Dawn came jagged between the distant mountains. The sky was burnished red, reminding Meloche, as he wearily rose to face the sun, of old sailor's tales from back home. Red skies warned of coming storms. It meant that he needed to make sure the rope attached to Father's boat needed to be knotted extra tight, lest it be pulled from the pier and lost. Father had always looked on those old days with a certain resigned trepidation. He would still go out on that old fishing boat and cast off, leaving his family behind. The storm would come. And, every time, Meloche would wait by the pier, the storm having passed, hoping it had not taken his Father.

One day, Father did not return.

But Meloche was in Death Valley now. Land of heat and sand, the nearest ocean seeming realities away. He faced the sun for a second, entire body aching from the night's skirmish. It had not been good-

Eco.

The philosopher turned. He had fallen alongside his companion and lost consciousness. He was aware of having woken up at some point in the night, the earth a shadow and the sky seasoned with stars, only for exhaustion to take him once more, marring every thought. Now, though, he was sharpened and ready.

And with that came sorrow.

He looked down upon the gold-plated body of Eco.

Talrash's breath was true to its name. Eco had been cast as gold, and with gold came the stealing of the soul, the slowing down of the bodily processes, the conversion of life-giving organs to solid metal. It worked even on one with a unique a physiology as Eco's, who, while ever-changing, still had his metapower to support himself through each transformation.

A process. Stopped now. Meloche took a few unsteady steps towards his friend. He fell to his knees, head cast down. It was as though Eco had been dipped in molten metal and cooled, for his face captured every detail, down to the grimace of pain on his face, painted in golden, sharp detail.

Meloche's mourning was silent. Tears, he was aware, streamed down his face, caught in the sap that covered his body, his entire form shaking and bubbling with grief. But, like most metahumans, he was used to this. Used to death, used to it clinging to him like the sand on his knees.

For not the first time, for not the last, he despised how he was used to grief.

Then, after all of his tears had been spent, Meloche stood back on his feet.

Eco would have wanted to be left here, he knew. He wanted to die in an ecosystem he was aligned to, to truly become one with nature.

“We're all going to die one day,” he had told Meloche one day, “And no matter what happens, we rot away. Even if a corpse is put into stasis, one day the machinery holding it together will break, and it will become part of the life cycle once more.”

But he wouldn't do that out here, would he? Perhaps he would. Perhaps no one would find him, and take him away, and put him on display, like a common art piece.

Meloche could handle it no more. He turned, and began walking. And left yet another friend's corpse behind and unburied. At least this one wanted that.

There was work to be had, he knew. A vision to see. But Meloche was not sure if he wanted it. Not anymore. But Eco had wanted to come here, had prodded him. Perhaps, in the mosaic futures the Visionary beheld, there was the continuation of their dream. Another Luminary, another Shimmer.

With that, the mound of sap stopped. He turned back to the corpse of his friend. The wind picked up, blowing into a small whisper of a sandstorm.

There was one thing he could do to mourn. He stepped forward, lowering himself to one knee over Eco, a great finger pressing against his companion's forehead.

“Sleep well, and long, and deep,” he said, “I will see you when we dream again.”

It was a saying, one Shimmer had pulled from some Library World or other, the barest hint of the culture of Epochia. It sounded foreign to Meloche. Much of Epochia did, if he was honest, a stolen place that was not his own. His dreams were of the future, and the visions they brought.

But still, it was better than leaving Eco in the dust. At least there was some ritual, some physical act to signify his grief. It was enough.

When Meloche walked away from Eco once more, it was with a heavy heart, and a dark determination to get to the center of Death Valley.

***

A heavy hand fell on Joseph's shoulder, lightly prodding him awake. He let out a soft moan, blearily looking up. Oliphant stood over him, and Joseph's eyes widened when he realized the Silver Knight's blade was drawn, a hard look on his face.

“Holy shi-”

“Hush,” Oliphant growled, “Don't say a word. Don't even move.”

His eyes were darting this way and that, scanning the horizon for danger. When he moved, he moved slowly, as though he were a cornered lion realizing that the wind had changed, that something was downwind. Ever-True stood a way back from him, one of her javelins drawn. But she was near stock-still, a wound spring waiting to pounce.

