Joseph awoke early in the morning. Went on his morning run. Practiced his footwork in front of a mirror in G-Wiz's dance studio, shadowboxing against himself. Old words hung in his head, Coach Tristan's barks of encouragement and admonishment piercing through time and distance, an old friend from way back when.

“There you go, son,” he said, “Left, right, that's it. Like before, left, right. He's clipping you, son. Faster. Faster! Like a bullet, son, your fist is a bullet!”

He was remembering Coach Tristan more, these days. A quiet homesickness that hung in his soul, though he didn't dare tell anyone. Not even Becenti, or Rosemary. Private little memories, away from the stresses of guildlife and nightmares that were beginning to fester and bloom more and more.

Just him, in the early mornings at the gym, practicing shadow boxing as his coach watched on.

Perhaps it was there was a real chance to learn more about getting him home that he had begun to have these quiet yearnings again. He had, for a time, set aside the idea of getting back to Earth in a timely manner. There were other stresses. The expedition. The gala. Death Valley. But now that things had calmed down a bit, and a new lead was in front of him, Joseph realized something.

He was beginning to hope again.

He gave a smirk at that. And continued his work.

A knock came at the door, causing him to spin and lose his composure. His heart hammered a bit too quickly for his liking as he took a breath.

“Yeah, come in,” he said.

The door opened. Phineas was there, tome in hand, a nervous look in his eye as he waddled in.

“Good morning, Joseph,” he rasped.

“Hey, Phin,” Joseph said.

“You are practicing your dancing?” Phineas asked.

Joseph snorted.

“Nah,” he said, “My, uh, boxing. I never want to dance again.”

“Is not boxing just dancing, only with extra fisticuffs?”

“...Okay, you got a point there,” Joseph admitted, “I'll grant you that one.”

“I have a gift for you,” Phineas said.

“Alright.”

The Deep One looked around for a second, before looking at Joseph.

“I have forgotten it.”

“Oh.”

“I will go get it,” Phineas said, “Wait here.”

And without another word, he was off again, making his way back through Castle Belenus to their quarters. Joseph smiled, stretching a bit as he waited, wondering what the hell the Deep One could be hiding. They slept in the same room, after all, which meant he would have needed to hide... whatever he was giving him, somewhere in the guildhall.

Phineas came back a few minutes later, panting heavily, a new blue jacket in hand.

“Oh shit,” Joseph said, “Phin-”

“I have-” Phineas gasped, “Running is difficult. I do... I do not know how you do it.”

Shaking himself, he presented Joseph the jacket. It was much like the one he had now, one that Phineas had also replaced, though perhaps a shade darker.

The Deep One had been hard at work with the improvements.

“More pockets on the inside, too,” Phineas said, “So you can hold stuff in there, like food. Or grenades.”

“I'll take the food,” Joseph said, smiling.

“Try it on,” Phineas said, and he handed it to Joseph.

Who complied, feeling a familiar warmth as he slipped it on. Like it was late at night, and he was studying the multiverse, someone – Rosemary, Phineas, even G-Wiz, across the table from him, coffee in hand. Becenti's proud, sad smile. Broon's guffaws during dinner.

It felt like...

Like home.

“I have knitted stronger magic into it,” Phineas said, “Watch.”

He had also brought a steak knife, and before Joseph could react he swung it. The Deep One was fast, but it didn't even cut through the jacket's fiber, instead stopping and scoring as though it had struck solid stone.

“The enchantments on your old jacket were standard,” Phineas said, “Urash's work. Which is mediocre compared to mine.”

Joseph inspected the spot where Phineas had slashed at him, smiling in spite of himself. He gave his friend a hard smirk.

“Your head's getting big again, Phin.”

“On the contrary,” Phineas said, “My head is normal-sized. But I am very proud of my work.”

“Thanks, man.”

“I am not a man, I am a Deep One,” Phineas said, “Oh! You meant – you're welcome, Joseph.”

He gave Joseph a watery smile.

“Come one,” Joseph said, “Let's get some food.”

***

A few hours later, he was ready for the trip. The Dreamer's Lament was casting off at around noon, and barring the storm clouds that still roiled over Scuttleway, it was predicted to be a relatively uneventful trip. Per guild tradition, Joseph had no chores assigned to him for the day, so he spent the last few hours at Castle Belenus getting ready. A few books on metahumanity and the multiverse for the trip there, as well as a duffel bag’s worth of ratty t-shirts after raiding the guild's community closet. He was wearing a bright banana yellow one today, which read ‘MY OTHER RIDE’S POTASSIUM.'

He missed his AC/DC shirt.

