Just before Ichabod and G-Wiz left for Gilded Cage, Joseph and Becenti went on a mission. They stole away in the dead of night, taking the Titania Amber and flying south, curving over the edge of Londoa and planeshifting through a Traveling Point that rippled in the Telltale Mountains.

For Becenti had a job to do. Another one of the prisons to visit. A traveling one, mentioned by Pagan Chorus. He had only received the details of the job that very night, from a coded message from Rhunea.

But he had left at once.

Now, days later, they emerged onto a plane Joseph had been yearning to go to for a long time.

Prime.

For the job.

Unbeknownst to him, for a convergence.

***

His civilian name was Antoine Martin. French-American, his father had emigrated to the United States after the war. His homeland had been devastated during those dark years, during the Manticore's European Scourges, and thus while America was a scarred land, it still represented better opportunities than the hollowed-out Third French Empire.

It was also home to Silver Arthur, leader of the Silver Knights, First of the Round. A beacon to young Antoine. An icon. More than just a superhero, he had been a symbol for all to rally around. A reminder that, though the days were bleak and long, that there was a future past the sword.

‘Past the sword.’ Antoine had remembered the speech that Arthur had given. He had been just a boy then, not seven years old. But he had experienced far more darkness than a child his age should have, hadn't he? Paris in flames. His mother's arms sticking out from the ruins of their collapsed apartment. The sirens screaming in his ears.

Oh God, the sirens. Antoine still flinched at the sound of them.

Yet Arthur's speech had stuck with him. He found a recording of it when he was older, and he recorded it onto his phone and listened to it. On his off days. When he was down. After his father's funeral. After the rejection letters. The lost opportunities. When he had joined the military, long after the war's end, when all that was left were memories.

The recording pounding into his head like a song when he first beheld Durandal, the Blade of Roland. Glittering through the rust, which he wiped away as though it were mere grime, deep in the ruins of Rocamadour. It had been implanted in a cliff wall in the old commune, revealed only now by the Manticore's scourges, and the first return to life in the region in years.

It was, holding Durandal, that answer to Arthur's Excalibur, that Antoine Martin swore an oath. The days were still bleak and long, and the future past the sword would not come until the sword itself had carved the path.

He would be a superhero.

Thus, his other name was Oliphant, after Sir Roland's horn. And despite the bleak days, despite the darkness in his heart, despite the desperation of the world, he was the leader of the Silver Knights, Second of the Round. A beacon, dim as it was.

He wore the responsibility with a dour heart.

***

The Round Table was a space station. A bone-white needle that pointed directly at Prime below, always in geosynchronous orbit with Horizon City. It was an experimental piece, part of it Fedtek, part of it Prime technology, part of it machinery from the Milky Way, a space unknown to even the High Federation save for a few outposts here or there. As such, the interior of the space station was a hodge-podge mess of mismatched walls, marked with monitors from all ages, and red and green wires that crossed with organic data-veins.

To Oliphant, it was home, as the blinking alarm woke him up at 05:00 hours. He rose from his bed, blinking back bleariness, felt a few old cramps here and there. His quarters were some of the best in the house, with a view of Prime far below. North America was beginning to wake up, the smoldering remains of the East Coast casting into view of the sun, though everything west of Horizon City was still blanketed in darkness.

The alarm again. A calm sound, a few light clicks that nonetheless woke him up. He had always been a light sleeper. Oliphant switched the alarm off, pausing as he looked at it again. For a moment, his dour mood returned to him, that empty feeling that made him want to curl up and call it a day, even this early.

Then, with a sigh, with more effort than usual, he pulled himself out of bed and walked to the shower.

He did his routine as though he were an automaton. Had to. To even think of it made him question its purpose. Turn the water on. Step inside. Wash self. Step out. Brush teeth. Comb hair. Put on armor, a set of chainmail and plate that was magically enchanted to tank anti-materiel rounds. Swallow the self in the blue cloak of Charlemagne, said to be from the old Frankish king himself. Oliphant always made sure to wear it with pride, and repair it after each mission.

The last part. The sword. Durandal was at his bedside, and though he treated the armor as though it were trash, tossing it aside after each mission and picking it back up to put on in the morning, he always treated the blade gently. He walked over to its case, opening the glass cover and removing the sword. He drew it, considering it in the light of the sun that was beginning to blare through the window, far more intense than on Prime and casting him in a silhouette. One swing. Then another. A daily exercise that pushed away darker thoughts. He would do a more intensive routine later, when he had finished the initial scans.