“Get up,” Oliphant said, “But do it slowly.”

“What's going on?” Joseph whispered.

“We're being hunted. Something's in the earth.”

He stalked his way over to Becenti, but the older man was already awake, pulling himself out of his sleeping bag, his face contorted into a look of concentration. Oliphant gave him a look, a silent order in his eye, one which Becenti followed as he lowered himself to the earth, one ear pressed against the earth.

Becenti nodded. Oliphant grimaced. He pointed a finger at Ever-True, signaling her to step back. She did so, far away from them. As did Becenti, who rose up and began walking away from the camp, bringing up a hand to pull heat in around himself. Oliphant turned to Joseph, making a shooing noise. For a moment, his mind still fogged from sleep, Joseph just gave him a quizzical look. The Silver Knight mouthed 'Go.'

And Joseph understood. He got up, a vague trepidation beginning to gnaw at his stomach as he walked away from the sleeping bag. All four of them separated, four lines of footprints moving from the campsite. It was already hot out, Joseph noted bitterly, though it was an exterior heat that did not even begin to penetrate the cold sense of dread within him-

An elephantine thing burst out of the sand, a full-on worm composed of shadow, its very presence darkening the middle dawn. It had come for Becenti, and Joseph let out a scream as the older man erected a barrier of heat between himself and the worm's maw, his feet landing on the platform of ripples, which was carried up with the worm's arc through the air. Atop the worm was a man, shirtless and muscular, his skin gleaming in the sun as though it were freshly oiled. He carried an assault rifle in one hand, the other clutching a bit of the worm's skin that he had torn free to act as makeshift reins. A gleaming smile was on his face.

“I CAN CONTROL MONSTERS!” he screamed, “YEAHHHHHH!”

His voice was carried as the worm thundered back into the air. Becenti jumped away at the last moment, landing hard on the ground, tucking into a roll as the worm burrowed itself back into the earth.

Joseph began running towards Becenti. He was aware, dimly, of Oliphant screaming at him to stay back. Indeed, Becenti put up a hand to stop him as he ran to catch up with his mentor.

“I'm fine, Joseph!” he said, “Stay back, stay-”

Joseph felt the earth shake beneath him, the sand giving way like a sinkhole. Mind racing, lightning coursing through his veins, he pointed an arm down as the mouth of the worm opened beneath him, revealing rows upon rows of obsidian-black teeth.

The bolt thundered down the length of the worm, lightning curling around it. It was enough to get the beast to close its mouth, swallowing the teeth up in flaps of shadow and flesh, crashing into Joseph like a veritable freight train as it launched him up. Joseph held on tight as the worm launched upwards, its rider letting out a whooping howl, hair flying every which way-

And he felt someone scoop him up and pull him free, his blade sailing once, twice, an impossible third time against the worm, blood spraying from each wound. Oliphant landed, Joseph curled around him, as the worm dove back into the earth.

“You stupid fuck,” Oliphant grunted, “The thing is detecting us by vibration.”

“Becenti was hurt.”

“Bastard, we all get hurt!,” Oliphant snarled, “Just don't move.”

Indeed, Becenti and Ever-True had become still as statues once more. Joseph followed suit, staying low as Oliphant inspected his blade, noting with some satisfaction at how stained with ink-like blood it had become.

“You did a number on it, at least,” Oliphant said, “Are you alright?”

“'M fine,” Joseph murmured, feeling his stomach wince a bit from the shot, “What is that thing?”

“Don't know,” Oliphant said, “Something from out in your multiverse.”

“Great,” Joseph said, “So, what'll we do?”

Oliphant gave a dark smile.

“If it bleeds, we can kill it.”

Joseph blinked.

“...Predator?”

“Hell yeah,” Oliphant said, “Stay low. Don't move unless I say to move. We'll draw it out, nice and slow. Eve'll have to pin down the rider. The rest of us will go for the worm.”

“And the others know this how?”

“Eve knows what to do,” Oliphant said, “I suspect Shimmer will, as well. You've got the least experience out of all of us.”

“Thanks.”

“It means,” Oliphant said, “That I need to catch you up on what to do.”

“I'm not a spring chicken,” Joseph said, “I've been in scraps before.”

