They returned at dawn.

It was quiet. Scuttleway had not yet flourished to life, as the rain had assailed the city in the night, driving the usual nightlife indoors with whispered prayers of a safe passage to morning. The golden fields that led to the city were tinged with the aftermath of the storm, deep pools that welled here and there within the knee-high grasses. Settlefish, which came into existence only after a harsh storm, swam within the puddles, living their short lives before the inevitable drying up of their homes, their bodies to dissolve into the ground. The sky was still overcast.

Joseph glanced upwards, wrinkling a nose at the sound of distant thunder. More rain would be coming yet. It was the season for it, he supposed.

His mind wheeled back to the journey of the last two weeks. He and Becenti had cast off from Prime, moving from Traveling Point to Traveling Point, plane to plane, by boat and by train and even by hitchhiking across the Runway, clambering onto a caravan and driving down the great highway that made up the entirety of the plane. Joseph could see why Nash had chosen to leave such a place, for it was nothing but endless travel, the desert on either side, the only talk being of finding enough fuel to continue on.

They had hardly spoken on the way home, if only to comment on the next route to take, or the next plane they were heading to. Becenti kept to himself, occasionally scratching at his golden hand, which was still closed over the heatstone. Trouble came whenever a stranger noticed, and they had been forced to stave off not a few interested scavengers, hoping for an easy meal of two exhausted metahumans.

Joseph might have been beaten down and hollowed-out, but he wasn't going to take shit lying down. He had sent them packing, each and every time.

And he was sick of it, as he leaned back on the wagon they were in, his entire body shuddering. His soul had come back by now, bit by bit, and now was curled up in his stomach, resting. But perhaps Silicon had been right. Joseph felt different, and in a way he couldn't describe, in a way he couldn't comprehend.

All he could do was sit, and wait, and wonder what would become of him.

Scuttleway grew larger. The Inner Sun flared to life, cresting over the horizon. Becenti breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Home at last,” he said.

***

Elenry immediately took them into the infirmary, a cross look on her face as she took a look at Joseph's wounds.

“Cuts all over you,” she snapped, “What did you get in a fight with, a room full of kitchen knives?”

“Something like that,” Joseph murmured.

“Well, let's get clean bindings on these, and I think I've got a potion or two to help with the bigger cuts, but most of these smaller ones have already scabbed over.”

“Neat.”

“I'm half-tempted to have you stay the night here, just in case something odd comes up.”

“Okay.”

The gloivel stopped, looking at him over her glasses, her forehead crinkling in concern.

“Are you alright?” she said.

“I'm fine,” Joseph said, “I'm-”

“Don't lie to me, Joseph,” Elenry said, “You've been through quite the wringer on this one, haven't you?”

Joseph bit his lip for a second, and then nodded. Elenry gave a sigh.

“We all have those missions,” she said, “Come by later tonight, if you want to talk about it. Come by anyways, actually, so I can take a closer look at those cuts, make sure they're clean. I'll have Rathia brew up an ointment, to help it heal faster.”

Joseph nodded.

“Thanks, Elenry.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, “Well, I think I'm done with you for now. Go get some rest. I've got to make sure Phineas doesn't turn Myron into a slug.”

Her eyes snaked over to Becenti's bed. Phineas sat on a stool next to him, the Deep One's tome open as he flipped through page after page, whispering dark words under his breath.

“I'm afraid our guild's right hand took quite the beating,” Elenry said, “Didn't he?”

Joseph thought back on the events at Death Valley. His mind flashed to Talrash's corpse, lying at Becenti's feet. He had tried hard to forget how puffed-up her face had been, how her eyes had broken like egg yolks.

“You should see the other guy,” he muttered.

***

Joseph returned to his and Phineas's room and lay down in bed, but sleep didn't come. Rain began peddling against the window as he stared at the ceiling, his mind in a fuzz. He could hear, vaguely through the stone walls, the sounds of the rest of the guild as they went about their day, an excited argument erupting somewhere upstairs between Broon and Calacious Nine, the half-orc's roars breaking way to laughter at some point that Calacious Nine was making. Joseph, on any other day, would have groaned and put his pillow over his head to try and drown out the noise.

