Wakeling decided not to dwell on that for very long. A cursory glance at the worst case scenarios, at the could-have-beens and the what-ifs, before she shook her head with a defeated smirk.

All of this was risky.

And all of it, Wakeling knew, came from Sunala.

Would Wakeling say anything? Of course not. Scuttleway was paying well, and they had been more than gracious hosts, allowing Castle Belenus to stand as the guildhall and attracting visitors from across the multiverse. It was simple business, what was going on here. Skirting the law, bending it somewhat, but still within reasonable expectations.

Besides, Vyde Wakeling was many things, but she wasn't a narc.

***

A few more days passed as the medical mages who had come from the Anar Isilye tended to the guild's wounds. They were efficient, hired from Darkheld Landmass, eln meia all, blue-skinned and veterans of the recent unification wars that had been raging there. As such, they were prepared for the mangled limbs and the collapsed ribcages of Brother Bone's victims, as well as the various gashes Broon's team had experienced during their battle with the Brothers Corpo. It wasn't enough – they would need more specialized magic for Dama Runebreaker and Ichabod, but they managed to untangle Becenti, at least, as well as treat Sunala's missing hand so that it stopped bleeding, the wound closing up with flesh.

“Missing hands is regular business, for us,” one of the eln meia said, “Happens every week, it seems.”

“You want a hook?” the other eln meia asked Sunala.

“That will be quite alright,” Sunala said, “But thank you.”

But nonetheless, Rosemary could see her feeling at the end of her arm, where her hand was, ghost senses obviously peppering her wrist. She was taking the loss of the hand in stride, acting much like the great palm in the city below, impassive and tall. She noticed Rosemary's staring.

“Well?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Rosemary said, “It's just...”

“I am fine, my dear,” Sunala said, “A missing hand is a small price to pay for our lives. Yours, especially.”

Rosemary found herself blushing at that.

“I-I suppose,” she said.

Sunala, however, had turned away from her. She was staring out past the base camp and towards the small boat, where sat Heyma with her boot on Brother Bone's neck.

“I suppose I should speak to him,” she said.

“You want me to come with?” Rosemary asked.

Sunala smiled, “I would like that. I do need a new bodyguard, after all.”

Captain Rulthuril joined them, taking oars in hand and steering them towards Heyma. He was obviously a close friend to Sunala, the two of them exchanging casual pleasantries as he rowed them across the silent waters. But his bravado became a bit strained as they drew closer to the metahuman prisoner.

“You sure this is smart?” he asked.

“If Nelthel tries anything funny, dear Heyma will snap his neck.”

“Brother Bone, milady,” Rulthuril said.

“...Yes,” Sunala said, “I suppose I should use his proper name, shouldn't I?”

Rulthuril gave a sad nod.

“Messed up, what happened,” he said, “He and Spin- Brain, were good blokes.”

Heyma waved to them as Rulthuril guided the rowboat next to hers. Brother Bone was on the boat's bottom, twisted like a pretzel to accommodate the Dullahan's boot on his neck, his arms forced into awkward angles and his legs scrunched together. It reminded Rosemary of pictures she had seen of babies in the womb, all fetal-like and awkward.

“Brother Bone,” Sunala said.

“Milady,” Bone's voice was polite.

“You want me to stand him up?” Heyma asked.

“Please, I want to talk face-to-face,” Sunala said.

Heyma nodded, removing her boot and picking up Brother Bone by the scruff of his coat. The metahuman looked to be in a bad way, multiple cuts and bruises pocking his face, including a rather large, purple welt on his forehead, the final shot that had done him in. Sunala pursed her lips.

“My goodness, Bone. You picked a bad time to turn in your two weeks.”

“Is Brain alright?” Bone asked.

“Still in the null-point,” Sunala said, “It will take time to retrieve him. Then, you and your brother are to stand trial in Scuttleway, on the charges of treason and attempted murder.”

“I'm glad you're alive, at least,” Bone said, “It really messed Brain up, when we learned you had sunk.”

“Indeed,” Sunala deadpanned.

“Honest, milady,” Bone said, “You were a good boss.”

“But not good enough for you to betray me. Betray us.”

“We had our own reasons,” Bone said, “I assure you, Milady Sunala, there was nothing personal in what we did.”

