Lylana was a gnome from Nova Ithaca, the World of Forgings. It was a young world, settled by gnome refugees hundreds of years before, a single planet in a Ptolemaic solar system with a single sun that orbited around it with two other planets and a moon. The entire surface was pockmarked with volcanoes and rivered with lava streams, the interior a series of cave systems and caverns. The gnomes shared this world with three other races, including humans, Kelvians, and the enigmatic and strange Joppa-Joppa.

But the gnomish portion of Nova Ithaca was among the richest, for they had thrown themselves into using the planet as a forge, retrieving the rarest metals across the multiverse and dipping them into the infant magma of Nova Ithaca, so hot it could melt even the metals of the High Federation's warbirds. They were weapons makers, jewelers, craftsfolk of a thousand kind. From their exile here, Lylana's ancestors had formed a culture of creation, adapting to new circumstances and new means of survival.

It could come as no surprise that she herself was a master craftswoman. It was why she had joined the Amber Foundation, to fill a role as the guild's Maker, dedicated to making new devices and weapons and ensuring their upkeep. Hers was a position of envy back home, for her hands had worked on cobbling together Fedtek communicators and weaponry, enchanted runes into weapons and armor; she had even blown a glass casing for one of Wakeling's spells.

She was in her workshop, which doubled as the small gym in the guildhall, racks of weapons from all planes lined up against the wall, a suit of power armor in the corner that she had been working on, replacing the nuclear core with a magical geode from Krenstone. She was taking a break from this as she inspected Rosemary's mace.

“S-Sceptre,” Rosemary corrected

“Sceptre, eh?” Lylana said, “The way you wield it about? That's a mace you've got, sweetie.”

Rosemary simply nodded in response, an uncharacteristically nervous expression etching her face.

“You see the... the hairline, right?”

“Hairline?” Lylana peered down on it with her monocle for a few moments, “Oh, aye, I see it now. What happened here?”

“It was back on Chliofrond,” Rosemary said, “I overdid it, a tiny bit.”

“Chliofrond?” Lylana said, “That was quite a little while ago, wasn't it?”

“Y-Yeah, it was,” Rosemary said.

“And you're just now getting this to me?” Lylana asked.

Rosemary bit her lip, then nodded.

“...You came to the guild with this old girl, didn't you?” the gnome said, “I'm surprised you haven't replaced it, or added anything to it. Uses light for its power source, doesn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Lylana said, “If you want, I can definitely replace it with something a bit better, a bit more versatile. How’s a suncane sound? Draws from the sun, but also can create its own light. Becomes self sufficient after a while.”

“I’d rather keep the sceptre,” Rosemary said, “Can… Can you fix it?”

“Can I fix it?” Lylana said, and she let out a chuckle before looking at the sceptre a bit more closely, “Maybe. What's the glass made of?”

Rosemary was silent. Lylana took off her monocle and began polishing it with a small handkerchief. She put it back on, giving the scepter another look-over.

“Rosemary?” the gnome prodded.

“...I don't know,” Rosemary said, “It's from my home plane.”

“What's your home plane, then?” Lylana said, “I might be able to procure more from there.”

“I...” Rosemary took a deep breath, before continuing, “I don't want to say.”

“Right,” Lylana said, “Well, it looks like the rose held within is alright. I presume that's the main way the mace absorbs and holds power, right? And the glass around it is...”

She took another look at it with her monocle.

“Mmm, I see. Very smart, very smart indeed. The glass is cut in such a way as to refract the light of the rose when it fires.”

Rosemary blinked, a look of confusion on her face. Lylana smiled at that.

“This is your primary weapon, and you don't know how it works?” she said, “Shame on you, Rosemary. I thought you were one of the smart ones.”

“I know how it works!” Rosemary said, “You charge it, it's based on thought and imagination. You can form objects out of light, and the more you work with it, the more complex they are-”

“How are they built?” Lylana asked.

Rosemary shut up.

“What rose is this?” Lylana said, “What is the glassblowing method? How do they get the rose inside to be perfectly preserved within the glass? What mine does the gold lacing the mace come from?”

Rosemary's hands scrunched at the hem of her cloak.

“These are the questions you need to find out, before you go asking me to repair this,” Lylana said, “It's an Elven weapon, right?”

“...It's not Elven.”

“Whatever it is then, find out for me. I can put in substitutes. Find replacements. Use magic to repair the crack. But the act of repairing is also the act of destruction and creation. The object, be it weapon or tool or jewelry, is different. I can tell that you want your mace to be exactly the same as it was before.”