But he didn't.

He simply stared.

After what seemed an eternity of sitting there, of listening to the rain, someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Joseph said.

The door opened slowly, creaking in just the right way to set Joseph on edge. His eyes flickered over to see Rosemary peering in.

“Joseph?” she said, “Mind if I come in?”

“...What did I just say?”

“Right, right,” Rosemary said. She stepped inside, looking around the place, before she turned to face Joseph, “You got a new shirt, I see.”

Joseph nodded. He had gotten a new shirt on the Songbird, but this one was plain white, though it was stained with dirt and mud from his travelings.

“Sorry about the old one,” Joseph said, “It, uh, got shredded.”

“Looks like it,” Rosemary said, “Mind if I...?”

She nodded at the chair by Joseph's desk. Joseph nodded, and the elf walked over and pulled it beside his bed, sitting down on it, draping her red cloak over the chair's edge. She was wearing something new, a leaf-woven dress, greens mixed with reds, shimmering down to the oranges of Autumn at the hem.

“From Sunala?” Joseph asked.

“What, this?” Rosemary said. She reddened a bit as she said, “Yeah, you could call it... Yeah.”

Joseph nodded, closing his eyes.

“Joseph, are you alright?”

“No,” Joseph said, “I'm really not.”

“Becenti looked like he'd been hit by a truck,” Rosemary said, “He's still in the infirmary, Wakeling-”

She noticed Joseph scowl when she said the guildmaster's name.

“Wakeling wants to get a good look at him herself, she's even talking about pulling out an arm to help her with her spellcasting.”

“Great,” Joseph said.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Outside, the storm began to intensify, and thunder wardrummed in the distance. Rosemary sighed, then leaned in.

“What's up?” she said.

“The ceiling,” Joseph said.

“No, like, what's up? What's eatin' ya?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Joseph said.

“I mean, sure you don't,” Rosemary said, “But it might help. Gets it all out in the open, as opposed to just bottling it up. And you're a stewer, not a spewer.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Joseph said.

“I mean you keep it all in,” Rosemary said, “You're pissed off, but it takes a lot to get you actually going. But when you do, it's...”

Lightning flashed outside, followed a second later by a triumphant boom that rattled the windows.

“...I don't want to talk about it,” Joseph said.

Rosemary wilted a bit, letting out a sigh and looking around the room. Joseph watched her as she noted the various trinkets Phineas had decorated the place with, small baubles that hung on his side of the room, a couple of glow-in-the-dark stars above his bed, which was immaculately made, for the Deep One never actually slept in it.

“Looks like Phineas has done quite the decoration on this place,” she said.

“He added the stars recently, I think,” Joseph said, “Got them from a used salesman who sold shit from Prime.”

“Neat,” Rosemary said. Her eyes darted to something on Phineas's desk, “No way, is that...?”

She stood up, walking over and looking at a small marble figurine.

“That's... Chronilock, isn't it?” she said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “Phin carved it as soon as he returned from his trip back to Amzuth. To test out his spellwork, he said. Used magic to replicate her features, exactly as we saw them.”

“That's so cool,” Rosemary said. She flipped the figurine in her hands for a moment, “Brings back memories, doesn't it?”

“Sure,” Joseph said, “If you like having your skeleton turned inside out. That was fun.”

“I mean, sure,” Rosemary said, “But it wasn't all bad, right? Chliofrond was gorgeous. Beautiful. Dream-like, you know?”

Joseph stared hard at the ceiling.

“Sure, Rosemary,” he said.

“I mean, at the end of the day, it's just a souvenir, is all,” Rosemary said, “Something to remember the trip by.”

Joseph nodded at that.

“I... You haven't decorated much here, have you?” Rosemary said, “This is all Phin's stuff.”

“Never saw much point to it,” Joseph said.

“How come?” Rosemary asked.

“Well, this is all supposed to be temporary, right? Just a layover, until I get back to Earth,” Joseph said.

