They waylaid a small infirmary when they left Stellaluna and were back on solid ground. Rosemary returned back to them from that trip with her arms full of gauze and potions and painkillers. Ezel retied Broon's wound, grimacing at the sight of it.
It would not heal well. It would leave a deep scar, even when Elenry got to him.
For now, it was all she could do to keep the wound from reopening. The potions had sealed it shut, preventing further blood loss. But that was it.
They could do nothing for Phineas, though he seemed to be recovering, to some poor extent, on his own. Doubtless he would have to return to Amzuth, however, and restore himself there, using whatever dark magics that had caused his spawning. Ezel did not like thinking about that. She had only once seen a being like Phineas, a creature of the Outside, and she still had nightmares.
Her own ankle was bound up. Rosemary had managed to find her a pair of crutches, and she used them as they traveled through the multiverse back to Londoa. They took trains. Cars. They even had a stopover on Prime, for the Traveling Point to the CITY had gone on lockdown, citing 'internal affairs.'
They all knew what that meant. There were enough Darwinist dregs.
So they flew, taking a plane across Europe, starting in New Avalon all the way to Leningrad. It was an awkward trip, for the people there were unused to guildfolk or Far Travelers. Many of them gave the likes of Broon or Phineas the side eye. They almost didn't let the Deep One fly at all.
Through it, Joseph kept to himself. Rosemary and Mallory talked to each other, even joked. Ezel would tell them stories at night of her divine parentage, her father, Enbilulu, and his guardianship over the Tigris and the Euphrates. Broon, when he was feeling well, would chuckle along with them. Even Phineas, missing an arm, his scales pale and sickly, joined in with them.
The danger had passed. They were on their way home.
And only Joseph was alone. As he always had been.
His soul was broken. It would heal, of course. It always did. He had done this before. But he knew, and they all knew, that they were hurt because of him. Regret hounded his mornings. He would open his eyes, having survived nightmares of Phineas's butchered corpse, of Rosemary's screams as Ahklahan tore her in half, of Broon's body lying on the ground, the gouge in chest truly fatal.
And he would awake, his heart pounding and his soul mewling.
***
It was on a cold morning that Joseph woke up from one such nightmare. They were on Sectum Suundra, a relatively unsettled plane, in a deep wood. Rosemary was tending to the campfire, the flames dancing in her eyes. She was clutching the hem of her cloak with one hand, the other tossing sticks into the coals.
Even the very sight of the flames set Joseph on edge. He could still feel Vorpal's Burning Rage on his skin, the heat, the blistering, the coughing roars in his ears.
He joined her at the fire, still wrapped up in a blanket. She looked over at him for a moment, gave him a small smile. Picked up his bag and handed it to him. He reached inside and pulled out breakfast, a protein bar and a water bottle. He ate quietly. The food tasted plain. The fire crackled.
Rosemary released her grip on her cloak. She almost relaxed, sagging a bit.
“Long night?” Joseph asked.
It was the first time he had spoken, truly spoken, for the last two days. She perked up at his voice.
“Yeah,” she said, “There was...”
She hesitated.
“Something out there, I think. I dunno. I start at shadows, sometimes. After jobs like these.”
Joseph nodded at that. He couldn’t blame her. Even if she wasn't on watch, he doubted that Rosemary had gotten much sleep.
He felt awkward, thinking of what to say, digging a hole in the dirt with his shoe.
“Listen,” he said, “I wanted to say... I'm sorry.”
But Rosemary shook her head.
“My choice. Phin's, too.”
“No,” Joseph said, “Even then. I've just been... I've just been thinking of myself. Letting you all use yourselves up for...”
He took a shuddering breath.
“I don't know. I've never... I've never been good at this. I've never felt like this. I'm doing it all wrong.”
“It's alright, Joseph,” Rosemary said, “We make sacrifices for each other. We protect one another.”
“But I haven't,” Joseph said, “Not until I heard Phineas scream.”
“You protected us on Chliofrond,” Rosemary said, “You helped dig us out.”
“I was there, too,” Joseph said, “I didn't want to die.”
“You protected G-Wiz,” Rosemary said, “You protected that prince, didn't you? Nearly gave your life up for it.”
And Joseph was quiet at that.
“...I know what it feels like,” Rosemary said, “To want a home.”
“I was just... chasing it,” Joseph said, “I didn't realize that it was here.”
