Meleko and Ora looked out of place in the dark cloaks that the elves had been wearing. They wouldn't pass for elves, not anytime soon, the Nelnuthan folding his ears down beneath the hood, the Jugdran struggling to even put the hood on with his hammer-shaped head. Rosemary grimaced.
“We need heavier clothing,” she said, “Something that hides your silhouette.”
“We could just sneak,” Meleko said, and he glanced out across the dark waters to the occupied parts of the plane, “Security doesn't seem too bad.”
“They're arrogant,” Rosemary said, “They assume that they're the only ones who know about the plane. Doesn't seem like Sunala's warned them of any Federation investigator.”
Her guildmate nodded.
“Right,” he said, “You and Ora get on the boat. I'll swim.”
“What?” Rosemary said, “Are you sure?”
“Aye,” Meleko said, “Better to have two aces in the hole, not just one. And I don't altogether trust Brother Bone.”
He glanced at the dark waters.
“Besides, we're shooting ourselves in the foot if we think I can fit in one of these damn cloaks. My head's too big. You wear it, Rosemary, finish looking the part.”
He handed the dark robes to her. Rosemary, after a moment, donned them. The prickling feeling in her back ceased, though it did not completely abate.
It only disappeared with the red cloak, and the aping of her family's wings.
“Our target's the silver tower,” Rosemary said, “Remember it? It's on its side.”
“Oh, I remember it,” Meleko said, and the look on his face became dark, “I remember.”
He shouldered his rifle, stretching a bit. Walked over to the shore and dipped a finger into the water, testing its temperature. It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. The Jugdran could see a sea of algae far below, shining in neon-blue bioluminescence. It was light enough to guide his way, like undersea stars. Behind him, Rosemary was adjusting Ora's cloak, making sure he was hiding his muzzle as much as she could.
“From what I remember,” she was saying, “There are certain Elven races that have the ability to take on half-wolf forms. Maybe they'll think you're one of them.”
“Do they have purple fur?” Ora asked, his pitch an octave higher than usual, “I-I don't think it's going to work.”
“One way or another, we're going to have to get you into that tower,” Rosemary said. She took a deep breath, “Relax. It'll be fine. I'm right here with you.”
“I-I do suppose that counts for something,” Ora said.
They glanced at the sound of splashes. Meleko was already swimming, the only signs of his departure being a few lonely ripples on the water's surface. The canoe rocked a bit from the disturbance.
Rosemary took another deep breath.
“Get on the boat,” she said, “I'll row.”
“A-Alone?” Ora said, “I suppose...”
He clambered onto the canoe. Picked up a paddle.
“It's for two, yes?”
Rosemary smiled, in spite of herself, in spite of her fear. She joined him.
“You know how to paddle?” she asked.
“No,” the Nelnuthan admitted, “B-But, then, I've had to learn a lot of things lately.”
“Right,” Rosemary said, “Dip it into the water in time with me. I'll stick in the back to help control.”
Ora nodded. He dipped the paddle into the water. It was difficult, at first, and after the first few strokes he found his thin arms were burning. But he soldiered on.
The vastness of the occupied Chliofrond was before them.
***
Adonal Adaya stepped off of the Vanima attended by four guards, each of them taken from the royal knights of his homeland. Silver armored, each of them held in their hands one of the sacred blades that had been wielded by their forefathers to guard the Adaya family over their long history. Curved, freshly sharpened and polished, the four weapons glittered, unsheathed, in the light of the will-o-the-wisps that now inhabited the dead plane.
Dead plane. Adaya huffed at that as he made his way down the tower they had set up as a port. It would not do to call this place a dead plane, not when elves lived here now. Nor would it do to call it the name the Mutts had given it. Chliofrond.
No, it needed a proper name.
He would need to think on it. Consult his dictionaries. Find a proper name for this ancient place, scour it of all its doggish influence. The floating islands were a blight upon the freshwater sea. If he had the time and energy, Adaya would replace them, too.