“I mean, sure,” Rosemary said, “But that's what decorations are for, right? To make the place feel more comfortable, more like home-”

“This isn't my home, Rosemary!” Joseph snapped.

The thunder cracked outside once more. Rosemary looked taken aback at the sudden outburst. Joseph immediately felt guilty, simmering down.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean to-”

“No, no, it's fine,” Rosemary said, “Really, I get it.”

An awkward pause bloomed between them.

“Look,” Rosemary said, “If you want to talk, just... let me know, alright?”

“I will,” Joseph said.

“Well, alright, then.”

She gave another glance around the room, biting her lip as though considering saying one last thing, before she thought better of it. Without another word, she opened the door back up and left. Joseph leaned his head against the pillow, feeling in his soul a well of guilt being poured into the usual anger.

“Shut it, you,” he muttered to his gut.

***

“It's nothing major,” Ichabod said, “Just a quick hop and skip over to Neos, is all.”

“I wouldn't call a raid into OzTech's physical database a 'quick trip,'” Becenti replied.

As Elenry had promised, Becenti was staying the night in the infirmary, cooped up in a bed that, he noted with a bit of surprise, was far more comfortable than his own. Ichabod and G-Wiz stood on either side, looking down at him. Becenti tried to push down the feeling that they were looking at him with a mix of sympathy and pity. His hand had been returned back to its usual fleshy glint, but the heatstone was a bust, no longer able to pump out heat. Phineas had given him a guilty look when they realized that.

“The reversion spell,” he rasped, “It is like an axe. I did not know that your stone was of metahuman origin.”

“It's... quite alright, Mr. Phineas,” Becenti said, “It's of no concern.”

“It was from a friend?”

“Yes, an old and dear one,” Becenti said, “But it's still here. I still have it, to remember her by.”

“Like a souvenir,” Phineas said.

Becenti's mouth had flickered upwards for just a moment at that.

“Yes,” he said, “Something like that.”

Ichabod pulled him back to the present, interrupted his train of thought.

“Alright, so it's not just a visit,” the cybernetic man said, “You know OzTech. You know what they're like. The shady business they're in.”

“They're a corporation, Ichabod,” Becenti said, “It's always shady business with them.”

“What Ichabod's trying to say,” G-Wiz said, “Is that it's a big enough job that we need you for this.”

Becenti nodded, letting his guildmates’ words ruminate in his head.

“And we're sure it was Agrippa,” he said.

“Sure enough,” G-Wiz said.

“Enough to risk something like this,” Ichabod said.

“Usually, when we've run up against a wall like this, we've called the job off,” Becenti said, “Haven't we?”

Ichabod nodded.

“True,” he said, “Agrippa's usually a no-go. But I managed to convince Wakeling for us to pursue this.”

Becenti waited for the other shoe to drop.

“...Provided you take lead, of course,” Ichabod said, “We've got a highly specialized team for this. I'm going, because of my knowledge on Neos and its technologies. G-Wiz is going for general versatility and muscle.”

“Who is our mission control?” Becenti said.

Ichabod grimaced.

“Vicenorn.”

“I see,” Becenti said, and he could tell that Ichabod did not want him on the job, “So, four of us?”

“A few more,” Ichabod said, “I’m still working on our options, but not too many of us would go. Wakeling wants this as small as possible.”

“You're losing all plausible deniability by having me involved,” Becenti said, “If we're caught, the guild will be right on OzTech's radar.”

“I know,” Ichabod said, “I know. I’ve got a few ideas, but they’re bad ones. But you're the best person for this. I feel it in my gut.”

Becenti sighed.

“Give me time,” he said, “I need to recover, Ichabod. Then we can go to Neos. Besides, I've got InterGuild to look forward to first.”

Ichabod's frown deepened. For a moment, he opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.

“Of course,” he choked out.

“Besides, if you're going after Agrippa, you'll need schematics of the place.”

“I've got schematics,” Ichabod said, “Provided they haven't updated the downstairs, which I know they haven't.”

“Oh, have you?” Becenti said, “And where did you get those, I wonder?”