“Did you want it to be?”
“I...”
He hesitated.
“I did,” he decided, “I do.”
“Then that's enough,” Rosemary said, “Then here's a deal you can make. You look after me, and I look after you. We protect each other.”
She leaned in.
“Promise?”
And he returned her smile.
“Promise,” he said.
***
He helped Phineas get off the ship, stumbling with the Deep One onto the docks. Kelphaven reached out before them, the early dawn cresting overhead, four-winged seagulls screaming and cawing. The comfortable, nostalgic din of the sea, the smell of salt in the air, made Joseph's heart ache. But it was a different sort of pain now, more bitter than sweet. No longer forlorn. No longer as wanting.
It was the pain that came from remembering the past, and the sorrow that it was gone.
Phineas let out a rasping cough. Joseph helped settle him down, waited for the episode to pass. Then, he offered his arm to the Deep One. Phineas took it, using Joseph to support himself as the two swayed off the docks. The others were waiting for them, having gone ahead.
“I'm going to get us a wagon,” Rosemary said, “I know a few people here. Be back!”
And she scampered off, soon disappearing into the crowd. Phineas leaned against Joseph, his arm snaking down and pulling out a magazine. Joseph tried to ignore the splotches of dried, black blood that stained its front cover. The Deep One chuckled as he swayed, and Joseph caught him.
“Thank you, Joseph,” he said.
Rosemary came back a few minutes later. She had secured passage aboard a traveling farmhand's wagon. They set Phineas and Broon onto the wagon, and Mallory looked at Ezel.
“You, too,” the Steamer said.
“I assure you,” Ezel said, “I'm fine. I can walk.”
“The less strain you're putting on yourself, the better,” Mallory said, “You know that. Get on up.”
“It's true,” Joseph said, “Go ahead, Ezel.”
The demigod sighed, then acquiesced. Joseph and Mallory helped push her up onto the wagon, and she sat down amidst bundles of hay. The wagon set off, and they were soon out of the city and on the journey back to Scuttleway. It was a familiar road. He had traversed it before. The land curved as they went over the edge, but this time Joseph didn't close his eyes, didn't feel his heart hammering at the very thought of gravity shifting, or moving perpendicular over the edge.
He had seen a lot, in his time out here.
Phineas looked up at Joseph at one point. He nestled over so he could whisper. Joseph stepped closer to the wagon, leaning over so he could hear.
“You stayed,” the Deep One said.
“Yeah, I did,” Joseph said.
“You could have left.”
“Maybe,” Joseph said, “Maybe not. But you're my guildmate, Phin. And before that, you were my friend.”
The Deep One grinned at that.
“I'm going to make it up to you,” Joseph said, “To everyone, got it?”
“You don't have to say that, Joseph,” Phineas said, “You 'make it up' by existing.”
He nestled back into the hay, letting out a soft coo. He looked comfortable. His eyes were closed, and his face had gone from pained to serene.
“Joseph Zheng. Metahuman. My friend.”
***
Deep snow riveted Scuttleway. There had been a snowstorm just the week before, and the Inner World was still recovering. Parts of the road had been plowed, though the night's dusting caked them in a blanket of soft white mixed with brown earth. Scuttleway itself looked like a sandstone bonfire as it loomed on the grayscale horizon, the earth the color of milk, the sky a light gray. The walls had been cleared away already, soldiers in cloaks of krem hair and bear fur watching as merchants streamed into the city. They hardly picked out the small wagon filled with hay among the crowd.
No one helped them as the Amber Foundation limped their way back to Castle Belenus. The only guildmember to greet them outside was Whiskey, the old marionette shoveling snow off of the walkway. He gave them a wave. They waved back.
And opened the doors to the Great Hall.
Elenry was in a state as she looked them over.
“A few weeks!” she screamed, “That was it! And this is what you do?!”
She shoved Broon onto the bed, and began picking away at his bindings. Whatever magic from the potions on Melmaen that had been holding it closed had begun to give way, fresh blood leaking from the deep cut.
“Alright,” she said, “Ezel, Phineas, you sit and wait. If I'm not quick, this is going to get ugly.”
She glanced back at the other three.
“You alright?”
“As well as can be,” Rosemary said.
“Good,” Elenry said, “I don't know what kind of foolish job Wakeling had you on this time, but this is the worst I've seen in a while. Now get out, I have work to do.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Rosemary said. They awkwardly left the infirmary.