“Where did we even get all of these, anyways?” Joseph asked as he helped load a crate.

“Oh, those?” G-Wiz said, “We used to have a guildmate, name was Terrence McGallory, they liked collecting 'em.”

“From all over?” Joseph said.

“Yeah, some shit like that,” G-Wiz said, “You look good, Noodle. You're a true fashionista, you are.”

“And that's where you get your shirts from, I bet?”

“What, this?” G-Wiz gestured to her shirt, which read 'DIE IN A FIRE CONCERT YEAR 3321,' “Naw, it's a statement.”

Joseph rolled his eyes, and continued working.

***

Finally, as the golden hour rolled around, they loaded the last of their gear onto the Dreamer's Lament. Most of the guild gathered around as the airship began her castoff, a sea of the unmundane as Joseph glanced out the window at them. Chadwick sat atop Archenround's head, his emerald eyes flashing in the midday light. Meleko was waving at them, Mallory beside him. Barbara was flying beside the ship as it slowly levitated into the air, giving one last flyover. Lazuli, far below, flipped them off. Phineas gave them a thumbs up.

And the entire crowd became smaller and smaller as the Dreamer lifted to the sky. Rain began pattering at the windows, a sign that even more of a deluge was coming.

“Glad we're avoiding most of that,” Broon said, beside Joseph.

“We're going over the clouds, right?”

“For this Traveling Point?” Broon cast him a smile, “Aye.”

They rattled through the initial storm, the entire world outside becoming nothing but gray fog. This only lasted for a few minutes, however, before they rose out of the murk. A sea of clouds greeted them, fluffy white and a far cry from the boiling storm beneath them. The other parts of Londoa could be seen, high above, the peppered lights of the other landmasses just barely twinkling past the blue sky and the light of the Inner Sun.

“Towards the center of the world,” Broon said, “There's a Traveling Point there, one that was only discovered recently.”

He cast a grin at Joseph.

“By us, of course. Needs must, and all that.”

The Titania Amber lurched upwards, as though using every bit of magic within the runes cast in her hull to propel herself upwards, higher and higher into the air, the landmasses becoming smaller and smaller on all sides.

Becenti was on the bridge, looking out the window as Ichabod guided the ship ever closer. He was wearing his customary business suit, his hair let down, hands behind his back. All around him was nothing open air and oceans of clouds.

“Magnificent, isn't it?” he whispered.

“Hmm,” Ichabod said, “I've seen better, I think.”

“Always the dour one, Mr. Ichabod?” Becenti said, “Truly, you are a visionary.”

“A realist, Becenti,” Ichabod said, “You've seen one cloud, you've seen them all.”

“Agree to disagree,” Becenti said. He turned and made his way down the stairs, “Vyde. It's time.”

“Ah, good,” Wakeling said. She was resting on a table, a pillow beneath her, as Contort was making small talk with her, “Arne, be a dear?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said. He stood, grabbing for a briefcase beneath the table, and laid it on his lap. The guild watched as he unlatched the clasps and opened it up, revealing...

An arm. Old, weathered, almost stick-like. Paler than snow, so translucent that the blue and red veins were visible, as though they had been marked along the forearm.

The fingers twitched, and Wakeling had a serene expression on her face.

“Ah,” she said, “Been too long since I've used this number, hasn't it?”

“Are you sure just the arm, ma'am?” Contort asked, “Not the whole body?”

“Just the arm. I've got to leave something to defend the guild, don't I?” Vyde let out a low, almost vile chuckle, as the fingers continued their splaying. Joseph took a step back, and was glad when he noticed a few others did as well. Wakeling's eyes caught Joseph's, and she gave him a wink.

And with that wink, the arm began to levitate into the air, before taking on a full life, flexing and moving about, stretching itself. Wakeling gave a satisfied smile as it did so, before it floated over beside her.

“That's better. Much better,” she said, “Alright, people. Listen up!”

All at once, the guild's attention was on her. Ichabod poked his head down from upstairs.

“Here's the deal,” Wakeling said, “The Traveling Point up here's a bit of a doozy. Pop quiz: What's at the center of Londoa?”

Mekke raised up a hand.

“Nothing but gravity,” she said, raising her voice so everyone could hear, “It's nothing but a ball of gravitational force, placed by... something, to keep Londoa from drifting apart.”

“That's right!” Wakeling said, “It's either a natural phenomenon unique to this plane, or some wizard or other decided to keep the Broken World together so we could all have this conversation together.”

“A ball of gravity,” Joseph said, “That's pretty intense, right?”

“Joseph's right,” Broon said, “No one's been able to get through that field of gravity. Airships get torn apart. People get string-beaned.”