She picked the rose off of the table, handing it to Rosemary.

“But it won't be,” she finished.

Rosemary looked down at the gnome's outstretched hand. With a bit of reluctance, she took the sceptre, clutching it close to herself as she gave Lylana a pleading look.

“And there's nothing you can do?”

“No, Rosemary,” Lylana said, “Not until I know. This is one of the more complicated pieces I’ve seen in a while. Complicated, and fragile. Any replacement parts could alter the mace irrevocably. It's more complicated than you realize.”

Slowly, Rosemary nodded.

“Alright,” she said, “Thanks, Lylana.”

“Any time, Rosemary,” the gnome said, “Any time.”

***

Rosemary stepped outside the workshop, still holding her scepter close. For a moment, she gave it a glance, her stomach shriveling as her eyes, as though by instinct, darted to the fracture on the scepter's surface. She stared at it for a second, before turning at the sound of footsteps.

It was Joseph. Rosemary turned to begin walking away, knowing that he wanted to be left alone.

“Rosemary, wait.”

She stopped, turning to regard him with a raised eyebrow.

“'Sup, Joe?” she said.

The metahuman scratched the back of his head, struggling to find his words. Finally, he sighed.

“Look,” he said, “I'm sorry about my outburst earlier.”

“You already apologized, Joseph,” Rosemary said, “You don't need to again.”

“I feel like I have to,” Joseph said, “So, uhm, sorry.”

“That's three times,” Rosemary said, “First time's the charm, you know?”

“Yeah.”

They stood awkwardly in the hallway. Whiskey passed them by, the old marionette clicking and clacking down to the nearby stairwell and going up. Rosemary rolled her eyes, since Joseph wasn't leaving.

“Alright,” she said, “Let's talk.”

***

“Damn,” Joseph said, “I mean, that's a lot.”

He stared down at Rosemary's mace, which she had laid out on the table in front of him, her slim finger pointing at the small, hairline crack on the rose's stem. They had eaten a few minutes before, plates clean and set aside, a pair of floating hands drifting over to take them back to the kitchens. Gluh could be seen inside, cleaning a few of the pots and pans he had used for the day's lunch rush, a moaning sort of hum rumbling from his throat. The only other person in here was Nova, the neon elemental tucked away in the corner with a cup of some strange, green liquid, a pile of paperwork in front of him. Tendrils of plasma wrapped around a quill, dipping it into an inkwell and putting words to paper as Joseph and Rosemary talked.

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “Happened back on Chliofrond.”

“I mean, it's not so bad, right?” Joseph said, “It's just a hairline.”

Rosemary took a deep breath, and Joseph could see the gears turning in her head as she mulled over what to say.

“It's more than that,” she said, “These sceptres... They aren't supposed to break.”

“I suppose that's what the guys who made it would say,” Joseph said.

“But they're right!” Rosemary said, “I've never heard of the sceptres of my homeland breaking. They're... They're tough.”

“You were pushing it a lot on Chliofrond, though,” Joseph pointed out, “When you lived... Wherever you lived, did you ever have to repair it?”

Rosemary reddened a bit, and took the hem of her cloak in hand. Joseph smirked.

“...You stole it, didn't you?”

“I did not!” Rosemary said, a bit too loudly. Gluh and Nova looked up at her. Joseph just let out a light laugh.

“You totally did, huh?” he said.

“I.. I might have,” Rosemary admitted, “But I still know how it works. I was trained in using one, too. I just...”

She looked down, staring hard at the table, almost as though she were trying to bore through it with sight alone.

“I was never allowed to have one, y'know?”

Joseph’s forced smile disappeared at the sight of her wilting. He rested a chin on a hand, leaning in.

“Rosemary,” he said, “Where are you from?”

“...I'm from far away,” Rosemary said, “Like you.”

“Trapped?”

“Not by distance, not by forecast,” Rosemary said, “I... I don't want to talk about it, alright?”

“You haven't told anyone here?”

“No.”

“Not even Sunala?”

“Not even her.”

Joseph continued his own stare at his friend, before sighing.

“Alright,” he said, “I won't pry, then.”

Outside, the storm gave no indication of abetting. It fell hard, a constant cacophony of rivets and splatters, drumming a beat as Joseph passed the mace – no, Joseph told himself, the sceptre – back to the elf. She took it, hugging it close like an old friend, before setting it aside.

“Okay,” she said, “Your turn. What's up?”