“It felt personal, Nelthel. Incredibly so. You've done quite a number on both the Amber Foundation and your own compatriots back home.”

Bone winced.

“You can say there was nothing personal,” Sunala continued, “But that does not ignore the fact that you spent six months as my personal assistant. Lived in my house. Worked alongside me. Gave me your opinions. You were...”

She took a deep breath.

“You were my friend, Nelthel.”

Nelthel was quiet. His face fell, shame welling in his eyes as he looked down to the water.

“I'm not going to attend the trial. I will give my testimony by scroll, as is my right as a noble of Scuttleway. I do not want to see you again, Nelthel. Brother Bone. If you or your brother somehow escape the grasp of the law, know that if I see your face again, you will not face the city's justice.”

Her eyes hardened. Her remaining hand twisted into a fist.

“You will face mine.”

She turned to Rulthuril.

“I've said my piece, Captain. Let's head back to camp.”

“Right-on, milady,” Rulthuril said. He gave a last, pitying glance at Bone, then cast off back towards the city once more.

***

Brother Brain had not moved from his spot after Mallory had kicked him into the null-point. Indeed, the battle's damage had done a number on the small room. Many of the tables and desks had been upended during the battle, and steam curled around the observatory's edges.

“Whoops, sorry,” Mallory said, “Let me get that for you, ma'am.”

She brought out a hand, and the steam swirled to it, forming a small ball that hovered over her open palm for a brief moment, before it suffused down and drank into the pores on her fingers. For a Steamer, it was better to recycle than to disperse. Already she could tell she'd messed up the room, perhaps more so than the oaf trapped in time. The papers and scrolls in the observatory had gotten wet, a few inky patches already smearing. The great telescope's eyepiece was fogged over, and Mallory hoped that she hadn't damaged the contraption much.

“Excellent work, Ms. Freemason,” Wakeling said. She had, notably, left Whiskey at the door, and was now floating around the room, peering at the wrecked wonders. The old bat had a way of sniffing when she was in places like these, her nostrils expanding out so much Mallory could almost see her nose hairs.

Nash came in third, followed by Sunala. The noblewoman gave a sad, disappointed lilt at Brother Brain, before she went back to business, her eyes sliding over to the telescope.

“So the Shard's in there, then,” she said.

“Yup,” Mallory said, “Ezel's the one who realized it.”

The elven woman nodded, taking a few strides over. She had changed out of her damp, torn robes and into something more befitting her station – a flowing, almost flowery get-up that was out of place in the relative wear and tear of the expedition. Perhaps she had decided to put on a front to the crew aboard the Anar Isilye, the imperious noblewoman guiding the entire expedition by sheer will and strength alone.

Or, perhaps, with the way she kept rubbing the sudden end of her wrist, she was putting on a front for herself, proving she was still the Lady Sunala.

“Well, Sunala?” Wakeling said, “What's the plan?”

Sunala stared at it for a long while, her face inscrutable. Behind her, Mallory noticed Nash cross their arms, their eyes smoldering as they glowered at the noblewoman's back.

“It's not worth removing it for now,” Sunala said, “We'll keep it here, but I want to keep tabs on this place. Make sure that it's guarded.”

“I can arrange that,” Wakeling said.

“That won't be necessary,” Sunala said, “But thank you. You've done...”

She made another glance at Brother Brain. One that she held for a moment, before turning back to the guildmaster.

“You've gone above and beyond what was expected, milady,” she said, “The crew of the Anar Isilye will take it from here.”

***

Joseph found Becenti at the edge of the camp, away from the commotion of the base camp. Everything had become so much livelier now that the Anar Isilye had arrived. The adrenaline of triumph was permeating throughout the guild, and the camp had, as a result, turned into one of drinking and music. The crew of the Anar Isilye had brought out instruments, and were playing a cacophonous chorus of sea shanties that kept getting interrupted with the desperate, excited laughter of the inebriated. Already a few of the guild were getting drunk, Contort coughing chuckles out with a hobgoblin, Broon – who had just returned from the medical bay, bandages and patches covering parts of his body – draining an entire mug of rum as a combination of sailors and guildmates gawked.

At any other time of the day, Joseph would have joined them. A good party was a good party, after all. Any excuse to get drunk, especially after the bullshit he had just been through.