He stepped out of the tower and onto one of the passenger ships that plied the waters, a beautiful, swan-shaped canoe with wood taken from Taure, the golden eyes mined from Kahaza, the paint on its beak mixed from dyes found only on the Iluvan Reefs. A composite example of Elven culture across the multiverse.
Elven supremacy, rather.
On the nose, perhaps, but Adaya was glad to see that they were able to be on the nose with what they did. They were becoming more obvious, and no one said a word. Not even the Federation.
The boat drifted across the dark waters. A few canoes were out tonight, one of them lagging a bit – it seemed like one of the elves down there was new to the whole thing. Must have come from a desert plane.
“Well,” Adaya said, and he called out, “You there!”
The canoe stopped.
“Y-Yes!” the front figure, the one who had been having trouble, said, “H-Hello!”
“Having a bit of trouble?” Adaya said.
There was a bout of silence. Perhaps this newcomer was uncomfortable. He could not make out their features out here in the darkness, could not properly tell what subspecies he was from. That mattered little. There were only elves here, after they had finally expelled the last of Sunala's damned local guild.
“Yes, we are!” the other figure called out. A woman, “Idiot's from a desert plane, never seen a canoe in his life!”
“Y-Yes!” the front elf said, “What's an ocean?”
Adaya smiled at that. Well, there was a first for everything. One should never look down upon ignorance, unless the ignorance stuck like honey.
“Keep your back straight!” he called out, “Quit hunching over! Twist your waist. Yes, like that.”
The canoe started back up. The desert elf could learn, at least.
“Th-Thank you!” he called out.
“Of course!” Adaya said. He turned back to his helmsman, “Now, take me to the Shard.”
***
The swan-headed canoe moved off. Rosemary's heart was pounding harder than a war drum, and she hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until she exhaled. Ora glanced back at her, his large eyes alight with fear.
“That was...”
“Too close,” Rosemary said, “God, I didn't realize that Adaya himself would talk to us.”
“No sign of Meleko or Bone,” Ora said.
“Of course not,” Rosemary said, “They're keeping themselves well hidden.”
She glanced out. Aye, she couldn't even see Meleko sneaking across any of the islands. Most likely, he was deep underwater. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of sea elves that might have gone below to patrol. It would make sense, wouldn't it?
But no, she had her own job to do. Meleko and Bone's departures meant that they had confidence in her. And she had to be confident in them.
She had her own role to play, here.
“Let's take a break, real quick,” Rosemary said, “Pull into one of the islands. We don't want to look like we're following Adaya.”
“R-Right,” Ora said, and then, to himself, “Back straight. Twist the waist...”
***
There were, much to the Amber Foundation's benefit, no sea elves in the waters tonight. There were a few of them working the crews of the fleet, but they very rarely dipped into the freshwater sea, content to stay aboard their ships. Sea elves, true to their name, prefer saltier waters, and this lake-like ocean had very little of that.
As such, Meleko swam in peace in the dark waters, using the fifth eye in the center of his head to help with navigation. Jugdrans had evolved from sea dwellers, and were used to murkier, darker places with very little light. So much of the ocean of Chliofrond felt like home as he swam, using the islands above as landmarks, keeping a note on the direction of Rosemary and Ora's canoe. He was tailing them behind, making sure that they were getting there safely.
In the distance, he could make out Brother Bone's coffin. The metahuman had gone far ahead of them, beelining for the capsized island that held the Shard of Imagination. Meleko grimaced.
If he made a scene, then they would need to keep their distance.
But then, Meleko knew that Bone was no fool. He could not make any hasty actions, not unless they somehow came down upon his brother. He was a seasoned criminal, and such veterans worked as guerillas would, with as few mistakes as possible.
They had limited resources here. Only four bodies, one of them completely untrained. They could not afford to reveal any weakness, any at all.
He sensed the coffin move to the island, hang just beneath the boardwalk.
***
They moved past the great islands marked and overgrown with plantlife, lit only by the dim glow of the will-o-the-wisps. Most of the inhabited islands were rightside up, forested monuments to the very best that metahumanity had to offer, with their white marble buildings infested with vines, their statues, their mossed-over mosaics.