Sheathing Durandal, Oliphant made his way out of his quarters. Down the hallways and up the stairs, to the observation platform. It was at the very top of the Round Table, an open-air room with clear walls that showed the breadth of space all around them. A ring of computers dominated the platform's center, scanning the world below for potential threats using police scanners, Fedtek bioreceivers, and good old fashioned hacked cameras. Oliphant pretended to ignore that last bit, which was a personal project of Datalode. He also ignored Ever-True as she napped by one of the consoles.

“Oh, morning, Oli.”

The voice came from the console besides Ever-True's. Seismic rose up to his full height, an impressive five feet, a coffee from Friendbucks in his hand. He was in his usual red and orange getup, goggles covering his eyes, and a smarmy sort of smile on his face.

“Morning, Mick,” Oliphant said, “Just starting your shift?”

“Yeah, just got in a few minutes ago,” Seismic said, “Forgot to get you coffee, sorry 'bout that.”

“I don't drink the stuff,” Oliphant said, “Besides, I think our Sleeping Beauty could use it more.”

He nodded at Ever-True, who was starting to drool on the keyboard. Seismic grimaced.

“Her brother's power is he never sleeps, and all she does is nap,” he said, “You'd think she'd take after him, but...”

“Ignore it,” Oliphant said, “Any reports yet?”

“Nothing too substantial,” Seismic said, “A couple outlanders came from the Traveling Point at New Vegas, but they were guildfolk. Amber Foundation, I think.”

“Right,” he said, “Last thing we needed today. What's Acero's report in Greenland?”

“She located Spiritman's base last night,” Seismic said, “Last I heard, she had engaged him.”

“Pyroknack's team in Gran Colombia?”

“Still searching for that running god,” Seismic said, “He checked in a couple hours ago, if Xuduo's shift report reads right.”

Oliphant gave a grunt of thanks, walking over to Ever-True.

“Wake up,” he said.

Ever-True groaned.

“Ever-True, you're on duty,” Oliphant said, “Come on, get up.”

He prodded her shoulder. Ever-True stirred.

“W-wha...?” she said. Then her eyes fluttered open and slid over to Oliphant's face. Ever-True went red as she practically flung herself to her feet, giving him a mock salute.

“E-Ever-True, reporting for duty, sir!” she said.

“Knock it off with the 'sirs' and all that,” Oliphant said.

“Y-yes. Right,” Ever-True wilted a bit, “Sorry. Was just resting my eyes. It won't happen again.”

“I know you mentioned pulling a double shift today,” Oliphant said, “You're fine. I can get Mick to get you some coffee.”

“Wait, why me?” Seismic said.

“That won't be necessary, sir-Oliphant,” Ever-True said, “I'm ready.”

Her jaw was clenched up, Oliphant noticed.

“You're not Ever-Vigilant,” Oliphant said, “So quit trying to be.”

The wrong thing to say. Internally, Oliphant winced as he saw something falter in Ever-True's eyes.

“He means don't think you can stay up, just because your big bro can,” Seismic said, “Nothing crazy, Eve.”

“Right,” Ever-True said, “Well, I'll... get to work.”

“Get to scanning the Oceania region,” Oliphant said, “Maui was spotted a few days ago off the coast of New Zealand, I want to make sure he's not getting into trouble.”

“On it,” Ever-True said.

The two of them stood awkwardly for a second. Then, Ever-True walked off and got to work. Seismic gave Oliphant a lopsided grin.

“Smooth, boss,” he said.

“Can it,” Olipphant growled. God, he hated working with the younger heroes.

***

It was a quiet morning, at least. They took to scanning Oceania, detecting Maui's presence in the middle of the Pacific. But he wasn't causing trouble – and besides, he had been more helpful than hindering in the last few months, so Oliphant let him be. Acero reported in on the third hour via viewscreen, just after 08:00. The base behind her was nothing but smithereens and smoldering ruin, but her voice was calm as always as she spoke.

“Spiritman is out of commission,” she said, “He went through the Traveling Point up here, probably somewhere in the Outer Phantoms.”

“Right,” Oliphant said, “That could lead anywhere. Is everything good?”