But Becenti was at the edge of the camp. The older man had ghosted his way past the reverie and was now staring out at the city once more. His face was a forlorn sketch, one that creased away slightly as he noticed Joseph's approach.

“Ah, Mr. Zheng,” he said, “I'm glad to see you're safe.”

“Same with you,” Joseph said, “Heard you were those Brothers' hostage.”

“I am fine, now,” Becenti said, “I got out alright, compared to a few of our guildmates.”

Joseph winced at that. Meleko had already sped off on the Titania Amber, the most grievously wounded of the guild – Phineas, Ezel, Dama Runebreaker, and Ichabod – aboard.

“Yeah,” he said, “At least no one's dead.”

“Of that, I am thankful,” Becenti said, “Wakeling is, too. But she won't show it.”

“Sure,” Joseph said, “She’s the guildmaster, after all. She hardly cares, or pretends to hardly care.”

There was an ocean of emotion behind that, one Becenti could just feel beneath Joseph’s words, but he decided not to prod further.

“Still, she's glad,” Becenti said, “I'm glad.”

He stared down at his hands, opening them and closing them, as though they weren't quite there.

“I didn't expect the game to go quite like that. It's not everyday you get Reclaimationists like the Brothers Corpo.”

“They're supervillains, right?” Joseph found it odd to say ‘supervillains’ so casually. They were for the movies, right? But then, he'd already seen far crazier...

“Indeed,” Becenti interrupted his train of thought, “Which is why I didn't recognize them at first. Supervillains on Prime are usually more... flamboyant.”

“And you used to be a superhero,” Joseph's smile became devillish, “Dude, what was your superhero name?”

“No,” Becenti said.

“Mirage Man? Super Fighting Heatwave Lad!”

“No.”

“Heatsink.”

“...That is good, actually,” Becenti conceded, “But enough, Joseph. We should prepare ourselves for the return home.”

Joseph's grin dropped.

“We aren't staying?”

“A few of us are,” Becenti said, “Tek and Calacious Nine will be tracking to see if anything happens to the cities. Nash, too, to make sure Sunala doesn't try anything funny.”

“...Do you think she will?” Joseph asked.

“She was after the Shard, here,” Becenti said, “And though she's promised not to move it...”

He sighed. An angry look passed over him, one that was subsumed by whatever made Becenti get through the day. Joseph could almost see it, a ripple in his stony complexion. A lifetime of anger, smoothed over and forced calm.

Joseph could sympathize, and said nothing as Becenti turned to once more stare out at the dead plane. At its calm waters, the cities floating gently in the silent drift. Overgrown with life, teeming with flora, trees and grasses and vines and flowers that overtook the statues and deeds of Chliofrond.

“I don't care, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said.

And they both knew that he lied.

***

The night's festivities continued unabated, despite the Lady Sunala's somber mood. Rosemary noticed that something had left the elf's eyes. That manic spirit had abated somewhat, the way she interacted with the guild and her crew wooden and artificial. Not stilted – she was far too good of a speaker for that. But a mask had washed over her.

“Will you follow me, Rosemary?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Rosemary replied, “Where to?”

“Just to the Gil-Galad,” Sunala said.

They took one of the smaller rowboats to the moon-colored galleon. In comparison to the party blaring in the distance, the flashing lights of the Nora Lanterns and the bonfires of the crew, the Gil-Galad was quiet. Isolated. Lonely, even.

Sunala made her way to her personal quarters. They were made up much like the room she had lodged in back at Castle Belenus, books stacked to the ceiling, random bits of parchment with random bits of inky scribbles, writings and sketches of statues of the rulers of Chliofrond. The whole place was cast in the dark glow of a single candle, Sunala's work as the elf rummaged around her desk for a few moments. She brought out a silver cube.

“A Silverfish,” Rosemary said.

“One of the latest models,” the Lady Sunala said, “A recent gift from a cousin. She's an ambassador to the High Federation.”

“An Elven one?” Rosemary asked.

“Naturally,” Sunala said, “All elves are unified, Rosemary. Or rather, we try our best to be...”

She clicked a small button on the cube, and it unfurled like the pages of a tome. The Silverfish began pinging for nearby Traveling Points and, finding the one they had reached through, glowed white.