“Does it matter?” Ichabod said, “It doesn't. Just know that I have them.”

He broke into an ugly sneer.

“InterGuild. That's a good month from now. But fine. I need to get some tech from there anyways. Where are they hosting it this year?”

“The Flyleaf Forest,” Becenti said.

“Flyleaf. Right. Might find a good book there, too.”

Without another word, he swept off. Opened the door and nearly slammed it. G-Wiz gave Becenti a shrug.

“...Perhaps he's too involved in this,” Becenti said, “Too personal.”

“You went on a big metahuman scrap, right?” G-Wiz said, “That's what the rumor is.”

“Yes,” Becenti said, “I did.”

“And that's not personal for you?”

The older man gave G-Wiz a look. Then, he nodded in reluctant agreement.

“Fair,” he said, “You've got a point there.”

***

Wakeling visited Becenti a couple of hours later, and in a rare moment was not being carried on a pillow, or calling for Whiskey to carry her throughout the guildhall. No, instead she floated like a specter, a cross look on her face as she levitated over Becenti's bed. Elenry and Phineas, who had been attending to the old metahuman, looked at one another for just the briefest of milliseconds, before they both shuffled out of the room.

“Myron Becenti,” Wakeling said, “What the hell did you do to my ship?”

“Crashed it,” Becenti said, and in a moment of weakness, his hands began wringing his bedsheets, “I didn't mean to, of course.”

“What happened out there? What could possibly have shot down my old girl? What made you decide to take her out like that?”

“It was a metahuman. He took us by surprise,” Becenti said, “It will all be in the report-”

“Don't play that card with me, Myron!” Wakeling snapped, “I want to hear it from you. Where is the Titania Amber now, how bad is the damage, is she salvageable?”

“She's fine,” Becenti said, “The Silver Knights have her. There's a hole through her-”

“By the Gods,” Wakeling said.

“But nothing that Meleko and I can't fix,” Becenti finished.

“Myron, we can't-” Wakeling took a deep breath, “Who do you think is going to pay for all this, hmm?”

“We would, of course,” Becenti said, “It's our ship, after all.”

He knew then that he had said the wrong thing, as Wakeling's eye twitched.

“Myron, do you recall the last time the Titania Amber needed to be repaired?”

“...That was five years ago, wasn't it?” Becenti said, “The... The Persepheron job.”

“Yes. We needed to replace her engine, poor girl,” Wakeling said, “We were eating on a budget for months.”

Becenti was quiet at that. Wakeling simply gave him a look that was a mixture of anger and disappointment.

“I'm sorry, Vyde,” Becenti said, “I didn't expect to lose the Titania Amber like that. We were in over my head. The situation was a lot worse than I was expecting.”

“Your people were a lot more violent than you anticipated,” Wakeling said.

The metahuman gave a sad nod.

“All of us were after the same thing,” he said, “And still, we tore each other apart.”

“Desperation breeds conflict,” Wakeling said, “It always does.”

“Yes, but that conflict should have been aimed elsewhere,” Becenti said, “I fought against my fellows, out there. Joseph did, too.”

“You're laying too much on the Zheng boy,” Wakeling said.

“...Perhaps I am,” Becenti said, “Listen, about the ship. I'll personally use my own money to pay for repairs. I've got a few favors I can call-”

“No,” Wakeling said, “It's fine. We've got a string of good jobs coming along, and Sunala is still paying us out for the expedition and gala. She's talking about hiring us for security for the Golden Round. Assuming, of course, that Doge Busciver wins the election.”

“...All the same,” Becenti said, “I've got a few favors I can call in. I'll meet with them at InterGuild.”

“Very well,” Wakeling said. She gave an exhausted sigh, and Becenti noticed deep rings purpling beneath her eyes.

“Long days?” he said.

“I don't know how you do half the work I assign you,” she said, “Tek's out sick, so I've been forced to do much of it on my own. Dear gods, I always forget just how much of it is signing papers and contracts.”

“You get used to it, I suppose,” Becenti said.

“Indeed,” Wakeling said, “Though that's not the only reason why I'm concerned.”