“Aside from a destroyed base and a couple of spooked reindeer, we're fine,” Acero said, “You might want to hire a guild to take care of Spiritman. We're short-handed as is.”

“No,” Oliphant said, “Our villain, our responsibility.”

“...Right,” Acero said. They had both heard, far away in the multiverse, how the Brothers Corpo had slipped from Prime and been captured on a distant backwater.

That wouldn't happen again.

“Guess I'll be shifting over, then,” Acero said, “But that does mean I won't be with you for that meeting with the President of the US. I might be out for a few days.”

“That's alright,” Oliphant said, “I'll manage. Good luck, Acero.”

“And you, 'Toine.”

She disconnected. Oliphant blinked for a few moments, absorbing the information, then went back to scanning Gran Colombia. Seismic yawned, stretched, took a sip of his coffee. The engines hummed below them, a calm ambiance that made Oliphant relax for the first time in a few weeks. It had been a busy month. Ever-True was staring at her screen, her face glassed over and distant. Seismic took notice of this, leaning back from his chair and looking at her.

“You good, Eve?” he said.

“W-what?” Ever-True blinked, taken out of her stupor, “Yeah. I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” Oliphant said, “I have noticed you seem more... exhausted, lately.”

“It's nothing,” Ever-True said.

A few more minutes passed. A few more scans. A storm was developing over the Soviet Union. Probably nothing, but Oliphant made sure to take at least a cursory look at it, just to be safe.

Yeah, nothing. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Oliphant?” Ever-True said.

“Hmm?”

“What do you... what do you know of dreams?”

“Dreams,” Oliphant said, “What kind of dreams?”

“When you're asleep,” Ever-True said.

“What's prompting this line of questioning?” Oliphant asked.

“Nothing,” Ever-True said, “Just... been having a weird one, is all. Recurring.”

“Probably nothing,” Seismic said, “Lay off the weed, maybe.”

“I don't smoke, Mick” Ever-True said.

“Oh.”

“Dreams...” Oliphant said. He became lost in thought for a moment, then said, “Dreams are tricky, to be honest. But I wouldn't discount them. Sometimes they're just the mind playing tricks on you. Often they're nothing. But I know they can also be messages.”

“Messages?” Ever-True asked.

“Yes. When I first discovered Durandal, I saw it first in my dreams,” Oliphant said, “It was... unsettling, at first. Strange. But I listened to what the dream had to say. I like to think it was fate talking to me. Or the blade. Or something. Sometimes messages take the form of dreams.”

“Mine's just been... a tunnel,” Ever-True said, “A labyrinth in the earth. And someone's calling.”

“I had a dream last night I was being eaten by a hamburger,” Seismic said, “Is there anything to that?”

“Shut up, Mick,” Ever-True growled.

“It could be something,” Oliphant said, “Especially if it's recurring. I'd pay attention to it, at least-”

He stopped as he noted an alert coming from New Vegas. Near the Traveling Point. He zeroed in on it, eyes darting from readout to readout.

“Mick, Eve, you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” Seismic said, but Ever-True was already back at her monitor.

“Yeah, I see it,” she said, “Along with a lot of police activity on local scanners.”

“Something's come through,” Seismic said.

“Get me a visual,” Oliphant said, “Now!”

There were a few frantic moments of clicking, until Seismic pulled onto the main viewscreen an image taken from a nearby security camera on the New Vegas Strip. People were screaming as a black liquid oozed out of the sky, pouring down onto the ground in a molasses-like waterfall, inking down the street, speeding up to get out of the city.

“Jesus,” Seismic said, “What is that?”

“...It's a metahuman,” Oliphant said.

“What?” Seismic said.

“It's Endralus, the Ocean of Oil,” Oliphant said, “He's an outlander, though. Mostly keeps to the less populated planes...”

The camera cut out as Endralus smothered over it.

“Whatever reason he's here for, it's not to gamble,” Seismic said, “He's already heading out of the city.”

“We need to get someone down there,” Oliphant said, “Ever-True, is anyone available?”

“Let me see...” Ever-True gave a glance at the roster, pulling a face as she said, “I don't... I'm not seeing anyone, Oliphant.”

Oliphant grimaced, regretting his decision to have Acero planeshift away. He ran a few numbers in his head, trying to piece together what missions each member of the Silver Knights was up to. How far away they were.

How far away he was, up here in space...