Alright, time to do this. Joseph rolled his eyes. He stood up straight as he considered what to say.

“I... I don't know,” he said, “I just... I feel like I'm not getting anywhere.”

“In what way?”

“In all the ways,” Joseph said.

“Deep, bro,” Rosemary snickered.

But she knew she had hit deep as Joseph's face twisted into a look of dark anger, one that he swallowed like a cyanide pill. It was just for a moment, as he returned back to his usual stoic look, resting a hand on the table to steady himself.

“We... I didn't talk about this, growing up,” he said, “Not like... Not like this, alright? Cut me some slack.”

“Okay,” Rosemary said, “Sorry. Slack's been cut.”

“Sorry, too,” Joseph said, “I'm...”

He clasped his hands on the table. Chewed the inside of his mouth.

“I feel different. Ever since I went meta, I've felt different.”

“You're weathering a big storm,” Rosemary said, “Aren't you?”

“You could say that.”

He looked up, staring at Rosemary. Staring past her, at the wall, lost in a world of his own.

“I don't feel like I'm ever going to get home,” he said, “Not with the direction I'm going in. It feels like I don't know what's going on, or what I'm doing, you know?”

“You've got the guild,” Rosemary said.

Joseph's attention shifted back to her, and she was surprised at how cold his gaze was.

“...The guild hasn't helped me,” he said, “Not really.”

“Have you given us a chance?”

“I've given Wakeling a chance,” Joseph said, “The one time I felt like I was getting anywhere, she shut me out.”

“She must've had a good reason,” she said.

“She said it was because it involved someone named Agrippa.”

Rosemary nodded.

“Do you know who that is?”

“A bit,” Rosemary said, “Some bigwig on one of the more advanced planes. Really dangerous.”

“Well,” Joseph said, “I've handled 'really dangerous.' I've had my fair fucking share of 'really dangerous.'”

It was his turn to be louder than normal. He was aware of it, too, aware of how loud he was getting. Back home, his father would have stared him down, glowering in the way he glowered, taunting Joseph, daring him to say something else. And Joseph would quiet down.

Now, he quieted down out of habit. Forced back the anger. Swallow it down. Stew in his gut.

“That's true,” Rosemary said, “It's been a rough few months, hasn't it?”

“...Sure,” Joseph said, “That's an understatement.”

In the corner, Nova finished up the last of his paperwork. Using tentacles of light, he scooped up the stack of papers and levitated out of the room. Rosemary watched him go, giving a small wave to the elemental as he flew out of the dining hall and up towards the higher floors.

“I don't know,” Joseph said, “Ever since I went meta, I've felt different.”

“You've acted different, too,” Rosemary said.

“Thanks, Rose.”

“I'm serious,” Rosemary said, “Ever since you got that big ol' eagle of yours, you've been... I don't know.”

“Angrier?”

“Sure,” Rosemary said, “I mean, yeah. But you've become... I don't know, more confident?”

“Then I'm a better actor than I thought,” Joseph said.

“Well, there's a career.”

The two settled back into silence. A tray drifted by, bearing a kettle of coffee and a few empty mugs. Rosemary flagged it down, pouring herself a cup, adding a few blocks of sugar to hers, along with a generous helping of cream to Joseph's. She had a smile at that. When he had first joined the guild, he drank it straight black, only adding sugar at her insistence.

Joseph took a few sips, fingers drumming the mug. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then closed it.

“Trying to figure out what to say?” Rosemary said.

He nodded.

“Well, I won't pry any more than I have to,” Rosemary said.

“...There's one more thing,” Joseph said.

“What's up?”

“There was a metahuman I fought. On Prime. His name was Silicon.”

“Cool name,” Rosemary said.

“...It was cool, wasn't it?” Joseph admitted.

“What was up with him?”

“He... He told me things,” Joseph said, “Stuff about myself that I didn't even realize.”

“Like what?”

“Like... I've got a soul, right?”

“I'd hope so,” Rosemary said, “Otherwise your power's just awkward.”

“He said,” Joseph mulled it over, as though embarrassed to say it, “It's hard to explain. It's weird.”

“That’s alright, if it’s weird,” Rosemary said.

There was a breaking in Joseph. As though he were accepting that for the first time. He took a deep breath. In. Then out. Then he spoke again.

“He said that usually, as we grow, as we live our lives, that our souls change. We change. But... My soul's physical, right? It can... the shit it goes through, it changes it. Changes me.”

Rosemary nodded at that.