Joseph took a deep breath.
“Right,” he said, “I guess I have to go up to talk to Wakeling.”
Rosemary winced. Mallory nodded.
“Just desserts, Joe,” she said.
“Don't I know it,” Joseph said. He felt unsteady as he looked at the staircases. He did not relish having to walk all the way up to the top of Wakeling's tower. She probably already knew he was back. Yet she hadn't sent anyone else to come retrieve him.
Which meant it was a final challenge, of a sort.
If he was serious about this, he would need to go up himself.
Yet he didn't want to. He still felt anger at the bitter old witch. He had left the guild. Used up Phineas and Rosemary. But he still would have done it again.
Perhaps she knew that. Perhaps she didn't.
He sighed heavily.
And walked up.
It was a familiar journey. The same one he had taken months ago, when he had first arrived to Londoa. He no longer felt winded going up the seemingly never ending staircases. At one point, he could hear Tiger growling over to Mekke, the clash of swords ringing from one of the empty rooms. Aldreia, a cleric who Joseph rarely spoke to, was setting up a couple of floating fires, her hands alight with flame. She gave a curt nod to him as he passed.
Chadwick and Becenti were talking to one another on the landing just before the final ascension up to Wakeling's office. The calico's eyes glittered at the sight of Joseph.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Excuse me, Myron,” the cat said, and he limbered off.
Joseph looked at Becenti. The old metahuman gave an awkward, stiff cough.
“You've returned, Mr. Zheng,” he said.
“I have.”
Becenti seemed at a loss for words. He adjusted his tie. Joseph leaned against the wall.
“I...” Becenti said, “I'm glad you're safe, Joseph.”
“Almost wasn't,” Joseph said, looking away, “Almost got Broon and Phineas killed.”
He let out a ragged sigh.
“I hurt them, Becenti. You said... you said...”
He faltered. At a loss for words.
Becenti nodded. Joseph didn’t need to say anything.
“Hmm,” the old metahuman said, “Ordinarily, any punishment for that would come from me. But I don't... I don't want to do that to you, Joseph. You look punished enough.”
“That obvious?” Joseph let out a hollow chuckle, “Only took a trek across the multiverse. Only took one of my only friends losing an arm.”
“Be lucky that was all,” Becenti said, “Journeys like these, they often demand more. Sometimes you don't realize how much they cost until much, much later.”
He stood aside.
“Wakeling will want to speak with you.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “I know.”
He began walking up the stairs.
“Joseph,” Becenti said.
The younger metahuman looked over his shoulder.
“She tries, you know,” Becenti said, “Wakeling. She has to keep her own counsel. From the rest of us, sometimes. She's learned dark secrets, Joseph. The sort of knowledge that one doesn't give easily.”
“...She was only my Nai Nai, man,” Joseph said, “That's all she was to me. My only connection to… out here.”
He gave Becenti a darker look, and a bit of the old Joseph came through.
“You'd be angry too, wouldn't you?”
Becenti hesitated at that, then gave a short nod.
“Perhaps,” Becenti said, “Still. It keeps her up at night.”
“Keeps me up at night, too,” Joseph said, “I'll see you later, Becenti.”
“Of course, Joseph.”
***
The ceiling of Wakeling's office beheld a starry sky. Joseph found the old familiar constellations of Earth. Centaurus, or Sea and Mountain. The Southern Cross. Others, though he found that Wakeling's enchantment intermixed the northern and southern skies. All of the constellations of his childhood, all together.
The room was the usual moody dark. Wakeling was at her customary place at her desk. The guildmaster looked tired. Worn out. She looked at Joseph, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of him.
“Broon's nearly dead,” she said.
“I know,” Joseph said.
“Mr. Phineas will need to go back to Amzuth for a little while,” she said, “A shame, Sunala was personally requesting his presence on Chliofrond.”
Joseph was quiet at that. Wakeling sighed.
“Did you find it, at least?” she asked.
“I did,” Joseph said.
“But you're still here.”
“I didn't have time,” Joseph said, “Phin was... there was a crusader.”
“From Pantheon?”
“Yeah.”
Wakeling sucked in a hiss. Nodded to herself grimly.
“I suppose it's only a matter of time before there's reprisal,” she said, more to herself, “I should never have let Ichabod go to Neos. I should never have...”