“Ever-True, you're with me,” he said, “Seismic, you run control from up here. We're heading to the surface.”

“Wait, boss, you sure about that?” Seismic said, “I mean, you'd need to use the Songbird to even get close to-”

“It's a couple of hours to get Primeside,” Oliphant said, “Keep a bead on Endralus, keep us apprised of where he's going at all times, understand?”

“Right, boss,” Seismic said, “Good luck out there.”

“Come on, Eve,” Oliphant said, “Let's get to the hangar.”

***

Becenti was, as he called it, 'in uniform.'

It was a ridiculous outfit, Joseph thought. The older man was wearing what seemed to be a white onesie, red combat armor over his arms, shoulders, knees, and chest. Red streamers snaked down from his elbows, shoulders, and wrists, and he was wearing a mask that more framed his eyes like glasses than actually hid his face.

“You remind me of Evel Kneval,” Joseph said.

“You're not the first one to tell me that,” Becenti replied.

They were flying high over Prime, having zoomed out of the Traveling Point over Las-

No, sorry.

New Vegas. Joseph had been to Earth's Vegas before. Literally the first summer after moving away from California, he and a couple of friends had road-tripped out to Nevada. One of them – Joseph wasn’t sure who – had managed to forge a couple of their IDs, and they had started going down the Las Vegas Strip checking out the casinos and bars.

The next few days after that were fuzzy.

Prime's New Vegas, on the other hand, was a lot different. Joseph had stared at the viewscreen onboard the Titania Amber, watching the city roll beneath them. Many of the buildings were different – newer, with no sign of an old Vegas anywhere. All of the casinos were different.

Also, there was a giant metal wall that ringed the inner parts of the city, an artifact from the war, Becenti said. They passed over the city without another word after he had mentioned that. Joseph could see why it was New Vegas, now.

Now all that was around them was open sky and the Mojave Desert below. Joseph stretched, putting down a magazine he was reading. Glanced at the viewscreen, watched the clouds roil overhead.

“So,” he said, “This is Prime.”

“Good eye, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti replied.

“Your home plane, right?”

“...Yes, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said.

“Sorry, just curious, is all,” Joseph replied.

The older man had been quiet and reserved for most of the way here, shifting from plane to plane, Traveling Point to Traveling Point. He had put on the outfit roughly a day ago, and the way he wore it was... familiar. Comfortable yet uncomfortable. There were memories in that suit, and Joseph was wise enough not to pry too deeply.

“So,” Joseph said, “Why are we here?”

“Hmm?” Becenti said.

“On Prime. Why are we here on Prime?”

“We're on a job, Mr. Zheng.”

“Naww, I just thought you wanted to show me around,” Joseph said, “What kind of job?”

Becenti faltered a bit, a first for him. He was quiet for a few minutes.

“Look,” Joseph said, “If it's some sort of secret mission that I'm not supposed to know about, or you'll kill me if I find out, you don't have to-”

“No, no,” Becenti said, “Nothing like that.”

They flew over some ruins. An old ghost town, a carcass in the wastes.

Many of the buildings, Joseph noted, had plasma burns scarring them.

“Brings back memories, coming here,” Becenti said.

“We... visiting family?” Joseph said.

“...None of that here,” Becenti said, “Not anymore.”

A somber, dark look crossed over his face for a moment.

But only a moment.

“No, what we're here for is tracking down an old enemy of the Federation. And of mine, if we're being honest.”

“Ah,” Joseph said, “N-neat.”

“You've had the dreams, surely,” Becenti said.

“...Maybe?” Joseph said.

“A tunnel. A labyrinth, deep in the earth. A voice, calling you?”

“I don't remember my dreams,” Joseph said.

“I envy you then,” Becenti said, “This one comes to me every so often. Cuts through the usual pills I take. The usual... Well, I aim for dreamless sleep, Mr. Zheng, so I remember these dreams, every time they happen.”

“And what does it mean, exactly?”

Becenti smirked.

“It is the prison of the Visionary.”

***

“The Visionary?” Oliphant said, “No, Mick, tell me that's not true.”

“It's true, boss,” Seismic said, “It matches up with other reports.”

“Other... reports?” Ever-True said.

“Yeah, see, Ever-True's dream got me thinking. I thought I'd heard of it somewhere before.”