Becenti shifted in his bed. He could feel Wakeling’s intense concentration shift from the loss of the ship to…

To something else. There was an edge her voice took on when she was serious. A subtle cut to it, as though she were gossiping about something she shouldn’t.

“Oh?” he asked.

“Sunala.”

“She's certainly been quite a high-paying client,” Becenti said.

“It's more than that,” Wakeling said, “I'm just worried, is all. She's been hiring Rosemary on a regular basis, giving her basic day-to-day jobs.”

“You think she's trying to poach her off of us,” Becenti said.

“Yes,” Sunala said.

“Well, if Rosemary gets a better offer, it's within her rights to leave,” Becenti said, “We're a business, after all.”

Wakeling curled her lip in disgust at that. Becenti leaned in, wincing a bit at a few phantom pains that racketed down his back.

“I know what you're thinking,” he said, “You don't just leave people that you've been fighting beside, eating with, sharing stories with, just for some inane opportunity. But sometimes that happens.”

“Of course,” Wakeling said, “Things change. Events change. Only the very stupid stay in guildwork as a career.”

She gave a small smirk at the self-deprecation.

“But it's not that which I'm worried about,” Wakeling said, “It's... It's one specific thing she told me about. A painting, over Sunala's bed. One of Montaine.”

Becenti's features darkened.

“I see,” he said.

“Yes,” Wakeling said.

The two of them were silent.

“She was rather kind, too,” Becenti said, “Sunala, I mean. She's been nothing but amiable to all of us.”

“Because we've been getting the jobs done,” Wakeling said, “But recall that we were merely the tip of the spear. I took a chance to ask Mr. Phineas about his experiences of returning to Chliofrond with Sunala.”

“And?”

“It's been completely overtaken by elves,” Wakeling said, “He was the only non-elf there.”

Becenti breathed in sharply.

“I see,” he said, again.

“I'm just saying we should be careful,” Wakeling said, “And I worry, is all.”

“You should worry, I think,” Becenti said, “One does casually have a painting of a butcher over their bedroom.”

He gave a sigh, and his heart sank when he realized how exhausted it sounded. How empty.

“Things are getting worse,” he murmured, “Again. Vyde, Talrash was there. She had mercenaries with her.”

“No,” Wakeling said.

“...I killed her, Vyde,” Becenti said, and the guildmaster was surprised to see her friend's hands shaking, “I... I did that thing I do, where I give myself a line, just so I can cross it.”

“Oh, Myron,” Wakeling said, “You shouldn't-”

“I always do this, I suppose,” Becenti said, “I tell myself... I tell myself things. Truths that I want to believe. And because I want to believe them, they must be true. Metahumans are coming together, so surely it must be in peace. I have power, and with power comes realization that I can do incredible things to the average body. So I tell myself that I have principles, that I won't use my powers to... to...”

His hands clenched into fists.

“I'm still just that boy from way back when, Vyde. From when you found me in the ruins of the Golden Delta. I still feel like just a kid.”

He slumped, defeated. Wakeling floated over the bed, her face morose. Outside, the sound of thunder thumped against the world, flashes lighting up the grayscale of Scuttleway.

“Well,” Wakeling said, “You'll be happy to know you're not alone.”

“I... I know,” Becenti said.

“In feeling like a child, I mean,” Wakeling said.

Becenti looked up.

“Myron, I still feel like I'm some fifteen year old apprentice mage leaving her home plane for the first time,” Wakeling said, “I wake up and look in the mirror, and I can't believe I'm this old.”

Becenti said nothing.

“Look,” Wakeling said, “What I'm trying to say is, just because you're old, doesn't mean you automatically are supposed to be wise, or know everything. It's alright to falter, and it's alright to set those standards for yourself. It's okay to dream, too. It's okay to believe in your own hopes.”

“Even if they're lies?”

“All hope is based on lies,” Wakeling said, “We tell ourselves things will be okay, even if everything around us tells us they won't be.”