She looked over at Joseph.
“I... I'm sorry, that you didn't get what you were looking for, Joseph,” she said.
Joseph shook his head.
“Why don't you have a seat?” Wakeling asked.
He walked over, setting himself down on the old chair, the wood creaking beneath him. Wakeling's eyes flashed silver, and a blank parchment appeared out of thin air, attended by an ink-dripped quill.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
Joseph sighed.
And he did. The entire journey. Getting abandoned by the Recluse. The terrorist attack on St. Malendia's. Meeting up with Broon. Sneaking into the museum. The battle inside. Setting off the spells. At that, Wakeling nodded.
“Traveling exhibits like that are becoming more common,” she said, “You should be lucky you're still alive.”
“Trust me,” Joseph said, “I am.”
“And, after that, you escaped.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, “We laid low, but it looks like the Disciples of Aether managed to get Stellaluna off of our backs.”
“And now,” Wakeling said, “We should be expecting to hear from their lawyers any day now.”
Joseph nodded.
“No doubt for an under the table deal,” Wakeling said, “Gouffant's good at those. I'll get him and Glonthek on that, when they come knocking at our door.”
“What'll they want?” Joseph said.
“Money, probably,” Wakeling said, “Compensation for making them look bad in front of their client. We'll trade information, too.”
“I see,” Joseph said, “I'm... sorry. That I caused trouble.”
“You damn well better be,” Wakeling snapped, “It's not the Disciples I'm worried about. We've fucked up before. I've fucked up before.”
She leaned her head forward. Her eyes were set and dark as she glared at Joseph.
“What I care about, is that you came back with two near-corpses and a lifetime of nightmares, Mr. Zheng.”
And Joseph could do nothing but wince, and nod.
“Now,” Wakeling said, “Ordinarily, the stunt you've pulled is enough for me to throw you out, our previous deal be damned. You seemed pretty intent on reneging on that anyways.”
“I know,” Joseph said, “If that's... If that's what you want to do.”
“I don't,” Wakeling said, “Because at the end, you did stay.”
She sighed. Her eyes glowed silver, and a glass of wine materialized in the air. She drank deep, her head floating a few inches off of the desk. Her lips were stained purple as she finished, peering back at Joseph.
“You stayed,” she said, “You saved Phineas's life, even if it was your fault that he almost died in the first place. You, pardon the term, fucked up. But you had the guts to admit it. You've got the capacity to grow, at the very least.”
“Still...” Joseph said, “I…”
“Hmm,” Wakeling said, “I suppose I owe you an apology, as well.”
Joseph wanted to say “You do,” but he was wisely silent.
“I was hypocritical,” Wakeling said, “I was harsh. I was foolish, thinking that I could hide the Neos job from you. It's already gotten out to the whole damn guild, no matter how hard I tried to keep a lid on things.”
Joseph nodded.
And he felt odd.
He had never...
Never been apologized to.
Not like this.
Never like this.
Never from the heart, never for something so deep. He found himself biting back tears.
“I really messed up,” Joseph said, “Jesus, I’m… I’m so….”
“I know you did,” Wakeling said, and Joseph hated how soft, how kind, her voice was, “And I did, too. Where we go from here, well...”
She had been writing down Joseph's entire account. She presented it to Joseph, who gave it a lookover, before he nodded.
When he let it drift back up into the air, he was shocked as it lit up into flames.
“No doubt rumors are going to come up about what happened,” Wakeling said, “Let that be the price of your tomfoolery. They'll hurt deeper than the truth. You've made people angry here, Joseph. But you've also made people realize that you're not as bad as they thought you were.”
The flames ate through the paper quickly. Soon there was nothing but a pile of ash on the desk in front of Wakeling.
“This trip you went on was a private job I sent the six of you on,” Wakeling said, “The details came from an unknown client, and we swore to keep utmost secrecy on what you did.”
“People will know,” Joseph said.
“Of course they will,” Wakeling said, “But they'll recognize that we want to keep things on the down low. Be lucky that I'm not telling the wider guild about this, Joseph. Only the six of you, myself, Becenti, Mekke, and Elenry will be officially informed.”
“...Right,” Joseph said.
“And I want to warn you, Joseph Zheng,” Wakeling said, “If you do something like this again, I will cast you out. Fēngbào's grandson or no, you hurt your guildmates like this again, and I will throw you onto the streets myself.”