Oliphant grimaced as he clambered into the Songbird's cockpit. The hangar bay doors opened, the ship powering up and flying out and into the open night between the Round Table and Prime. He could hear the entire ship shudder around him as he gunned it towards the surface.

“Of all times” he muttered, “Right when our hands are tied. And nothing from Pyroknack?”

“He's not answering his comms,” Seismic said, “Think he had the dream?”

“Maybe,” Oliphant said.

The entirety of the Songbird became awash in flame as they entered Prime's atmosphere. The ship shook as though caught in an earthquake. Oliphant watched Ever-True grit her teeth.

And then they were back in open air. Ever-True sighed, then glanced at Oliphant.

“So, metahumans... we have this dream?”

***

“Most metahumans, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “But not all.”

“Obviously,” Joseph said, “This is the first I'm hearing of it.”

“It's a calling, of a sorts,” Becenti said, “A message. A beacon, to metahumans in the surrounding area.”

His smirk became more jaded, more forced.

“A calling to have the future told, for that is Visionary's power.”

***

“No shit,” Ever-True said, “That's badass.”

“Not so badass, when you consider that the Visionary was one of the Sons of Darwin,” Oliphant said.

“...Slightly less badass,” Ever-True said.

“Endralus is still heading through the Mojave, Oliphant,” Seismic said, “Getting faster, too.”

“Any idea on where he's headed?” Oliphant said.

“Computer's drawing up a projection now,” Seismic said, “I'm not Datalode, boss. I can't get it to run much faster than this.”

“It's alright,” Oliphant said, “So long as it's working.”

“So,” Ever-True said, “She served the Manticore.”

***

“During the war, yes,” Becenti said.

Joseph nodded. He had avoided topics of...

'The war.'

For whenever it was brought up, the older members of the guild winced. Looked away. Changed the subject. So Joseph never pressed for details.

“She was one of the inner circle of the Sons of Darwin,” Becenti said. His eyes became distant, “And so, when the war was over, when we were closing in on her, she trapped herself in... Well, a being. A metahuman, we thought he was. Like myself. Yet so warped by the power of Imagination, by the metagene, that he wasn't even flesh and bone anymore.”

***

“He was earth,” Oliphant said, “So the story goes. This was all before my time, you see.”

“Uh-huh,” Ever-True said.

“But he was known as the Earthmute. A living, shifting manifestation of stone and rock. He could manifest in any patch of dirt. Anywhere.”

He gave Ever-True a hard look.

“Anywhere.”

***

“...You're telling me that this... Earthmute guy, he can planeshift without a Traveling Point?”

“Yes,” Becenti said, “And he does. Constantly.”

“So that way the Visionary avoids the Federation,” Joseph said, “She's inside Earthmute, and Earthmute travels all over the multiverse.”

“And the whole time, she calls for our kind,” Becenti said, “A traveling fortune teller.”

***

The two of them rode in silence. The interior of the Songbird was cold, and Ever-True felt herself shiver a bit. She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them.

“You brought your javelins, right?” Oliphant said.

“Yeah, of course,” Ever-True said.

“Good,” Oliphant said, “Because it's going to be hairy. Metahumans from all over the multiverse are going to be heading there. Some of them will be benign. Others will be violent.”

“Boss,” Seismic said, “I'm getting readings of another ship in your vicinity.”

“What make?” Oliphant said.

“It's something... ah,” Oliphant could imagine Mick biting the inside of his lip, “It looks like it's from the High Federation. Like a flying box with wings? But it's got all this... sci-fi shit on it, yeah?”

“The guild,” Oliphant said. He clicked on the comms, sending out a hailing frequency to the guildfolk.

***

“This is Oliphant of the Silver Knights, identify yourselves.”

The voice crackled through the communicator on Joseph's right. Becenti's head snapped to where the speaker was, his eyes narrowing at the sound of Oliphant's tired voice. For a moment, the older man hesitated, his hand hovering over the button to open comms.

“I repeat, this is Oliphant of the Silver Knights of Prime. Identify yourselves, outlanders.”

“Outlanders,” Joseph chuckled, “Makes us sound like-”

“I know, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “Keep quiet. Let me do the talking.”

Joseph blinked. There was a danger here, he realized, an understanding that they were the...

Invaders. He remembered the ruins he had seen flying over the Mojave, the twisted, garishly recent landscape of New Vegas. How much of Prime's interactions with the multiverse been civil? He could see through the onboard scanners the outline of the other ship above them. It was keeping pace with them, a fast, sleek silhouette that could match them if need be, an escalation that he had not seen as much on other planes like Kelstonda or Londoa.