“So…” she said, “As it gets injured, it can change you. Make you different.”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” and his voice was small.

“Alright,” Rosemary said, “Neat. So it's just like any other body part?”

“...What?”

“You think you'd change, if you lost an arm? A leg?”

“I mean, sure.”

“So if your soul's hurt, you change.”

Joseph blinked.

“I- Yeah, sure.”

“Then it's just another thing to watch out for,” Rosemary said, “It means that you'll change, if it's hurt too much.”

“I... I don't know,” Joseph said.

“You don't know a lot,” Rosemary said, “But here's something I know.”

She gave an uncharacteristically stony glare at Joseph. A hard, determined expression on her face.

“When you're hurt, even if it happens when you're young, it changes you. It can define you, if you're not careful. So your soul's physical, and it can affect your mood, change who you are. It's doing the same thing that it's always done. It's just... more involved?”

“More… involved,” Joseph said.

“Yeah. It was always going to change, right?” Rosemary said, “Injuries, they change you. Scars are forever, and all of that. But your body can heal, can’t it? Eventually, almost all of the worst scars fall away.”

“Right, but-”

“You feel your soul healing, don’t you?” she asked, “It can heal, right?”

Joseph nodded.

“It can,” he said, and there was something new in his voice. Something lighter.

“Well, look at it this way,” Rosemary said, “Scars, they’re there to let us know that we survived something. That we can look down at them and say, ‘hey, I turned out alright.’ Right?”

“...Right,” Joseph said.

“So, you think you’re going to be alright?”

“I don’t know,” Joseph said.

“But your soul’s healing, after everything that’s happened,” Rosemary said, “So…”

“I’ll get through it,” Joseph said, “I’ll… I have to get through it.”

He gave a soft smile.

“That... That helps, actually.”

The dark look on the elf's face fell away.

“What do you mean, 'actually'?” she said, her tone one of mock anger.

“Wait, I didn't mean it like that-”

“I'm heartbroken, Joe, really! I give you great advice, from my heart, and you say 'oh, yeah, sure, that helps.'”

“Okay, okay,” Joseph rolled his eyes, a rare, genuine smile breaking out, “Alright. You helped me, Rose. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Rosemary said, “Now, your soul, how's the big guy doing?”

“Still recovering,” Joseph said, “It's... It's going to take a while.”

“But it's subject to the physical world now, right?”

“...Sure...?”

The elf's face broke out into a devilish, vile grin.

“How far are you willing to test that theory?”

***

G-Wiz was taking a break from Ichabod's investigation, the sour man retreating to his room to draw up a few plans. He was also retreating into himself, a hermit once more, muttering under his breath as he closed the door behind him. The last thing she saw of the man of Neos was him removing his gorgeously framed paintings from the wall, to cover it instead with blueprints and notes.

She sat alone in her room, legs crossed on her bed, zumbelaphone in hand, going through her daily warm-up. Nothing crazy, an improvisation of her own mix, a chill melody mixed with a light beat that someone like Joseph would have appreciated. The rain splattered against the window, something that G-Wiz added to her music, the natural beat drumming alongside the soft, melodic electronica.

Music had always been a comfort to her. Obviously, of course, considering her plane of origin. She remembered getting her first instrument, a piano, one that her mothers had spent six months saving up for, scrounging every ti and ta they could afford. She remembered first playing it, shivering fingers pressing against the surprisingly resistant keys. The note that thrummed from the muted strings had been soft and deep, something relaxing yet grand, a god formed of wood and stringwork.

Perhaps that's why she preferred the keytar. It had a keyboard, just like that first piano. She had even made a point to make it look like her old pal, notching a few grooves into the A key, from an accident where her long nails had scraped too hard against the wood.

She gave a soft, sad smile as memories floated within her, dancing and playing in time to the music, when a knock came at her door. At once G-Wiz stopped, a defense mechanism from her days in the underground scene, when a knock came with the potential of the Classicist Guard making an appearance.

“Come in,” she said.

Heyma had a way of opening the door, so gentle she didn't even disturb the wind. The Dullahan peeked her head in.

“'Sup,” G-Wiz said.

“Hello,” Heyma said.

She glanced around the room awkwardly. G-Wiz rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself.

“Come on in, Heyma. You don't have to ask.”

“Sorry,” Heyma said.

“You don't have to apologize, either,” G-Wiz said.

Heyma walked in, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from G-Wiz, folding her clawed hands into her lap. She was quiet, as she glanced this way and that through the room. At the paintings G-Wiz had inked of notes on the wall, at the small photo of her and Nole on the windowsill

“...'Sup, Heyma?”