But the tower that held the Shard of Imagination had capsized. Half of it was fully submerged underwater. It had been identified as a laboratory of some sort, or a university. A silvered, marble tower had jutted out of the stone, out of the rest of the urban jungle, unblemished by the nature that had taken the rest of its comrades.
Unblemished, that is, until Broon had cut a hole into its side. The Verdant Reclamation had followed his lead, cutting holes into the tower in order to open it up to the outside world, their blades enchanted to cut through whatever metahuman magic had made it eternal in the first place.
A door had been cut near the port in order to allow for easier entry – no jumping down into the darkness, as Broon and the others had done when they were here. A boardwalk had been set up by the door, and Rosemary could make out Adaya's swan-shaped canoe. The head of the Verdant Reclamation had already gone inside, accompanied by his four silver-armored guards.
A few soldiers were stationed outside. A few more were on the tower's top, walking up and down its length.
“Alright,” she said, “Here we go.”
She heard Ora's sharp intake of breath. The realization that it was time for action. The Nelnuthan waited for her lead. She had them move the canoe closer to the boardwalk. One of the guards on the planks glanced over. Made to gesture to her-
And then he fell into the water. As did his companion. Bone's work, the metahuman pulling the soldiers into the water. She hoped he made it quick. A quick snap of the neck.
Part of her knew otherwise, though. Bone had suffered at the Reclamation's hands.
The guards on top of the tower seemed none the wiser. Rosemary and Ora maneuvered the canoe over to the boardwalk, stepping out and onto solid ground. Bone's coffin rose out of the water, opening up like a crab in molt, and the metahuman peeled out.
“Better sink the canoe,” he hissed to Rosemary, “Makes it too obvious that we're here.”
She nodded in agreement, moving away from the canoe as Bone lifted a hand, the coffin sinking back into the water. She heard a dull snap from the boat, and it began taking on water, sinking slowly into the murk.
The three of them looked at each other. Then, all of them nodded.
And headed into the tower. No guards were posted here, and much of the place looked abandoned. The labs had been drained of water, at least, and the ground was dry. They were standing on the walls of the place, with tables affixed on their left, the lamps that had once been on the ceiling now working as oddly-shaped torch sconces. Balls of glowing light, miniature moons, floating within the glass.
“No sign of Meleko,” Rosemary whispered.
“He'll be around,” Bone said, “Follow my lead.”
Steps had been erected to reach the door frames, which had been widened to make it easier to walk through, now that they were on their sides, miniature microcosms of the tower itself. Some had more work put into them than others, more square than rectangular, now, the doors removed from their hinges. The lab equipment, the broken glass, had all been cleared away.
It was like walking inside a picked-over corpse. Any sign of life had been eaten away, leaving only the skeleton.
There were few elves here. Rosemary only saw one, a sleeping guard of some sort, as Bone guided them through the tower.
To be safe, Bone snapped his neck with a twist of the wrist. There was a violent look on the supervillain's face. She remembered how he had made a point not to kill anyone during his and Brain's infiltration before, how he had 'merely' twisted them up, kept them alive, gave Phineas a chance to restore them with his magic.
None of that, here.
Here was a merciless man, driven to the edge, his face taut as a line.
Just what had happened to him, in that prison?
They wound their way through the tower – up the tower, if it had been still standing – with little resistance.
That is, until they heard footsteps and voices. They were in one of the honeycomb-shaped labs, Adonal Adaya's voice echoing through the rooms, thin and hateful. He was barking orders to an attendant or other.
“And I want to make sure that the Shard is properly ready to go on schedule,” he snapped, “When the hell does that damn specialist arrive?”
“In a week, sir,” his attendant said, “H-He said he was delayed, it seems like there's been a problem with his guild ID.”
“Damn Federation and their bureaucracy,” Adaya said, “All they know how to do is file paperwork.”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Bone traded looks with Rosemary. She nodded, and they moved off into another room, Rosemary grabbing Ora by the scruff of his cloak and pulling him with her. They hid in another room, one that did not directly lead to the observatory at the top of the tower.