“It's a combination of Federation technology and Elven ingenuity,” Sunala said, “Opens a portion of a Traveling Point and sends out a communication signal.”

“Like that old communicator Tek has,” Rosemary said.

“Newer by a couple thousand years,” Sunala smiled, “And it doesn't need to be touching the Traveling Point to activate. Very new. Cutting edge, something the Silver Eye sees very little of nowadays.”

The glow turned green.

“Ah, a ping,” Sunala said, “Fortunately, Londoa is in the forecast.”

A few moments passed, before an old, gruff voice tinned through the Silverfish.

“Lily-Ann.”

“Busciver,” Sunala said. This made Rosemary lean forward a bit. It wasn't every day that you heard the Doge of Scuttleway's voice. Rosemary had seen paintings of him – an old gnome, bent with age, his bushy white eyebrows covering his eyes, a spear-shaped nose drill out of the center of his potato-shaped head. Yet Doge Busciver had been leading Scuttleway for almost fifty years. His voice was the city's voice.

Besides, she knew looks could be deceiving.

“I trust the expedition went swimmingly?” he chuckled.

“...Hardly,” Sunala said, “Spinlock and Nelthel were metahumans. They betrayed us. We barely got out with our lives.”

“Oh, dear,” Busciver said, “I told you they were trouble.”

“Indeed,” Sunala said, “But what matters is that the Shard is secure.”

“Good,” Busciver replied, “And... are you alright?”

Even though the old gnome could not see her, Sunala hid her left wrist behind her right.

“The Shard demands much,” she said, “But I have given payment.”

“...Right,” Busciver said, “But don't give too much to it, Lily-Ann. It's not the Shard that I'm interested in, anyhow. What's the plane like?”

“It's... gorgeous, Busciver,” Sunala said, “A metahuman city floats on its surface.”

“It has a sea, then?”

“A freshwater one,” Sunala replied.

The Doge gave an excited, childish, and all too out-of-character squeal.

“Fascinating! Utterly so!” he said, “Oh, very good!”

Sunala gave a sad smile at that.

“Well, with that stage down, I've got some good news for you,” Busciver said, “The papers just went through this morning. Your gamble paid off, Lily-Ann. The High Federation has accepted the lack of sapient life as reason to grant the plane to Scuttleway.”

Sunala nodded, “As suspected.”

“Quite the gamble, yes...” Busciver said, “Now, Admiral Roan is on his way now to finish the chronicling of the plane. He's taking the Third Fleet. A Federation advisor will be accompanying him, to make sure that there isn't anything dangerous about the metahuman city.”

“It's... half-sunk,” Sunala said.

“You can never be too careful, with these kinds of people,” Busciver said, “Metahumans can be sneaky and sly when they want to be. But you’ve seen that already, haven’t you?”

“Indeed,” Sunala said.

There was a small stretch of silence. Busciver seemed reluctant as he spoke again.

“Lily-Ann, I want you to return to Scuttleway.”

Sunala blinked.

“I would prefer to stay here-”

“You've done quite a bit of work already, my dear,” Busciver said, “The good Admiral will take things from here. Besides, I want you close. Darker things are coming up at the gala.”

“I must insist,” Sunala started.

“Lady Sunala,” Busciver chided, “The city funds this venture, not you.”

“And did I not volunteer my fortune for this venture?” Sunala said, “Those are elven craft that are in the waters, Busciver.”

“Elven by origin, Scuttleway by trade,” Busciver said, “Lily-Ann, please. There are... whispers and rumors about. I need my friends close. Especially now.”

Sunala sighed.

“Very well, then,” she said.

“Good. Thank you,” Busciver said, “Now, you caught me at an inopportune time! It's near three in the morning! I should get back to sleep.”

“Of course, Busciver,” Sunala said, “Good night.”

“Sleep tight,” Busciver said, “Don't let the bedbugs-”

Sunala clicked the Silverfish off. Her look was a dark, glowering one that stuck to the silver cube for a few moments, before exhaustion forced her to drop it. She rubbed her face, though that seemed to remind her, once more, of her missing hand. She stared at the stump.

“There should be magic that can regrow it, right?” Rosemary asked.

“Perhaps,” Sunala said.