“I know,” Oliphant said, “But you sure aren't acting like you've been in one with other people before.”

“...Boxing was a solo affair.”

“Do you think you're fucking boxing?”

Becenti stood up. Joseph noticed he didn't seem the worse for wear, but there was an awkwardness to him as he took a few careful steps. He was limping. With a sigh, he shook his head.

“Right,” Oliphant said, “Guess we're bait.”

“Oh, great,” Joseph said, “I always wanted to be worm chow.”

He stood up.

“Together, or separate?” he asked.

“Together,” Oliphant replied, “Once the worm comes up, split. Shoot a bolt.”

“Right.”

“On three,” Oliphant said, “One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They took off, keeping pace with one another, jogging side by side. The earth rumbled once more, the shaking getting closer.

Closer.

Closer-

And the world cracked beneath them. Joseph banked to the right, Oliphant jumped to the left, blade pointed out as the worm erupted like a geyser. Oliphant watched it rise up, a dark tree trunk, a genuinely vile grin on his face. He positioned his blade, and thrust in. The worm let out a high-pitched scream as the blade cut through its form, its own momentum causing the sword to carve through it for a few painful seconds before catching onto a bone of some sort, carrying Oliphant up.

“NOT COOL, MAN!” the rider screamed, “NOT FUCKING-”

Ever-True's javelin lanced into his side. The rider went silent, ragdolling off his steed, landing with a crunching puff in the sand.

The worm writhed in the air for a moment, tossing Oliphant off of its back, blade shimmering in the day. Becenti pointed, a miasma of heat roaring towards the beast, colliding with it, the smell of cooked flesh flooding the world. The worm continued to screech, twisting in a desperate attempt to escape Becenti's waves.

Then, quite suddenly, it went silent, its top half dancing in the air.

There was something off. Joseph took a few steps back from the mass of flesh and shadow. The heat continued to ripple around the monster, continued its work of burning it alive.

And yet-

“Down!” Oliphant roared, “Get out of the way! NOW!”

Joseph sprung back as the worm erupted, a waterfall of pure darkness belching out of its maw, crashing upon the sand like a tsunami. Becenti and Ever-True, far enough away, could run ahead of the mass as it fizzled towards them, foaming into something akin to seaspray, dissipated into nothing.

Joseph, however, was not so lucky, it rolled towards him, a solid wall of black. Oliphant ran over to him, put himself between Joseph and the shadows, blade shining...

And they were both washed away.

***

“Joseph!” Becenti roared, “JOSEPH!”

He ran forward, stumbling a bit in the sand, eyes widening at the sight of the worm as it finished its writhing. With a last, horrifying scream, it collapsed to the ground, melting into pools of shadow. That, too, began to dissipate as though it were nothing but sea brine. Becenti only watched, half-hardheartedly hoping Joseph would rise from the shadows that were now frothing away...

But nothing.

Not even bones.

Ever-True merely stared, her face gone slack with mute shock. After a few moments, she took a few steps forward, standing by Becenti, who had sunk to his knees. The two of them stood there for what seemed to be hours.

Hours and hours. And no sign of Joseph or Oliphant.

“W-What do we do?” Ever-True asked, her voice hollow.

Becenti did not answer.

“Sh-Shimmer,” Ever-True said, “What do we do?”

“I'm not Shimmer,” Becenti whispered.

“What?”

He turned towards her, his face contorted into a snarl.

“I'm not Shimmer!”

His yell was enough to make her step back, the grief replaced by shock and fear. Becenti's heart fell at the sight of that.

“I'm... I'm sorry,” he murmured, “I...”

“It's-”

“Not alright,” Becenti said. He rubbed his eyes, “It's not alright.”

For a moment, he seemed about to break down. Tears edged his eyes, grief clawed at his heart. But Myron Becenti stitched himself together, pulling himself up with a deep breath. Then another. Then a third, this one final, as though he were climbing the last foothold over a mountain's top.

“Alright,” he said, “Okay.”

“What do we do?” Ever-True asked.

I don't know, Becenti wanted to say. He considered the landscape around them. Holes pockmarked the ground now, sponging the desert and revealing the only evidence that a battle had taken place here. The lichworm's blood had disintegrated in the sand. There was nothing here.