Adaya crossed over to where they had been a moment later. He was surrounded by his four guards, his attendant at his side, a scroll of paper in hand.
“Make a note to make sure the White Feather's roster is updated,” he said, “The sooner we do that, the sooner we can ignore all of that nonsense. I tell you, the guild system is a sham.”
He sighed, rubbing his temple.
“Any news from Londoa?”
“Nothing recent,” his attendant said, “Not since your conversation with the Lady Sunala over Silverfish.”
“Hmm,” Adaya said, “Interesting.”
There was a flatness to his voice. A suspicion. But he did not voice it. Instead, he merely moved off, into another room. Perhaps to his own private quarters. But Rosemary felt sharp relief flood through her system.
Adaya didn't know about Ora.
Sunala must have sent out communication. But someone had intercepted. Someone must have intercepted. It was the only explanation. She glanced at Ora, and flashed him a smile.
Bone brought up a hand. Flipped it up. His brow furrowed.
“They don't have bones,” he said.
“W-What?” Ora said.
“I was curious, I didn't sense them,” Bone whispered, “I sense bones in my vicinity, it's how I track to see if anyone's getting close to me while I'm on the job.”
“No bones...” Rosemary said. A realization was coming to her. Her eyes widened, “Don't move.”
They complied. Bone stood up straight, opening up a pack, small ivory shards pouring into his hand. Ora's breath became shuddery and panicked. Rosemary put a hand on his shoulder.
“It's alright,” she said, “I think they're using illusion magic.”
“Is Adaya a spellcaster?” Bone asked.
“Of some variety,” Rosemary said, “Sunala told me a bit about it, but never into much detail.”
“That could have been bad,” Bone said, and he grimaced, “If we had just-”
He shut up at the sound of more footsteps. One of his royal guards appeared, clad in silver armor that resembled, vaguely the wings of a swan, the helmet emblazoned with the bird's visage. It reminded Rosemary of the way Joseph wore his eagle's head, the bird overtaking the humanoid, though instead of a hook beak it was flat. A bit pathetic looking, if she was being honest.
What was not pathetic was the blade the guard held in their hands. A wicked-looking, curved blade that shone like the moon, even in the dusk of the tower. It looked ancient, the handle revealing intricate, carved runes, the crossguard swirling at the tips like the neck of a loon.
“Does he have bones?” Rosemary asked.
“...No,” Bone said, “An illusion.”
“Interesting defenses,” Rosemary whispered, and she grimaced, “Probably activates with whoever’s in the tower. Copies them, mimics their conversations, like an AI.”
They moved away from the sight. Continued sneaking down through the opposite rooms. Guards were patrolling now. Or, rather, their mirages, copies created by Adaya's magic. They couldn't be sure if they could actually see or not, so they made sure to remain hidden. Each of the copies moved in an automated fashion, up and down the rooms, crossing and patrolling as though they had been pre-programmed.
If they could truly see or not, these illusions did not spot the three of them as they made their way up the length of the tower. To a final room before the chamber with the statue of Iresine, with four statues that had been destroyed in the last battle of Chliofrond, complete with an energy cannon that the Verdant Reclamation had stripped from the floor and moved elsewhere.
No, instead, there were four guards. All of them glared at the door as Bone opened it up. The same as the illusions, each of them carrying their beautiful, terrible blades, all of them armored in the semblance of the Reclamation.
All of them were real.
At once, Bone's hand shot out. The four guards grunted, twisted, snapped like twigs. All four of them fell to the ground. Bone let out a ragged laugh as he stepped fully into the room, Rosemary and Ora behind him.
“That was...” Rosemary said, “Quick.”
“Indeed,” Adaya's voice rang, “It was.”
The voice came from the ceiling. From the walls. Reverbed from the floor.
“Magic,” Ora said, “Dear lord, it's-”
“A Federation investigator,” Adaya said, “How... interesting. And two guildfolk, I presume. How did you get here?”