“Nothing, just thought I'd visit,” Heyma said, “How's the investigation with Ichabod going?”

“It's alright,” G-Wiz said, “We've hit a bit of a snag, but it'll work itself out.”

“That's good,” Heyma said, “And... Ichabod's behaving himself?”

“We had a few things to go over,” G-Wiz said, “But he's fine, Heyma. Really. I'm one of the people in the guild he actually likes, so it's been alright.”

“Good,” Heyma said, “But just say the word. I'll straighten him out.”

“It's fine, Heyma.”

“Snap him like a twig, G, it'd be badass.”

“It'd be pretty messed up,” G-Wiz said.

“It'd also be very funny.”

G-Wiz snorted at that.

“Alright,” she said, “If I need you to give him a swirly, I'll let you know.”

“Good,” Heyma said, “That's what friends are for, right?”

G-Wiz gave Heyma a grin, reddening a bit in spite of herself, before she decided to change the subject.

Just in case.

“...You should see him,” she said, “He's obsessed.”

“Ichabod?”

“Yeah. Got wind that OzTech's involved with all of the business at the gala. You know, with the shapeshifter?”

Heyma nodded. Word of the attempted assassination – and Joseph and Rosemary's fight against the shapeshifter – had spread through the guild like wildfire.

“Well,” G-Wiz said, “Apparently he's got history with Agrippa. Convinced Wakeling to let us go, and everything.”

“I thought Agrippa was a major no-go for us,” Heyma said.

“He is.”

The two words hung in the air between them. G-Wiz looked down, pressing a few keys to her keytar, turning it down as she continued her warm up. It was a slow cadence now, a quiet rumble of synthesized notes that, though now crawling, still went in time with the rain.

“Still, he'll get through it,” Heyma said, “It would just be another job, right?”

“Yeah. We're getting a few things at InterGuild, calling in a few favors. Becenti's going with us.”

“...You're going?” Heyma said.

“I am,” G-Wiz said.

“...Then I'm going, too.”

G-Wiz glanced up, stopping her playing.

“Heyma, no.”

“It's dangerous,” the Dullahan said.

“Hell yeah, it's dangerous,” G-Wiz said, “That's why you're not going. Plus, Wakeling insisted on choosing the team. You weren't chosen.”

“I don't care,” Heyma said, “You're going to Neos. You're going to OzTech. I've heard... I've heard stories of that place, G. The Tower of Eden, is what folks call it. People who sneak in, they don't come out.”

“Heyma, they say that about any place that's sketch.”

“But they're serious about this one!” Heyma said, “This is the real deal, alright? And I know you're going, so I'm going.”

“Heyma,” G-Wiz said, “It's out of the question. I won't let you-”

They were interrupted by the door bursting open. Heyma jumped, G-Wiz glared as Lazuli barged in, the android's monitor glowing bright red, a vile grin on his semblance of a face. His screen was still cracked, and they could see Elenry flying upwards to their floor to catch up to him.

“Guys,” he said, “Guys.”

“...What, Laz?” G-Wiz said.

“It's Joseph!” Lazuli said, “He's climbing up Castle Belenus! He's going to die!”

That got G-Wiz on her feet. Heyma, too, as they both looked at the android.

“He's going to die!” Lazuli said, “And it's going to be great!”

***

In all actuality, it was Rosemary who had clambered up Castle Belenus first. She sat down on the first rooftop, just above one of the landings, uncoiling a rope and snaking it down to Joseph. The storm gave no signs of easing up – quite on the contrary, it seemed to have intensified, rain lashing against them like thousands of bee stings. Both of them ignored this, as Joseph took hold of the rope and climbed up, joining Rosemary on the roof.

“Right!” Rosemary said, practically screaming over the gale, “So, your soul's made of electricity, right?!”

“Sure!” Joseph roared back.

“Ever wonder why that is?!”

“Must be my electrifying personality!”

She snorted, a bright grin on her face, one that took on a sinister edge as she pointed up. The main tower of the guildhall spiraled above them, dizzyingly high, ending in a tipped point.

A lightning rod.

“I'm thinking, your soul could use some food!” Rosemary said, “Soul food, get it?”

“I hope you fall, Rosemary!” Joseph said.

“Climb up, and get hit by lightning!” Rosemary said, “See if that does the trick.”

Joseph blinked. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it.