“Almost like a black hole, actually,” Tek said, “Only without any event horizon, just the sheer, crushing power.”

“Nobody, until us,” Wakeling's smile widened, “It requires quite a bit of magic, a bit of will, and a whole lot of love. Which is partially while I'm along.”

The ship shuddered for a second. They all looked at each other, worried.

“Perhaps you should stop flexing, Vyde,” Ichabod said, “And get to work?”

“Oh, Ichabod,” Wakeling said, “I always flex.”

She made her way up to the cockpit. Everyone else looked at each other. The shuddering continued. Began to intensify. The very air seemed to start to vibrate. Joseph felt his stomach clench up.

Then, they all heard Ichabod shouting.

“HIT THE DECK!”

The entire ship lurched to the side, now shaking in earnest, a deep rumbling coughing out from the engine. Joseph's soul roared to life, claws hooking into the floor. He could see Rosemary tumbling, scrabbling against the floor like a panicked squirrel. Broon crunching against the wall, grunting in surprise. The vines of Shambling reaching out to anchor her in place.

He felt someone grab hold of his back as he fell. Joseph turned to see Ezel, her eyes wide.

“Oh,” she murmured.

And the ship turned upside down.

***

Wakeling, Ichabod realized, was cackling.

He had been tossed aside, arms wrapped around one of the hooks on the wall, letting her take full control of the ship. The guildmaster did not use the steering wheel, not even with her floating arm. Instead, she simply floated above it, laughing maniacally, as the ship tossed and turned and made aileron rolls, her arm extended in front of her like an iron rod, held in place by will and magic. There were tattoos on it, Ichabod realized, circular engravings that had not been there before but now burned and glowed with a hot orange light, as though she had plucked the sun and burned it into her skin. It acted as the center to this pinwheel of wood and magic, the entirety of the Titania Amber orbiting ‘round as Wakeling's magic did its work.

“Almost through!” the guildmaster snarled, “Hang on tight, Ichabod!”

“I WANT TO DIE!” Ichabod roared.

“I KNOW!” Wakeling screeched, “Isn't it fun?!”

And slowly, the ship righted itself. Wakeling's magic tamed the forces pulling everything apart, a glass-like bubble surrounding the vessel as she tipped back into place. The engine below wheezed on, though it was hoarse and weak-sounding. Ichabod slowly stood up.

And stumbled.

Wakeling turned to look down on him.

“Enough of a flex, you think?”

***

They slowly recovered, groaning and coughing as they whimpered back to their feet, some offering hands, or vines, or claws to their guildmates. Joseph's soul released, the eagle crackling back into his body, and he grimaced as he saw the deep rents he had cut into the floor. Ezel stared down at it, before looking over to him.

“I didn't see anything,” she said.

“Maybe we can get Urash to magic it back in place,” Joseph said.

“I'll vouch,” Ezel said.

“Thanks, Ezel,” Joseph said.

Becenti was pulling himself to his feet, brushing off his suit, his stony eyes sliding over to wounds Joseph had made.

“Excellent, Mr. Zheng,” he said, “We're already down one ship, might as well take out the other.”

Joseph rolled his eyes.

“It wouldn't be there if Wakeling wasn't an insane b-”

He noticed not a few guildmembers were staring at him.

“B-Boisterous genius.”

“Good save,” Ezel said.

“Hmm,” Becenti said, “Acceptable. I expect you to have some of your share from this job go towards the repairs.”

Joseph slumped.

“Deal.”

***

Almogra of the Gray-Dusk Skies was the right hand of Pagan Chorus. A Coribaldi from Orrentine, a world located in the galaxy's Iris. Gray-skinned and a full seven feet tall, she towered over Kathen as she considered him. She was in full combat gear, a suit of powered armor that left her arms bare. One of them was mechanical, beautiful and pristine, shining as though freshly polished, with what looked like torcs banding ‘round the bicep. The other arm was covered in runes, triangular ones from some distant plane from her days as a Far Traveler.

“So,” she said, “I am to be your babysitter for this one, eh?”

“No need to look after me,” Kathen said, “I've got my own business. Feel free to do whatever business Valm's sticking on you.”

He made to move, but Almogra put herself between him and the door.

“I am to be your guardian, Kate.”

“Oh, come on,” Kathen said, “I'm not nine anymore.”

“That is true,” Almogra said, “But nonetheless, the Prime Voice-”

“You can just call him Valm.”

“The Prime Voice told me to look after you on this trip. I know you, Kate. Whatever you are getting up to, it is trouble.”

“Alright, you got a point there,” Kathen said, “But really? You're going to be chaperoning me the whole time?”