“Or maybe you can get permission from the Feds to get a robot hand. Or a wooden one, those are all the rage on Kelstonda-”

“It is alright, Rosemary,” Sunala said, “If I need it, I will get it regrown. But that is merely for appearances' sake, if it harms my political career.”

She rested her arm on the desk.

“One must keep up facades, after all. If this is not the case, then it is a small price to pay. One must live with the decisions they make.”

“...Oh,” Rosemary said, “Yeah, I guess so. You live with what happens in your life.”

Even if they’re not your fault, but she kept mum on saying that.

“I'm more angry that, once more, my ventures are pulled back by petty politics,” Sunala said, “Busciver is a kind man. He thinks of me as his daughter, but that means he treats me like one, too.”

“Likes yankin' you back to his side?” Rosemary guessed.

“He doesn't seem to realize that I have dreams outside of being a merchant in Scuttleway,” Sunala said.

She leaned back in her chair. Light from the city filtered in through the window, muted as it was, the only other source being the candle on the edge of Sunala's desk.

“That's why I came here,” Sunala said, “As part of my dream.”

“To better Scuttleway,” Rosemary said.

But the elven woman smiled.

“My dreams go beyond Scuttleway, dear Rosemary. My dream is for all elves. Even you, pretender that you are.”

Rosemary blushed again.

“Thanks for not telling anyone,” she said.

“Your secret is safe with me, Rosemary,” Sunala said, “I've grown to quite like you. You performed admirably in the city below.”

“...You think?”

“I know.”

And Rosemary just about melted into a puddle. Sunala's mood improved as the two talked into the night, working on a couple pieces of Elven history, discussed what to do with an entire plane's worth of drinking water, about the guild, about the night, about how fireflies lit up the void between stars, about how cold it got in winter, and about all things mundane and yet not.

***

Another Scuttleway ship planeshifted onto the freshwater plane the next day. With approval from the Federation, more and more ships would come to lay claim upon the dead plane.

Not dead anymore, Joseph supposed. But then, it had always been alive, in some shape or form.

With the emphasis on Scuttleway colonization, the role of the guild was fading. Already most of them were packing up, taking their belongings and storing them aboard the Dreamer's Lament.

To be frank, Joseph was glad. The entire journey had been interesting, but he was ready to get on back to Castle Belenus. There was still more research to be done, after all. A pang of guilt hit him as he realized, while helping Broon lift a couple boxes onto a dolly, that he had been hoping to find some hint of a way home. Carvings of Anuté and Inweth, maybe. A map of the multiverse that tracked the various forecasts in a way that made sense. A giant door that read 'THIS WAY TO EARTH.'

But nothing. A hollow opportunity. Another false lead-

One of the crates slipped off the dolly. Broon gave a warning shout, but Joseph sprouted an electrical arm, which caught the crate and set it back into place.

“Thanks, Joe,” Broon said, “You've gotten pretty good at that metahuman thing, haven't you?”

Inwardly, Joseph cringed at the corniness of Broon's good cheer. Yet he knew the half-orc was completely genuine.

“Well,” Broon said, “I hope you had a ‘crate’ time, after everything.”

The half-orc laughed at his dumb joke, despite the bandage around his head and the subtle limp in his step. Joseph could not help but smile.

Maybe the expedition hadn't been a complete waste.

Most of the supplies was being left behind, a donation to the Scuttleway Militia, though Rosemary had notably picked up a Nora Lantern as a souvenir. Becenti cast one final, lasting look at the place. He was back in his polite business suit, once more the gentleman right hand of the guild. It was as though he had never come here, his wounds dressed and hidden beneath those heavy sleeves.

“Did you want to stay?” Joseph asked.

“I...” Becenti whispered. Then, he turned to Joseph and the Dreamer, “No. I wish. Dearly, I do. But there is work to be done, Mr. Zheng.”

Joseph nodded, “Alright, then. Bye, Chliofrond.”

“...Indeed,” Becenti said, “Goodbye... Chliofrond.”

The Dreamer cast off. She ran through the silent waters and into the stale sky, breaching into the Traveling Point and warping away. Away from Chliofrond and her temples, from the overgrown ruins of Epochia, from the memories and histories held there, and from the Shard that bound the legacy together.