“I repeat,” the voice said again, “This is-”

Becenti clicked in.

“This is Shimmer,” his voice was quiet, and he almost choked the name 'Shimmer' out, “Shimmer. Myron Becenti.”

Silence on the other line.

“The old superhero?” a woman's voice crackled through, muted as though she were farther from the microphone.

“Shimmer,” Oliphant said.

“Yes,” Becenti said, “In my old colors and everything. I can give you Silver Knight identification codes, if you want.”

“...No,” Oliphant said, “Identify your aircraft and guild.”

“Right, then,” Becenti muttered, “We're aboard the Titania Amber, our guild is the Amber Foundation, on a job on behalf of the Prime Voice of the High Federation.”

“The Federation never cleared this with the Silver Knights,” Oliphant said.

“The Federation doesn't clear a lot of their decisions with local planes,” Becenti said.

“You'll need to send me identification,” Oliphant said, “Your guild ID. The contract. We've got enough visitors right now.”

“I can see,” Becenti said. He nodded to Joseph, gesturing at the camera. Slinking across the ground, far below in the desert, was a line of black. Joseph squinted as it seemed to catch up with the Titania Amber, keep pace with it, outstrip it, “This might take a moment.”

***

There was a few minutes of silence as Becenti sent the files over, as Ever-True watched the smear of ebony on the red cream of the desert, as Oliphant grimaced at the full contract that was sent over, along with his own guild ID. Eve couldn't read the language of the Silver Eye, which was what the contract was written in, and by the way that Oliphant cursed and rubbed his forehead, he was having trouble with his own translations. But she could see Shimmer's face on his ID. A Native American man with a pronounced frown on his face, though Ever-True had seen pictures of him smiling before, of him in full regalia, as Shimmer, the Magician of the Red Wind.

But that had been thirty years ago, hadn't it? She felt like she was interacting with a museum piece come to life. Certainly the Titania Amber was an antique, as she turned attention from the photo of the old man to the viewscreen. Beat-up, plasma scarred, like an old Star Commando toy had been thrown through a bonfire. She stared at it for a long time.

After a few more minutes, Oliphant sighed.

“Right,” he said, “So you're here for the same reason that Endralus is.”

“If you're talking about Visionary, yes,” Shimmer's voice was calm through the speaker, though Ever-True could tell it was wound up and defensive.

“And you're going to apprehend her,” Oliphant said.

“Pull her free from her shell,” Shimmer said, “The Federation has been wanting her behind bars for quite a while, if you couldn't tell.”

“And they're not sending their own out here,” Oliphant said, his voice dripping with accusation.

“Well, the last time they sent a Warbird out here, it glassed the coast of Florida,” Shimmer said, “Wouldn't want that happening again, would we?”

Ever-True remembered learning about that in school. Her teacher had gotten one of the survivors to come in to tell them about it, give his own testimony of that horrifying final battle between Silver Arthur and the Manticore.

“No,” Oliphant said, “But I know they've got other guilds. Like that one their... 'Prime Voice,' has.”

“Pagan Chorus,” Shimmer said, “But no, they wouldn't do. Pagan Chorus doesn't have any metahumans in their ranks, Oliphant. Not a one.”

“What does being metahuman have to do with this?” Oliphant said.

“Visionary's a metahuman. She comes to us in our dreams, talking of tunnels and labyrinths in the earth.” Becenti said.

Ever-True's blood froze. Oliphant glanced at her.

“And?”

“And thus, we travel there,” Shimmer continued, “To the place she calls us to. We both can see Endralus below, don't we?”

“Another of your kind,” Oliphant said.

“Why don't you extend your scanners about a bit more, hmm?” Shimmer said, “No doubt you've upgraded the Round Table's surveillance system into your own personal Big Brother. Why don't you tell whoever your controller is to scan the Mojave for lifeforms.”

Oliphant glared at the speaker. He muted Shimmer.

“Mick,” he said, “Scan the Mojave.”

***

Joseph, too, looked at the lifesign readings as Becenti ran a sensor sweep through the region. Squinted at the small blips that dotted the expanse of the Mojave, interspersed throughout the desert. More and more of them, as the sweep continued.