“Look, it's a crazy thought!” Rosemary said, “But if it works, it'll heal you up! Your soul, I mean! Jumpstart your powers! I don't know, something!”

“That's it?!” Joseph said, “Rosemary, you're insane!”

“It got you up here, didn't it?” Rosemary said, “You would've just gone back to sulking in your room, I bet!”

Joseph grimaced, and found he couldn't refute that. He glanced up, squinting through the rain. The lightning rod was rather high up. If he slipped, if he fell...

He stood up, putting his hand out in front of him, concentrating as the circuit in his body completed its rounds. His soul unfolded, fully, out of his open palm, a towering mass of azure feathers and claws.

“What!” Rosemary said, “You couldn't do that before!”

He gave a dark smirk in answer, before turning his attention back to just how the hell he was going to get up there. He could tell that the eagle still wasn't at full strength, Silicon's vicious slashes still showing near-raw on its body. Rosemary’s smile faltered for a second at the sight of it, at its wounds. But it had claws to hold onto the tower's bricks and shillings. And it was still strong, far stronger than he could ever be.

But it was him, wasn't it?

“Alright,” he said, his whisper stolen by the harsh winds, “Let's do this.”

The soul re-centered itself on his back as he walked to the tower, one claw picking against the wall. The tower would hold.

He gave one last glance towards Rosemary, who gave him two thumbs up.

And he began his ascent.

***

“Wakeling!”

Lazuli burst into Wakeling's office. A second later, Elenry caught up to him, the gloivel slamming him into the ground and pinning him beneath her heavy paws. The android struggled beneath her for a second, before stopping with a defeated sigh. They both looked up at Wakeling.

Who was sitting on the pillow on her desk, a novel on her book-stand titled 'Seventy and Frisky,' depicting a muscular, shirtless man holding an old witch in his arms, a giant rose in the hot-pink background. Wakeling gave a fearful glance at the two of them, before her eyes flashed, and the book was replaced with a heavy magical tome.

“Ahem!” she said, “Right. Elenry, please get off Lazuli. You're going to break him even more.”

“He almost deserves it,” Elenry said amiably, “But very well.”

She got off the android, who pulled himself to his feet, digitized face pulled in a look of annoyed pain.

“Motherboard,” he cursed, “I thought you were a healer.”

Elenry rolled her eyes.

“Lazuli,” Wakeling said, “Care to explain why you're in such a hurry?”

“Right! Right,” the android said, “Joseph and Rosemary are on the roof.”

Wakeling’s eye twitched.

“On the... roof?” she said, “In this storm? Who put them up to this?”

“You?” Elenry asked.

“No, not me!” Lazuli said, “And no one did! I just saw them climbing up. I think they're aiming to climb up one of the towers.”

Wakeling blinked.

“A crowd's already outside,” Lazuli said.

“And no one's… no one’s stopping them?” Wakeling's voice had the barest trace of panic, “Are they insane?”

“They're part of a guild, Vyde,” Elenry said, “Of course they're insane.”

“Oh, fuck off!” the guildmaster spat, before she rose into the air. Her eyes flashed, and she blinked out of the room.

Elenry glared at Lazuli. The android, despite being completely mechanical, gulped.

“Back to your room,” the gloivel said, “Now.”

***

Broon was among the very few intelligent guildmembers to have donned a raincoat before heading outside.

It was a storm to write home about, the sort of tempest that would define the season. Signs of flooding were evident on the streets outside Castle Belenus, rivers of rainwater and mud and the refuse of the city running down the cobblestones, heading towards the canyon that yawned in Scuttleway's center. Miniature lakes pooled in the gardens out back, Settlefish eggs beginning to spawn from seeming thin air. Guildmembers were coming outside on Lazuli's insistence, squinting up at the guild's main tower, trying to shield their eyes from the endless rain.

There was a flash of light, and Wakeling appeared by Broon's side, a harsh look sketched onto her face. Broon knew that look all too well.

“What's the situation?” she said.

The half-orc merely pointed. High above, glowing like a blue moon, was Joseph. He was scaling the main tower, his claws digging into brick and holding fast as he pulled himself upwards.

“Are you fucking-”

The guildmaster let out a huff.

“Was it a bet?” she asked.

“Not as far as I can tell,” Broon replied.

“A dare?”

“Look, I know as much as you do,” Broon said, “You might want to ask him yourself.”

Wakeling set her jaw, then gave a curt nod.

With the crowd looking up, the floating head began levitating upwards, ignoring the gales and rain as she went up to Joseph. She shot Rosemary a hard look, the elf giving a guilty shrug. But she wasn't the idiot scaling the tower, so Wakeling let her be.