He had heard the same saying throughout his life. Silver Arthur had given the same speech to him, time and time again. But he needed the words. Held them to his heart. Tried to make them replace his heart, though he knew that to be impossible.

“...Thank you, Vyde,” Becenti said, “I think... I think I needed to hear that.”

“I try,” Wakeling said, “Look, get some rest, Myron. You've been pushing yourself too hard, lately.”

“I will.”

“Will you?” Wakeling said, “I want your word, Myron.”

Becenti smiled.

“You have my word,” he said, “I'll get some rest. A day, maybe.”

“A few days.”

“Two days.”

“Done, you bat,” Wakeling said, “Now, I must get back to work. I'll tell Elenry it's safe to come back inside now.”

Becenti nodded. Wakeling gave him one last smile, before she drifted back outside.

The rain continued to lash.

***

Joseph eventually went downstairs, pulling himself up with a pained wince and opening the door. Clocks, both affixed to the wall and floating here and there throughout the castle, noted the time as around two in the afternoon. He had skipped lunch, though he ignored rumbling complaints of his belly as he walked downstairs. The guildhall was quiet as he went, the only sounds being that of the rain and the occasional muted conversation heard through the walls. Most of the guild was relaxing, the rain having driven them inside as they worked on reports, essays, and side-projects in the comfort of their own rooms. The only person Joseph saw as he went down to the infirmary was Whiskey, the odd marionette shuffling robotically up and down the stairs, as though he were on patrol.

He knocked on the infirmary's door. There was a pause as he heard Elenry get up, accompanied with the sounds of shuffling paper as she closed a few drawers, before she opened the door.

“Ah, Joseph,” she said, “Come on in.”

She brought him to her office, passing by the various patients' rooms, though the only occupants were Becenti and Lazuli, the latter of whom had a cracked monitor. He was laid up in bed, various pieces of machinery laying around his room, a new screen at the foot of his bed.

Elenry's office was relatively barren, with a desk in the corner of the room and a pair of chairs tucked away in the corner. There wasn't a chair at the desk, replaced instead by a soft pillow, on which Elenry could lie the wolf half of her body on, her human top easily able to reach the desk's surface. The only decorations were a small cactus on the desk, and a photo framed on the wall, depicting Elenry and Nash at an amusement park. Nash was smiling their usual charming smile, wearing sunglasses and Ricky the Rat ears. Elenry's grin was awkward, almost embarrassed. Yet the gloivel had the guts to hang it up on the wall for all to see, so Joseph had to respect that.

The wolf-woman walked over and picked up a potion off of the desk, a wine-red concoction that was stoppered shut.

“Here we are,” she said. She padded over to the potion and presented it to Joseph, “Do you want anything to go down with it?”

“No,” Joseph said, “Straight, no chaser.”

He uncapped the potion and drank deep. Elenry raised a single eyebrow as she watched him down it, the potion slowly sloshing down to nothing. Joseph let out a cough as he finished, wincing a bit.

“God, that's nasty,” he said.

“Usually one would have something to go with it,” Elenry said, “Chocolate, or the like.”

“Might as well get it out of the way, yeah?” Joseph said.

“It looks like you wanted something stronger,” Elenry said. She went back to her desk, opening the bottom and foraging around for a second. Joseph looked with a sense of curious anticipation, before the gloivel took out a kettle and a package of hot chocolate.

“Oh,” he said.

“Sit, Joseph.”

“I'd rather leave,” he said.

“Sit.”

Joseph sat down at one of the chairs. Elenry whispered a few words, and a bottle of milk appeared out of thin air, pouring itself into the kettle, which began to heat of its own accord.

“Funny,” Joseph said, “Usually I see wine with that.”

“Wakeling's a day drinker, which is bad for her health,” Elenry said, “I choose the slightly more healthy option of hot chocolate.”

“More power to you,” Joseph muttered.

They waited in silence for the milk to heat. It did, far faster than Joseph was expecting, as Elenry took out two cups and poured the milk out, mixing the hot chocolate in.

“Marshmallows?” she asked.

“Sure, I guess,” Joseph said, “Two.”