“You will be by my side,” Almogra said.

“No, I won't,” Kathen said, “I've got business of my own.”

“You will be by my side,” Amogra repeated, “Or we will have words.”

She glowered down at him. Kathen sighed.

“Fine,” he said.

He heard Merry's voice whispering in his head.

“Already on it,” she said, “Getting up a list of places we can duck out of sight once we get there.”

“I am sorry the Prime Voice chooses to treat you as a child,” Almogra said, “But such is guild life, Kate. Trust me, it will be alright. He wants you to see what a meeting of InterGuild looks like, between guildmasters and their right hands. The politics of it all.”

Kathen blinked.

“Why would he want me to do that?”

“Is it not obvious?” Almogra put a hand on Kathen's shoulder, gently guiding him towards the ship moored outside, “He is grooming you for a higher position within the guild.”

“He talks about going higher than that,” Merry murmured.

“I guess,” Kathen said. He could feel a fuzz in the back of his head, the sign that Merry was hard at work finding solutions once they got to InterGuild. Better to play dumb and obedient, “Alright. I'm in.”

Almogra smiled.

“Good,” she said, “Come, let us be off.”

Together, they walked out of Mausoleum, leaving the ancient stone behind. Rain, cold and needle-like, pelted them as they walked outside, the sky above a swirl of creamy gray. A transport ship was moored outside, a triangular, spear-like vessel known as the Point of No Return.

Kathen had always disliked the name.

There were only a couple of other guildmembers on board. Valm had chosen few to represent Pagan Chorus's interests. Once, he had unveiled nearly the entire guild as a symbol of Silver Eye might, as much of the guild was native to the galaxy. But this number had dwindled with each year, partially because guildmembers would be poached by others, partially because Valm's interests had turned further and further inwards to his home plane. There was Bluebell, the dragonfolk enraptured in his usual red cloak, a serene expression on his face. Dicaeopolis sat across from him, flute in hand as he tried for a few notes, hooves tapping to the beat. Oliander was sitting in the corner, the golem's face buried in a book that seemed almost comically small in his mountain-like hands.

All of them, members from outside the galaxy. A minority, compared to the rest of the guild.

“Kate,” Almogra said, “I would have you in the cockpit, with our driver.”

“Right,” Kathen said. He strode forward, giving a fist-bump to Dicaeopolis as he passed. Oliander's great hand rested on his head for a moment as Kathen went up the ramp towards the cockpit. The pilot was a Grantelliad, the dark purple rings on her long neck a sign of her advanced age. Reptilian eyes regarded him as he sat down.

“'Sup,” he said.

“I greet you, Sairad Ghedir.”

Kathen blinked. He had never heard that term used before.

“Huh,” Merry said, as she translated, “Weird.”

The ship lumbered upwards, shaking and shuddering as it took off. Kathen checked a few scanners, making sure that the takeoff was smooth.

“What's up, Merry?” he asked.

“Sairad Ghedir,” she said, “Lord of the Past. Not a Grantelliad word.”

“Weird,” Kathen said, “Hey, go ahead and interface with the Point. I want to have finer control in case things get a bit scratchy.”

“Right,” Merry blipped. She exited his system, a flash of green light, before she began going through the scanners, fine-tuning them to her personal specifications.

Kathen leaned back, and thought of what the Grantelliad had said.

Then shrugged, and let the thought leave his mind.

***

The Flyleaf Forest was a plane that consisted of a great, ocean-like wood. It theoretically had continents, if one could call them that, great rises of uphill earth, vast and comparable to the landmasses of other planes. But there were no seas here, no vast bodies of water. No lakes, hardly any rivers, all of it instead taken up by trees of various kind. There were the usual make, pines and oaks and the like. But by far the most common species was known as the library tree. So named because they were shaped like shelves, and because of their contents.

Books.

Thousands of books.

Millions.

Books from across the multiverse. It, much like Doremi, collected knowledge from the other planes, absorbing ideas, concepts, dreams, histories, and emotions. They interpreted them as books, sometimes written by authors of the myriad worlds, though often they simply... were.

Far Travelers had discovered the Flyleaf Forest thousands of years ago, and the nomads of the multiverse were known to come here, to squirrel away their own tomes. Memoirs, confessions, stolen goods, to be returned to later. Others took books from here, taking them for their own use in the wider multiverse. It was as though it were a Library World from the Silver Eye writ large, with knowledge being exchanged at an exhausting rate, and yet the Forest could always provide.