Nothing at all...

Becenti had heard of lichworms before. Had even seen one, on display during an InterGuild Conference a few years back. But never one that large, or aggressive. Highly magical creatures, with the ability to send their predators to...

To another place. Perhaps Joseph wasn't gone. He turned to Ever-True, considering her. She was keeping it together pretty well, giving a few sniffs here and there. Her grip on her javelin was making her hand bone-white, the way she clutched it. It would be better not to get her hopes up, lest they truly were gone. Not while she could keep moving.

“We've still got a job to do,” his voice was hoarse, “Can you walk?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said, “We can't let this slow us down. Understand?”

“I do,” she said, “Lead on, Becenti.”

They began walking, their number having dwindled, the world seeming a bit darker now.

***

The knight had stuck with them through the night, which was surprising. Silicon had bedded down with them, lying on the cool sand, silent as he gazed up towards the stars. Not like Pock and Ana, who set up a tent, got into their sleeping bags and sidled up against one another. They didn't speak, which was rare for Ana and normal for Pock. Pocket would occasionally wake up, just to make sure Silicon was not standing over them, blade in hand. But he was true to his word.

They did not attack him, so he did not attack them.

“Plus, we know where we're from,” Analyza said that next morning as they walked a bit behind him.

“He can hear you,” Pocket warned.

“I can,” Silicon said.

“Nice!” Analyza said, “So, I've got a question, Mr. Silicon, sir. What made you learn about Hyzodriad?”

“Hyzodriad?” Silicon said, “My father passed down its knowledge to me, and his father to him, all the way down the line.”

“Must be nice,” Pocket muttered.

“What was that?”

“Pock's jealous,” Analyza chuckled, “Jealous that you knew about your heritage and kingdom. We had to look ourselves up, accidentally blew up a record center on Chained Inheritance.”

“Good,” Silicon said, “The less I hear about that planet, the better.”

He stopped, turning towards the pair.

“Well?” he said, “How much did you learn?”

“About our kingdoms?” Pocket asked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Pocket said, “Chliofrond was a traveling kingdom. Fought with the Federation a lot. Crashed, somewhere. But I got a locket from my Nan, she says it was passed down from Iresine himself.”

She produced the small locket, which was beaded around a necklace she wore, along with her ring from Analyza, and a key to her childhood home.

“Iresine,” Silicon said, “A good name. My father would tell me tales of him, of his exploits and adventures. My favorite was his moot with High King Coral.”

“Oh, that king of Armagest, right?”

“The same.”

“Seems neat,” Analyza said, “I'm just from Omperstellicad, which is lame. All we did was get stomped by the Federation and scattered.”

“Be glad that you are not from one of the traitor kingdoms,” Silicon said, “Like Froisen. If you were, I would have killed you.”

There was a cold frankness to his voice that gave Pocket pause. She once more found herself stepping in front of Analzya.

“You'd kill someone, just because they were part of Froisen?”

“They betrayed us,” Silicon said, “Them and their damn half-breed king.”

“That was thousands of years ago,” Analyza's voice was a whisper.

Silicon gave a mirthless smile.

“When all you have is the past, what else can you do?” he said, “You remember Ludaya?”

“A bit before our time,” Pocket said.

“Ah. Be glad, then,” Silicon said, “Ludaya was a mistake. Every new nation we make is a mistake. A happy one, a bright one, but always look to the sky, for that mistake's end comes from above. We've only the past, and that is that.”

He turned and continued walking. Analyza and Pocket looked at one another.

Psychopath, Analyza mouthed – and, wisely, did not say aloud. Her partner nodded.

***

Joseph opened his eyes to a grayscape.

It was as though he were still in Death Valley, but the drab, yellow sand was replaced by drab, gray sand. Not much of an improvement, of course, but it was enough to set him on edge. The sky was drained of its color, the clouds taking on a darker glint. Oliphant was still standing over him, and Joseph found they were the only two sources of color in the landscape.

“Are you alright?” Oliphant asked.

“I think so,” Joseph replied. The Silver Knight extended a hand, one that Joseph took as Oliphant pulled him to his feet. The two of them took a look around.

“No one around,” Oliphant said.

“Are we dead?” Joseph said.