Two marshmallows popped out of thin air, then plopped into one of the steaming mugs, which Elenry gingerly handed to Joseph. She added three to her own as Joseph swished his own drink around, watching the marshmallows float like little rafts.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“The... magic thing. Making food just appear.”

“Wakeling's got a magical network threaded all throughout the place,” Elenry said, “It's connected to the storeroom. If you know how to access it, you can get whatever you want from there.”

“I see,” Joseph said. He took an experimental sip, feeling the heat sting his upper lip. It felt nice, though, and the warm chocolate was already washing the acidic taste of the healing potion.

“I can teach you, if you've got the time,” Elenry said, “It requires research and a bit of time, but even novice magicians can do it. I'm surprised more of us don't use it.”

“Maybe,” Joseph said, “I'll get back to you on that.”

The gloivel nodded, sipping at her drink. Joseph leaned back in his chair.

“There are always missions like these,” Elenry said.

“I know,” Joseph said, “The big ones. The dangerous ones. That's guildwork, right?”

“Do you have someone to talk to about them?” Elenry said.

“Why would I talk about them?” Joseph said, “Who wants to talk about the fact that they almost died?”

“No one does,” Elenry said, “But we have to let people in, Joseph. It's the only way we can really push through when these sorts of jobs crop up.”

“Yeah, well,” Joseph said, “I don't feel like someone playing therapy with me.”

“It doesn't have to be me, Joseph,” Elenry said, “But it has to be someone.”

Joseph looked hard at his drink, felt its warmth flood through his hands.

“...You want to get home, right?” Elenry said.

“Yeah,” Joseph said, “I do.”

“Then you need to ask yourself: What kind of person will you be when you get there? Because you certainly aren't the same person who first walked through these doors with Broon and the others.”

She put her mug down at her desk, standing up tall and towering over Joseph. It was a rare moment where she was not hunched over, and Joseph could see the doctor’s strength, the muscle sliding beneath fur as she looked down at him, the bat-like wings at her side stretching out fully, filling the room wingtip to wingtip.

“Are you going to be someone who was scarred by what he saw out here? Or are you going to be someone who grew from their experiences here, who saw horrors no one should have to see, but managed to get through to the other side?”

Joseph's jaw clenched. He felt himself cower a bit.

“You can't do it alone,” Elenry said, “And it starts by talking to someone.”

“I don’t-” Joseph said, “Don’t want to be…”

“What? A burden?” Elenry said.

Joseph nodded. Tried not to tear up, emotions once more threatening to overpower him.

“The more facetious members of the guild would say that you are,” Elenry said, “That all you have to offer us is your power, and little else.”

“I’d… I’d agree with them,” Joseph said.

“I do not,” Elenry said, “You are strong. Kind. You have potential in you, Joseph. And not just because of your species. I look at you, and I see the makings of… of something great.”

It was the most earnest compliment he had ever received. Joseph blinked. He opened his mouth to say something, but found himself unable to respond. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know how to say.

“Regardless of if you stay here or not,” Elenry said, “If you return to Earth, you’re going to need to ask yourself some questions. Hard ones, too.”

She fixed him with a level gaze.

“Who will you be when you get back, Joseph?”

Joseph sighed.

“And… And it starts by talking to someone.”

“To share. To vent. To rant. To cry, even,” Elenry said, “It starts with talking to someone.”

“Doctor's orders?” Joseph said.

“...No,” Elenry said, “Just some friendly advice. Feel free to take the hot chocolate with you. It'll help you get some sleep.”

Joseph nodded, taking a sip of his hot chocolate as he rose. He could feel the healing potion at work even as he made his way to the door, the multitude of scrapes and cuts he had collected on Prime beginning to heal and stitch shut, replaced by smooth skin, with only Silicon's larger cuts leaving behind faint scars. Without another word he left Elenry's office, and walked back into the Great Hall.

At first, he walked up the stairs to head back to his room.

Then, on the flight of stairs, he stopped. Turned around.

Elenry was…

Shit, she was right, wasn’t she?

He started walking in the other direction, looking out for Rosemary.

He had a friend to find.