For now. Words would be had with young Rosemary.

Rain lashed against Wakeling’s head as she went. She could feel the gales threaten to carry her away. But she plowed on.

***

Joseph was in a state he hadn't been in for a long time, one of pure mental concentration, where the fatigue in his muscles and the cry of the environment faded into black and he was left with his own emotions, his own memories, his own self. The rain disappeared. The soul became subtle, its claws mere motion in his mind's eye. He was alone as he climbed the tower.

It was comforting. He often retreated into himself in this way on his daily runs back home. When his parents were getting on his case again about which school to go to, or his brother had sat him down to go over his career options, the only times they seemed to pay attention to him. When things just got too much, he would run. The hot weather of San Francisco would disappear. The sounds of the waves as he jogged by the beach would become quiet and soothing, the attendant screams of the beach-goers drifting away entirely.

It was in these moments that Joseph could find peace. Could find quiet. Could process the emotions of the day, of the week. Of the month, sometimes, when things were especially bad.

Simple running, simple exercise. Even with his daily runs at Castle Belenus, he could not quite capture what he had on Earth.

Until now.

There was nothing but the climb, of the cobalt exertions of the soul.

He was -

“JOSEPH!”

Wakeling's caw broke his concentration. Joseph flailed about for a moment, the soul’s grip on the tower cutting loose, the entire eagle sliding up his arm as it reached out, snagging against the tower, bouncing Joseph for a moment as he held onto the eagle with a single hand, his feet slamming hard against the tower's wall.

Wakeling glared at him. He could not help but glare back.

“What are you doing?!” Wakeling snarled.

“Climbing,” Joseph's voice, despite the storm, was clear and hard.

“I can clearly see that,” Wakeling said, “Why?”

“Rosemary said my soul's physical, right? So it's just another part of my body that can be scarred, and it's also affected by the physical world, and-”

“Joseph, get to the point!”

“We thought, if I'm hit by lightning, maybe that'll help with my soul's healing,” Joseph said, “I mean, look at it!”

Wakeling's twitching eyes slid upwards at the soul, noting the visible damage it had taken in Death Valley. She didn’t need to say anything on that. At the way Joseph looked at it, at her, with a mixture of fear, worry, and tense anger.

“...You could've just asked me to hit you with lightning, Mr. Zheng,” she said.

“I'm already up here,” Joseph said, “And it... It feels right. Doing it like this.”

“That's idiotic talk. Are you hearing yourself?” Wakeling said, “Joseph, it's-”

“Just let me do it!”

He didn't mean to yell so loudly, so loud he swore the rest of the guild could hear him far below. Wakeling looked taken aback as he shot venom at her.

“Just let me do it,” he repeated, “I'll do whatever chores you need me to, alright? But it's got to be real lightning, not the magical stuff. I just... I just know.”

“Very well, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, her voice still traced with disapproval, “But you're on latrine duties for the rest of the month.”

“Fucking deal,” he said, “Now leave me alone.”

Without another word, she drifted back towards the ground. Joseph watched her become smaller and smaller, until she was just a very tiny speck in the mist. He pulled himself up, letting his soul move back into place over his back. The act of moving it across his body like that was new. He would need to practice...

He continued his ascent.

***

“Come on down, Rosemary,” Wakeling said. She floated by Rosemary, who was still on the roof, holding onto one of the flagpoles, squinting to see Joseph's climb.

“Sure thing,” Rosemary said.

The guildmaster worked her magic, eyes glowing as the winds picked up around Rosemary, billowing her back down to the ground. The guildmaster gave her a disapproving look.

“What?” Rosemary said, “You're here now, right? If things go wrong, you're right there.”

“I'm a magician, Rosemary, not a miracle worker,” Wakeling replied.

“There's a difference?” Rosemary said, “Look, you've seen him, right? Talked to him?”

“Not since he's gotten back, no,” Wakeling said.

“He's in a rut,” Rosemary said, “I thought, maybe something this crazy would get him to stop thinking about what happened on Prime. Just for a little while. Besides, it could help with his powers, right?”

Wakeling rolled her eyes.

“I'm putting you on latrine duties for the rest of the month, Rosemary,” she said, “Got it?”

“Sure,” Rosemary said, “I'll take that.”

“And we'll be serving Korendian stuffed peppers for dinner most nights, I think. A shipment of them just came in.”

Rosemary winced.