“I'm imagine Hell to be a bit warmer,” Oliphant said. His eyes landed on something, “Come on.”

He began walking forward. Joseph took a second to blink and shiver a bit from the dry cold, before following along. The two of them walked over to the prone form of the shirtless metahuman, Ever-True's javelin jutting from his gut, blood coloring the gray sand.

“A killshot,” Joseph said.

“She probably didn't intend it,” Oliphant said, “She throws, she never misses, but sometimes where she hits can prove a problem.”

Without another word he slammed a boot into the corpse, using it as leverage to wrench the javelin free. He removed a cloth from somewhere within his armor, and began wiping it down.

“Don't mention the fact that she killed him,” Oliphant said, “She doesn't need to know.”

Joseph remembered how he had felt after killing the mercenary on the space station. He felt a familiar pang of guilt as he gave a nod. Oliphant finished cleaning the javelin, resting it on his shoulder as he gave another sweep of the landscape. There was no one around. The wave from the worm had taken no one else.

“Ever been here before?” Oliphant asked.

“Somewhere similar,” Joseph said, “Murknoir, I think it was called. Gives me the same vibes.”

“I don't think we're that far off,” Oliphant said, “Murknoir's far away, right?”

“I guess?” Joseph said, “It's not so much 'far' as it is 'out of forecast.'”

“Damn multiverse,” Oliphant said, “Just say if it's far away or not, I don't care.”

Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Regardless,” he said, “It's not exactly like Murknoir.”

“It's like a mirror,” Oliphant said.

“Yeah.”

“Then we walk until the mirror ends.”

With that order given, he began walking. Joseph followed behind, feeling a bit needled at the Silver Knight. Sure, if they were in a scrap, Joseph would listen to him. But out of one? Oliphant was just another stranger. He held no authority, despite his blustering attitude.

Yet Joseph walked all the same.

They were quiet for the first hour of travel, settling into the new status quo, both of them feeling a deepening sense of panic as the mirror world gave no sign of ending. Joseph became jittery, glancing this way and that. Oliphant became like a stone, his jaw set, his look almost angry as he glared towards the sky.

“So,” Joseph said, “You're a superhero?”

“No, I'm a kangaroo.”

Joseph winced as Oliphant continued stalking ahead.

“They don't have those, where you're from?” the Silver Knight asked.

“No,” Joseph said, “I'm from Earth.”

“Earth?” Oliphant said, “Never heard of it.”

“It's like Prime,” Joseph said, “Only without superheroes.”

“Without the war.”

“Without that, yeah,” Joseph scratched at his arm.

Oliphant turned, considering him for a few moments.

“You're new to all this, right?”

“A few months in, yeah,” Joseph said.

“And you're metahuman.”

“No, I'm a kangaroo.”

A rare smile cracked on Oliphant's face. He muttered a good-natured “Bastard,” as he turned and resumed his walk.

“You haven't picked a name yet?”

“Not really,” Joseph said, “I like Joseph. It's my name, you know?”

“I can get that,” Oliphant said, “Most metahumans I've met, they've got some weird ones. Want those names to be treated like it's their actual ones, too. Ever-True, Ever-Vigilant, so on.”

“Becenti was Shimmer for a while.”

“That was the name I grew up on,” Oliphant said, “Shimmer, the superhero who fought in the war. I mean, all of the old guard did. Every Silver Knight. But most of them were stationed on Prime. Only Arthur, Shimmer, and a few others went out into the multiverse.”

“I see,” Joseph said.

“Well, you seem to be doing alright,” Oliphant said, “You've got a good grip on your powers, at least. Your bird, it only comes out of your back?”

“Pretty much,” Joseph said, “I can manifest parts of it on other parts of my body. Its head over mine, its claws over my hands. If I strain, I can even connect it to a line of sparks.”

“Show me,” Oliphant ordered.

He had stopped walking again, looking at Joseph with a look of patient expectation. Joseph blinked.

“Now?” he said.

“I'm curious,” Oliphant said, “You can connect your eagle to a line of sparks, like a rope?”

“Yeah.”

“Including its eyes?”

“I've done it before.”

“Then do it now,” Oliphant said, “I want to get a lay of the land, see if it truly goes out very far.”