“That's...” he blinked, “People live out here. Drive out here, right?”

“Drive, yes,” Becenti said, “Live? No. Not anymore. Too much scars this place, Mr. Zheng. Anything you see here that is sapient is nomadic.”

He gave a dry grin.

“Most of those readings are metahuman.”

Joseph glanced down, the full weight of the situation crashed down on him. There were dozens of lifesigns at first. Then a hundred. More and more dots, more blips that pinged out in the Mojave, all of them moving in a single general direction, as if pulled in by a whirlpool towards...

“Death Valley,” Joseph said, “They're all heading for Death Valley.”

“That's right,” Becenti said, “An interesting place for a convergence. A meeting of metahumanity, in the hottest place on Prime.”

Oliphant's voice came through on the radio once more.

“How many metahumans are going to be coming here?” he asked.

“Oh, I don't know,” Becenti said, “A couple hundred, at least. Anyone who has been having the dreams, with both the will and the means to get here. I presume you've been monitoring planeshifting activity these past few weeks?”

“Yes,” Oliphant growled.

“And it didn't occur to you that there would have been an increase in traffic?” Becenti asked.

“I don't know,” Oliphant said, “Multiverse is a large economic opportunity. Maybe we were just-”

“Hey, um, Oliphant?” the woman's voice came through once more, a worried edge to her voice, “That... oil guy, he's meeting up with someone.”

Becenti looked down on one of the cameras. Sure enough, Endralus had a rendezvous, a large meathead of a man with a bald head, and even from high above Joseph could see a ragged scar that ran down and colored half of his face. For a moment, he spoke a couple of words to Endralus.

“Who is that?” Joseph asked.

“I don't know,” Becenti said.

“Whatever he's doing, he's up to something,” Oliphant said.

His ship began dipping down, cutting past the Titania Amber. It was a sleek thing, a modified stealth bomber with thrusters that burned blue against the sea of sand below. Becenti's brow furrowed as Oliphant began closing the distance between them and the metahumans below.

“Careful, now,” Becenti said.

“I know,” Oliphant said, “I'm just making it clear to them that we're here.”

“That'll go over nicely,” Joseph said.

Below, the large, scarred metahuman glanced up at Oliphant's ship. Without a word, he thrust his arm into the goop that was Endralus's makeup, his other arm pointing upwards at it. Pointing, the arm disassembling like a piece of machinery, the fingers splaying back into a muzzle, the bones in the forearm emerging from the skin and forming into a scope-

“Watch out!” Becenti roared, but Oliphant was already taking evasive action as a beam of plasma streamed from the metahuman's arm, the ship rolling to the side-

Becenti grimaced as the Titania Amber ambled, taking a hard twist to the right as the beam rang past her, clipping their left wing, surging over it, burning it away as pieces of charred metal ripped free. Joseph felt the ship dip to the side, his guildmate frantically clicking a few buttons to compensate for the loss.

“No shield?” Joseph said.

“Didn't-” Becenti grimaced, “A-a rookie mistake.”

With a click, he began the process of powering the ship's shield on. A heartbeat. Two heartbeats-

And then the world exploded.

***

There was a moment of time where Shimmer's ship glittered in the sky, a gaping hole through her hull, a clean shot from the metahuman below. Shimmer was a veteran, who had fought for years and years across the multiverse, a war hero of the highest regard.

But he was not a pilot. Not when it came down to the wire. He had always had others for that. Luminary, for example, back during the war. Presumably other guildmates handled the fancy flying now.

The Titania Amber tumbled, falling out of control.

“Oliphant-” Ever-True said.

“I know, I know!” Oliphant said. He veered to the side, the Songbird twisting-

But it was not enough. The two ships collided in midair, the brick-like starship breaking away the spy plane's wing. One fell like a stone. The other fluttered to the ground, wheeling through the air and tumbling into a crash landing.

All was silent from the two crafts, now apparently lifeless. Yet the rest of the Mojave was not, as metahumans from across the multiverse moved towards Death Valley, traveling individually, or in pairs. Each one had experienced the dream-message of Visionary, felt it echo through the multiverse, across the strands of Imagination, beckoning back towards an age where metahumanity was under one banner, one people, one kingdom.

Yet each one's journey to Visionary was a selfish one, for only one individual would receive her vision, her sight into the future, and what it might bring.

The convergence had begun, and far more blood would be spilled before it was over.