“Mum's the word,” Rosemary whispered to Ora. The Nelnuthan nodded.
“No time for this,” Bone snapped. He strode forward, stepping over the bodies of the royal guard. His hand closed 'round the handle of the next door. It was locked.
The metahuman cursed, pulled free shards of bone, twisted them together and started to jam it into the lock.
“A cunning trick,” Adaya said, “My guards were loyal men. All four of them had been raised to be the perfect soldiers, the perfect elves, the perfect guardians for the most sacred of blood.”
“Your own,” Rosemary said, darkly.
“Well, I may be a faded, jaded old man,” Adaya said, “But, yes. Tell me, do you know the weapons in their hands?”
The lock would not pick. The room went cold. Rosemary put herself between the corpses and Ora.
“They're blades,” Rosemary said.
“Ah,” Adaya said, “I recognize you, now. The faerie.”
She paled. Bone glanced back at her, his brow furrowing.
“A... faerie?” he said.
“That's n-not true,” Rosemary said, “I'm not-”
“Wingless freak,” Adaya said, and Rosemary flinched as though struck. Tears stung her eyes. Her world swam, and Ora could tell she was retreating into the past.
“They are weapons of my family,” Adaya continued, "Given to me by my father. They bind the wielder's soul to the blade, so that they are one and the same. As though they were one's arms. One's wings. Yes, little fae, it took me a very long time to find your ancestry.”
Rosemary flinched again.
“I could not measure your skull, nor the length of your fingers, nor the shape of your jaw,” Adaya said, “I needed to use conjecture. Reach out to old contacts. I found your family on Silvere.”
“No,” Rosemary said, her voice hollow, “No-”
“Some might call it ludicrous, that I would research just one attendant in a colleague's retinue. But you interested me, little fae.”
Something in the world shifted. Death became life. For a moment, the four corpses became sheathed in ethereal glows. Like cocoons.
Then, those glows lifted upwards. Ghosts, still holding Adaya's ancestral weapons. Four in all.
“I... hate... ghosts,” Bone said. He spun.
Ducked, as two of the ghosts stepped forward and slashed. One nearly decapitated him, the other cut deep into his side as he stumbled away, grimacing. His bone lockpick twisted into a knife as he shot it at one of them. It connected with the apparition's stomach, forcing it back.
The other two ran at Rosemary. She blinked.
And then she raised her sceptre, a sphere of light enveloping her and Ora as the two ghosts brought their blades down, silver crashing against day. She pointed, and a beam of light erupting from the rose's end, spearing through one of the ghosts, who was blown back and into the ceiling.
Then, they dropped their sword. It spun, for a moment, to the ground, fluttering like an iron leaf. The ghost's form dissipated into a mist, rushing towards its falling weapon, reforming just as the blade buried itself into the floor. The guard pulled it free.
Brother Bone twisted a hand, and the four corpses still on the ground shuddered. Their skeletons pulled themselves free from their flesh, Ora's eyes widening as the ivory-red mosaics broke away, shards of ribs and arms and legs and spines flying around the room and staining the walls red. Like the ripping gale of a sandstorm, they tore at the ghosts, ripped ectoplasm and splattered it on his fur, thundered against Rosemary's shield, which cracked and shuddered and, at last, broke as the metahuman's storm ceased. The room was painted red and blue and with flecks of sunlight.
The weapons clattered to the ground.
And the royal guard began to reform around them. Four soldiers rose up once more, apparitions of the Reclamation. Bone stepped forward, almost stumbled from the wound in his side. But he raised a hand, and the bone storm started up once more.
Rosemary erected a shield, watching as the metahuman tore the apparitions to pieces. She and Ora only watched as the corpses of the guards were used to destroy their souls, flecks of bone and blood and other matter flying about the room. They only calmed down when there was nothing left.
And the swords fell to the ground.
And the royal guard began to reform around them.
“Get out of here!” Bone snarled, “I'll hold them off, get through! Save my brother!”