Joseph nodded, closing his eyes. The soul's helmet sizzled to life, then a moment later extended upwards like a periscope, going higher and higher. Joseph grit his teeth from the strain, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You close your eyes every time you use that thing?”

“Helps,” Joseph said, “Besides, the soul's vision is better.”

“Not in this situation,” Oliphant said, “Open your eyes.”

Joseph complied, his vision going blurry and warped as he saw both through the eagle's eyes and his own. Oliphant's gauntleted fist was in front of his face.

“Oh,” Joseph said.

“Your vision's good with your bird, but don't just rely on it,” Oliphant said, “You've gotta rely on yourself sometimes. Powers alone don't make the warrior.”

“I can see the logic,” Joseph said.

“Now,” Oliphant said, “What do you see?”

Joseph sighed, closing his eyes again, felt Oliphant's disapproving glare.

“I see...”

The eagle cast the world in a blue light as it glanced here and there. Joseph's heart fell as it did so, seeing the graying dunes that seemed to extend far past the horizon. There were no mountains in the distance, no hills to bowl the valley in.

“I don't see anything,” Joseph said, “We're trapped.”

***

Becenti and Ever-True walked through Death Valley along an old road that snaked down south towards Badwater Basin. Where, if their dreams the night before were correct, Earthmute and Visionary’s prison was located. But they had a bit of walking to go before then, and it was one foot in front of the other.

Both were used to loss, and the grief they both felt for their companions cloaked them like old leather. But neither of them voiced their sorrow. Instead, when they did speak, it was about other things. A desperate attempt to keep things civil and normal, to ignore the fact that, just that morning, two of their number had wasted away.

Indeed, they saw more evidence of the war fought around them as they went. Corpses littered the road. Some had been impaled by iron spikes, or glass, or crystals that now gleamed in the midday sun. Others had been melted, or bludgeoned, or torn in half. Metahumanity possessed all matters of abilities, many of them deadly, and their owners were using them with wild abandon.

Not to mention the perils of the journey itself. There were not a few bodies lying in the sand that had expired from simple heat stroke and exhaustion. The two of them were lucky, with Becenti's power keeping the worst of the heat away from them. But they still rationed their water. Still could feel, on some level, the intense and overbearing heat of Death Valley. This was not a place that any rational being would hike.

But what metahuman was rational?

They rested for what constituted as lunch by a giant sign, one that read out 'FURNACE CREEK RANCH.' Beyond it was a small, abandoned ranch with a visitor's center nearby. Someone had fought inside recently, as a full half of the building had been blown to smithereens, the smoke even now still curling towards the pale blue sky.

They didn't stray much further than the sign. Instead, they sat, pulled out their supplies, and ate.

Becenti was chewing his food, lost in thought, when he noted Ever-True staring at him.

“So your metahuman name is Ever-True,” Becenti said. He saw her blush a bit when she realized he had caught her.

“Er, yes,” Ever-True said, “Well, it's my superhero name.”

“For many of us, it's one and the same.”

“Maybe,” Ever-True said, “But I like going by Eve too, sometimes.”

“I can understand that,” Becenti said, “Your name. I've kept tabs on the Knights, seen what they're up to. Is Ever-Vigilant, is he your...?”

“Brother,” Ever-True said.

“I see. The names fit.”

“He says his is a stretch,” Ever-True said, “But you can't go by something stupid like 'No-Sleep Man,' can you?”

“There's a certain feeling to your names,” Becenti said, “Excellent work on choosing them. I hope you're carrying them well.”

“I try,” Ever-True said. She took another bite of her beef jerky, chewing it thoughtfully for a few moments before she said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Why did you leave? The Silver Knights, I mean.”

“Hmm,” Becenti said, “I've asked myself that a lot, personally.”

He stopped eating, and instead stared out. Ever-True knew he was looking at nothing, just the sky and the mountains and the jagged line between them. He was quiet for a long time, before he started up again.

“I suppose it was the time for it,” Becenti said, “The end of the war was an ending to a story I had been telling myself for a long time. I couldn't just go back to stopping crooks on the street. Not after what I'd seen.”

He turned to her, giving her a wry grin that was devoid of mirth.

“I had some of the multiverse in me.”