Joseph felt his face go red with shame. He could only give an awkward nod. Wakeling seemed satisfied with that.
“So, you're back with us,” Wakeling said.
Joseph nodded.
“I want you to stay here,” the guildmaster said, “In the city, at the very least, for a few weeks. I'm going to have you relegated to backup duty. That means you're staying put.”
“Alright,” Joseph said.
“And you'll be cleaning out the stables for the next two months,” Wakeling said, “Got it?”
Joseph winced.
“Now, you should get some food. Some rest. Your bed's still open to you, Mr. Zheng.”
She hesitated for a moment.
Then said, “Did you still want to get to Earth?”
Joseph gave a quiet shrug.
“I don't know,” he said, “I just... I need time to think, alright?”
“Very well, Joseph,” Wakeling said, “You can have that time. But don't leave the city.”
“Alright,” Joseph said.
He made to rise. He gave Wakeling one last look, opened his mouth, before closing it. He walked out of her office. The old witch waited until he was gone before her eyes glowed once more. A small journal pulled itself free from the shelves, drifting over to the desk and opening. Fēngbào's crisp, cutting handwriting made her heart pang with nostalgia. She read over the last instructions. And again.
She would need to tell Joseph, wouldn't she? Damn the hag’s last wishes.
But not now. Not with the young man's head in a fog. Let him rest. Recover. She would give it to him once things had calmed down.
Above, the stars twinkled.
***
The entirety of the traveling exhibit's wing was charred black. It was a miracle that the fire had not spread to the rest of the museum. But the university magicians were quick, and Old Sage Wizen had managed to quell Vorpal's Burning Rage completely, pulling the air within the museum into a single hand, empathetic spells of calming suffocating out the magical aspects of the fire, until all that was left was a few simmering cinders that the elderly warlock stamped out completely.
“Be lucky it was just a shard of that power,” Old Sage Wizen said, “Else all of Stellaluna would have been awash in fire. No amount of power would be enough to contain it.”
He glared at Lord Iridos, who had run all the way to the museum from his manor in pajamas. One of his guards had wrapped him in a blanket due to the cold.
They made their leave.
Of course, the fact that the majority of the spells in the traveling exhibit were now gone, eaten away by the Burning Rage, meant that Krishyar and Rinny had officially failed their contract.
Lord Iridos was not angry. He was far too kind a man for something like that. Instead, he looked downcast as he explained that their services would no longer be needed. Now bereft of an employer, the only thing they could do was sit at an inn, drink heavy drinks, and set up a Silverfish to call home.
This far away from a Traveling Point, it would take a couple hours to connect with their guildmaster. They were at an inn right by the docks, watching the city go by below them.
Out of nowhere, a starship erupted from below the island. Beautiful. Pristine. Silver. The logo of OzTech, that corporation from Neos, had been burned onto its hull. Below that was the ship's name, Dream of the Sky.
A thin man in an ermine coat stepped off of the ship. He was flanked by a woman in a black cloak, a raven perched on her shoulder, and a man in golden armor, a floating sun in place of his head. Even from the inn, they could see the serene, beaming smile on his face.
“Pantheon,” Krishyar grumbled, “Look alive, Rinny. They might be questioning us.”
“Maybe,” Rinny said.
But no, the lapdogs of OzTech were heading to the museum. At the sight of the three of them, the people of Stellaluna gave them a wide berth.
***
“Lord Iridos,” one of the guards said, “Julius Agrippa is here.”
That shook the nobleman from his stupor. He glanced up to see the head of OzTech walking to the museum. He was wearing a glorious overcoat to keep him warm, though it looked just a size too big for him as he swayed up the stairs. A thin smile was painted on his face, glazed-over eyes sliding to look at Lord Iridos.
“My friend,” he said, “Where is the curator?”
“Ah,” Lord Iridos said, “He's... out.”
“Hyperion, does he speak the truth?” Agrippa asked.
The man with the sun for a head loomed over Iridos. His face began to glow, blot out the day, replacing it with his own. Iridos suppressed a scream. He felt his mind burn.
Then, it dulled.
“No,” Hyperion said, “The man speaks the truth.”
“Hmm, unfortunate,” Agrippa drawled, “Well, have a look about the place. See what you can find.”
He looked at Iridos. The nobleman cringed, shrinking into himself.