And this year, the five largest guilds of the multiverse had decided for the Flyleaf Forest to be this year's host for InterGuild. Most guilds already had bases of operation here, so it was a natural choice. Parts of the forest were felled, the books moved away, clearing a wide open space for the countless guilds to set up shop. Market stands were erected. A great meeting place was noted, a circular building of stone (courtesy of the Stoneworker's Society) that was imported from Krenstone and Vaya Duri, a place for guildmasters to meet and discuss the newest updates from across the multiverse.

Already, people were arriving from across the multiverse. The Flyleaf Forest had several Traveling Points, all of them in close proximity to the other, all of them artificially placed by travelers of the ancient past.

And from those Traveling Points came hundreds of ships. Great, plasma-scarred behemoths from the Silver Eye. Rickety galleons that rode the air. A modified jumbo jet, the steel wings replaced by bat-like extensions. The great nihilship of the Exodus Walkers, some ancient mammoth fish's skeleton enchanted with dark magic to fly. The Greater Medusae of the Levia Observation Association, great tentacles slithering down to moor on the larger trees of the wood. The annex building of the Academy of the Unreal, an entire building floating through the Traveling Point via magic, a purple aura undulating from the annex's base as it descended to root itself into the earth once more.

And, through it all, the Dreamer’s Lament. She slid alongside a much larger ship from the Chloroplasts, a small airship against a sea of green as the Chloroplasts' ship vined down towards the meeting grounds. Joseph looked out the window. The Flyleaf Forest possessed no stars, not even a sun. Instead, the guildfolk around the place had begun lighting lanterns, igniting fires, willing balls of light into existence. Between all of the forestry was a peppering of firefly-like lights.

“Becenti,” Ichabod called down, “A representative from the Big Five is outside. They want to talk.”

“Very well,” Becenti said, “Mr. Zheng, with me.”

Joseph looked back. Becenti was getting ready to climb up to the bridge and to the observation platform outside. Some of the other members of the guild were looking outside, though a few like Mekke and Wakeling had yet to rise, instead concentrating on a card game on the coffee table.

“Joseph?” Becenti said.

“Right,” Joseph said, “Coming.”

They climbed up to the bridge, where Ichabod was glaring out the window. Outside was a human-sized swan in a business suit, their wings inked with two swirling symbols that ended with a diamond in the center.

“Ah,” Becenti said, “That's the symbol of Eldest Ark.”

“Another guild?” Joseph asked.

“One of the largest,” Becenti said, “Come, let's make our introductions.”

They swung out onto the observation platform, and Becenti gestured for the swan to land. They did so, and Joseph noted that their webbed feet had been replaced with clockwork prosthetics, clawed and deadly-looking.

“I am Envo Cheevus of Eldest Ark,” the swan said, “Here to greet you at InterGuild, and log your guild in.”

“Myron Becenti, with Joseph Zheng at my side.”

“Your guild, sir?”

“Amber Foundation.”

Envo Cheevuz nodded, and pulled out from beneath a wing a small notebook, opening it up. Their prosthetic legs, Joseph realized, have opposable toes, and they wrote down the names.

“Yes, you're here and registered,” the swan said, “Lot 57A, sir. Good tidings.”

They gave a bow, and were off.

“You dragged me all the way out here for that?” Joseph asked.

“I dragged you all the way out here to feel the air,” Becenti said, “Look, Mr. Zheng. Your first time at InterGuild.”

Joseph stepped forward, and took in the sights of the entire plane. A few other ships were coming out of the Traveling Points now, one pouring out as a deluge, before coalescing together into a great ball of water, fish and merfolk and a massive crocodile floating within. The other was a massive turtle, who splayed out of the Traveling Point and drifted in the air, holes in its shell opening up for its guildmembers to watch the processions below.

“I wanted you to see this first,” Becenti said, “Before you do... whatever it is you do down there. Before you get caught up in something potentially serious, for all guilds are serious in their own ways.”

“You want me to remember all of this,” Joseph said.

“I remember when you got back from the gala,” Becenti said, “The exhaustion in your eyes. Your broken nose. It was... A disenchantment, I think.”

“It was more Rosemary's,” Joseph said.

“Yes,” Becenti said, “But I could see it in you, too. Which is why I wanted you to come out here, first.”

Below, a flock of strange, two-headed birds flew in a 'V' formation, their riders wearing armor made out of shining emeralds.

“This is a procession of the weird and wonderful, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, “The outcasts. The dispossessed. The trailblazers. That is what you see around you, Joseph. People like us. All of them, with their own reasons for coming to InterGuild. All of them, with their own dreams.”

Joseph smiled, turning to Becenti.

“It's not bad,” he said.

“No, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti returned Joseph's grin, “It is not.”