“That's what people say,” Ever-True said, “But that's... that's not the whole story, is it?”

“Oh?”

“I've... studied you,” Ever-True said, “In an academic sense.”

“Oh dear,” Becenti said, “I'm truly that old?”

“Sorry,” Ever-True said, “But, yes. You're in history books.”

“Well,” Becenti chuckled, “I'll be damned.”

“They say you left because of...” Ever-True trailed off. Becenti knew that last word hanging off of her tongue. He gave her a nod.

“It's fine,” he said, “Well, it's not fine. But yes, it was because of Ludaya, too.”

He leaned against the sign's post.

“You have to understand,” Becenti said, “I bled for the Federation. Killed for them. Yes, it was against the Manticore, but I was defending them. I was in the Silver Eye, saving Silver Eye planets and Silver Eye people.”

“And you also fought for Ludaya.”

“And when the war was over, and the Federation found out about that little experiment?” Becenti's heart turned to lead, “Well, you can't have another metahuman nation, can you? Not after all the other ones that caused problems.”

Ever-True was quiet at that.

“Still, that's not the Silver Knights, is it?” she said at length, “Arthur was angry at them.”

“Arthur hated the Federation,” Becenti said, “I mean, everyone in the Silver Knights did. A necessary evil, Neringa called it. But I just... I couldn't go back, not after what I'd seen out there.”

“I... I get that,” Ever-True said.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Becenti said.

“I mean, you told me all about yourself. Might as well say the same.”

“What made you want to become a Silver Knight?”

Ever-True blinked at that. She was surprised when it took her a moment to find the answer. True, she had given responses to that question. But they were the usual fare, the 'To protect the world,' and 'Because it's my duty.'

“Because my brother's in it,” she said.

The frankness hung in the air, and she found her heart hammering as Becenti didn't respond. Not at first. Instead, he took another bite of his jerky, chewing the tough, leather-like meat in thought.

“Ever-Vigilant,” Becenti said.

“Yeah, that's him,” Ever-True said, “He joined up with the Knights as soon as he turned sixteen.”

“They're still doing that?” Becenti said, “Sixteen?”

“Yeah,” Ever-True said, “They are.”

“That's how old I was when I joined,” Becenti murmured, “I didn't know they still did that.”

He glanced over to her.

“And you're...”

“Eighteen,” Ever-True said, “I decided to wait. Seemed too young.”

“Good,” Becenti said.

“But yeah, that's why,” Ever-True said, “He was there. And I wanted to be there. I had powers, I knew how to use them.”

“And you've been here, how long?”

“A few months, now.”

“I see,” Becenti said.

“So,” Ever-True said, “Any advice on a new spark like myself?”

“Find a reason,” Becenti said.

“I... I have a reason.”

Becenti rose to his feet. He stepped over and offered Ever-True a hand, which she took as she pulled herself up. The two of them gave one last look at the ranch, before heading off along the road once more. Becenti continued as they walked.

“More than just your brother,” Becenti said, “More than just following someone's shadow. Being a superhero is a calling. It's a recognition that, no matter what, you must do good.”

“That's what Arthur said,” Ever-True said.

“Indeed, he said it a lot,” Becenti replied, “And he meant it. But being a superhero, being a Silver Knight? It means doing the right thing, no matter what.”

“No matter what...”

“Some people, people who are in the career for the money, or for the fame, or for whatever other reason, don't realize this,” Becenti said, “To become a superhero means acting, body and soul, in the name of the moral good. They don't realize that, and when it comes down to the wire, they falter.”

He turned to Eve.

“That's why I say you need a reason. Something more than just following your brother on his own trail. A reason that's yours. A reason that's selfish. A reason that is all that you are. Only then, will you flourish as Ever-True.”

He let the words hang there like, letting Eve absorb them, pick at them, let them roll in her brain. There was truth to the older man's words, she noted, a rawness to them that he had not revealed to Oliphant. Shimmer – no, Becenti – walked with a sure step, the winds picking up the streamers tailing behind his arms, flapping red waves to evoke his metapower. There was a calm sureness to his step, but one that was marred, just a bit, by weariness of body and mind. When he turned to her, his wry smirk was gone. Replaced by a mask of stone to hide himself once more.

They walked for a long time.