“A-Alright,” she said, though she did not relish that.

“Now, turn around, please,” Wakeling said, “Let's see if Mr. Zheng actually reaches the top.”

***

Wakeling had shaken him from his state. Joseph would not forgive her any time soon.

No, it was more than that. Joseph had thought he was climbing the tower alone, with the only person aware of where he was being Rosemary. But watching Wakeling spiral back down to the land below, he noticed that he had drawn quite a crowd.

“Great,” he grunted, “Just what I needed.”

The rain continued lashing around him, more noticeable now. He was aware that he could not feel his hands, the cold sinking in and seeding into his very bones. He had taken a warm coat, but that was now soaked through. His hair felt like a mop on his head, and though it was sodden down it still seemed to catch the wind and carry itself with it, letting it hedge through the black locks and deliver ice onto his scalp.

Yet he continued on. His soul worked to climb, the usual cold pain dulled, for everything was cold. The world was cold. His world was cold. He had left something behind, on the warm sands of Death Valley, on the faux-Earth that was Prime. He had gained something, too. A trade-off, one that he wasn't sure was worth it.

With a triumphant, shaking, gasping smile, he reached the very top of Castle Belenus. The soul wrapped itself around the lightning rod, pulling him onto it, mirroring behind him like a cloak, a claw curled around the needle.

He dared to let go, bit by bit, until the claw and his feet were the only thing tethering him to the world. He hung, staring out, at the waterlogged Scuttleway. The mists obscured the horizon, the clouds blocked the Inner Sun. There was only a graying world.

He felt subconscious now. The guild, the Amber Foundation, were all staring up at him, a small crowd of multi-colored figures huddled around the guildhall's entrance. They were probably making bets, too.

That was how it worked, right? Ichabod would probably bet that he would fall, and break his head open like a melon on the pavement below. G-Wiz would bet on his legs hitting the ground first, bending around him, twisting and snapping like stale pretzels. Lazuli would predict that he would splatter on the ground like a crimson water balloon. Broon would look at them with a hint of disapproval, before silently adding into the pool on G-Wiz's ticket.

That was the way of the guild. To laugh, to joke, to be so casual about the things they experienced. It was normalized to them. It was how they reacted.

It was, Joseph was realizing, how they coped.

It was a subtle realization, a culmination of his interactions with them. The friendships he had made here. The stories they had told, the memories they had shared. The battles they had fought.

Everyone below had their own lives before the guild. Their own families, broken and not broken. Their own dreams. Their own aspirations. They had chosen to walk this path together, to support one another in a multiverse that was not kind, that held both beauty and violence, that was a lived-in place with flaws that permeated all of their realities.

Joseph saw the rainbow entourage below, and he saw himself in them.

And then the lightning struck.

It was intense, a thousand volts running through his system, red-hot for just the briefest of moments, so brief that his brain barely could rationalize it. By all accounts, it should have been painful. Had Joseph not had his power, had he not had a soul made of plasma and light, it would have been agony.

But it was not.

It was exhilarating. Refreshing. Like taking a hot bath after a long day. Like folding oneself into a bed full of pillows. Like...

Like...

There we no more words. There was nothing.

Joseph was aware he was falling, the tower becoming smaller, the sky becoming wider and less detailed. For a moment, panic overtook bliss-

And then the wind scooped him up. Wakeling's magic, caressing him and holding him like a child, the winds guiding him back towards the ground below. He landed on his feet, the guild crowded around him, dozens of eyes staring at him.

“Joseph,” Wakeling said, “Are you alright?”

The question, while given voice by Wakeling, was asked by everyone around him. Even Chadwick looked down at him from atop his perch on Archenround's head, eyes glowing in the mist with the bare minimum of concern.

Joseph felt within himself. His soul was fine. Better than fine. It had healed, the wounds closed shut. It was strong again. Whole.

Well, almost whole. He could feel scars running along its makeup, the deepest wounds that Silicon had delivered. They would, he realized, always be there. Faded scars upon himself, trauma and experience made physical.

But he looked up at Wakeling's worried face. Rosemary was behind her. So was Broon. And G-Wiz, surprisingly.

He smiled.

“I'm fine,” he said.

“You just climbed all the way up Castle Belenus,” Broon said, “In a storm. After getting back from a major conflict. And you're just fine?”

Joseph's smile broadened.

“Yeah,” he said, “I'm fine. Sorry to be a bit crazy, but I had to...”

He looked over to Rosemary, who was beaming.

“I had to test a few theories.”