“Where is Ahklahan?” Agrippa asked, “I had him sent here to guard my sarcophagus. Where did he go?”
“I... I don't know,” Iridos said, “Th-there was a fire, and-”
“Who started it?”
“I don't know,” Iridos repeated, his voice pleading, “Please, sir, I don't know. I just-”
“My raven's found something,” the woman accompanying Agrippa said. She was gesturing at the ground. Beneath the rubble and ash-covered footprints were stains of red.
The air above Agrippa shimmered. A... A thing materialized over his shoulder, a lion with a long, sinewy, serpentine neck. It drifted down, forked tongue flickering out, tasting the air. It dipped against the stain, its emerald eyes widening in glee. For what it tasted, it liked.
“Blood,” Agrippa said, “Good. Clear the area here. Get a forensics crew from the Dream.”
“I say,” Iridos said, “You can't do that, we're still in recovery e-efforts-”
The glazed eyes drifted to Iridos. Became clear. Filled with disgust. Iridos gulped.
“S-Sir.”
“They killed another one of my Pantheon,” Agrippa said, and his usual drunken drawl was gone, “I demand compensation for his death. Do you want to be responsible for that? To have me decide it was you who killed him?”
Iridos shook his head.
“Then let me do my work,” Agrippa said, “Everyone gets out. No one enters this godforsaken museum unless I say so. Are we clear?”
Iridos nodded. Agrippa smiled, and the cloudy look returned.
“Good,” he said, “Now, run along. My guild has its work to do.”
The nobleman hesitated, then left. He could see that Hyperion was guiding the rest of the guards out. A contingent of OzTech scientists were already arriving at the museum, Fedtek devices in hand. They would work their magic.
Iridos bit back a sob, Agrippa's harsh glare burned in his mind. He went back to his manor, and stayed there for the rest of the week.
***
The next few days were punishing work, as Becenti assigned Joseph the worst chores in the guild. He had to clean the stables. Scrub every latrine in Castle Belenus. Look after Lazuli at night, lest the android decide to do a prank that would get someone killed. The last of these was the worst, as Joseph lived off of a diet of coffee as he walked with Lazuli through the night.
Despite the fact that Whiskey was right there. They passed the damn mannequin multiple times throughout the night.
But Joseph took his punishment with resigned acceptance.
He deserved worse. And he knew it.
The days drew ever forward. Winter curled its fist over Scuttleway. The storms continued on, intensified, some said, by the wars of the eln meia. Wakeling had told Joseph to stay in the city, to stay in the guildhall, but he needed no such instructions. He would look out the windows in the morning to see snow that rose up to his waist.
It was during one such morning that Joseph, alone, stepped out of his room. He was wearing the heaviest cloak he could find, along with a pair of sturdy boots that someone – probably Nash – had left behind in the community closet. He had found a right glove from Chadwick, who had stolen it from somewhere in the city, and Broon had given him a left handed, oversized mitt from a set the half-orc had recently ordered.
He wound his way up the staircases of Castle Belenus, by now familiar with them and their maze like structure. He knew which way to turn, which hallways to go down, which rooms to avoid, lest he incur some asshole's wrath.
It was the same balcony that he and Nash had hung out on, the morning of the expedition. It was crusted over with snow from last night. Becenti was leaning against the railing, a calm expression on his face. He, too, was wearing the heaviest clothing he owned.
The old metahuman turned to Joseph as he walked out.
“Mr. Zheng.”
“Becenti.”
“You're not wearing a hat,” Becenti said.
“Don't have one.”
“Here,” Becenti reached into a coat pocket, and came out with a wool cap. He tossed it to Joseph, “I always carry a few extra.”
Joseph knew that was a lie. But he let Becenti have his moment, his awkward warmth, and slipped it on. He walked over to his side, the two of them watching the city awaken.
Neither of them said a word. Neither of them needed to.
After a few minutes, Becenti gave a nod to Joseph, and took his leave. The young metahuman was alone.
His soul was almost healed. He could feel it. He felt... whole, again. Or as whole as he ever would be. Nothing felt right after Mordenaro. Everything about him was different.
He was, he realized, not the same person as before, when he had first stumbled out of Inweth.
And he liked that.
Joseph Zheng stood out on the balcony for much of the morning, content to stand and watch the snow fall, the city breathe, alone with only his thoughts.
And, for the first time, he was not uncomfortable doing so.