She needed no further prodding. Rosemary grabbed Ora and all but pulled him with her, pointing her sceptre at the door. No time for lockpicking, she fired off a beam of light that tore the door from its hinges, throwing it into the next room.
And they were back in the vast chamber that led to the observatory. It had once been a monument to Iresine, one of Chliofrond's greatest figures. He was cast in marble, and at the nomadic kingdom's height, models of the floating cities had drifted around him. Those had crashed long ago, with the city's fall, and now lay moldering on the floor. Once, water from the freshwater sea had bled into the room, waist deep and warm. But that, too, had been drained away. They were on solid ground.
A long ladder led to the observatory, though due to the tower's fall, they merely had to run to it, open the door, and enter.
They ran, hearing Bone's shouts and screams and roars echo as he held back the four apparitions. Ora stumbled, fell, felt his knees bruise up. But Rosemary was right beside him, helping him to his feet.
“Almost there,” she said, “Almost there.”
She still could not see Adaya.
–And with that thought, he melted into existence. The thin elf was far faster than she realized as he bore down on her, snarling, something flashed in his hands as he swung at Rosemary, who pushed Ora out of the way.
But he had not been aiming for the Nelnuthan. Ora hit the ground, scrabbling away as Adaya jabbed whatever he was holding into Rosemary’s arm.
And she began to scream. She crumpled, twisted into a fetal position. Three iron needles jutted from her arm, so cold that they burned, that mist welled around the wound.
And she was screaming.
“Cold iron,” Adaya murmured, then, louder, over her agony, “Cold iron!”
He let out a vile laugh.
And heard a click.
Adaya turned around, stumbling a bit at the sight of Ora Sota standing up, plasma pistol in hand. All became silent. Rosemary's screams turned into whimpers as she went into shock, still curled around her wound, still burning and freezing and dying. Ora's hands shook as he took aim.
“Investigator,” Adaya said, and he composed himself, wiping his hands on his robes, standing tall, “Welcome to the dead plane.”
“W-What did you do to her?” Ora said. He hated how high-pitched his voice was.
“Cold iron is anathema to the fae,” Adaya said, “She'll be dead soon enough, sir. There's no need to worry about it.”
“Remove it,” Ora said.
“...Sorry?”
“Remove the needles,” Ora said.
At that, Adaya barked out a laugh. It was strange, seeing him do so. His body didn't look like it was designed for humor, so devoid of color, so devoid of mirth. Indeed, it sounded almost painful, his body shuddered as though he had a cold.
“Why would I ever do that?” he said, “I am only killing a faerie. Millions of her kind die every day, just to run electricity through homes.”
She was almost silent now. The shaking, the clawing, the gasping, those were dying down.
“You are of the Silver Eye,” Adaya said, “And that means you are under the purview of the Alu'eer.”
He drifted, moving so that he stood over Rosemary's shaking form.
“I am an elf. My kind have been living in the multiverse for thousands of years. Together, our people form two kingdoms. They need not be enemies.”
“I...”
“I have friends in high places, investigator, sir,” Adaya said, and he moved again, away from Rosemary. He noted how Ora's pistol traveled with him, “Friends, within the Federation government. Those sympathetic to the cause of the Verdant Reclamation.”
“'The cause',” Ora said, “From what I hear, you're a supremacist organization.”
“'Supremacist' is a harsh word,” Adaya said, “We are only creating living space for our people. Reclaiming our old glories. Our rightful place in the multiverse. Surely, you can understand.”
He dipped his head forward, staring at Ora head on.
“Surely,” he continued, “Were you in my place, and your people were being pushed back, bit by bit, day by day, by other races, other creeds, other ideas, ideas that corrupt your children, make them refuse their parents, surely you would want to do something about it?”
Ora's mouth was a thin line. His hands were still shaking. Fear was running through his entire system. He kept thinking back on the elf on the ship, the one whom he had killed, the smell of burning plasma, the hole in his stomach. This, and not Adaya's words, were what made him hesitate.
But Rosemary was dying. Her city would die, too, if he did nothing.
He took aim.
No words necessary. Ora fired at the elf. The plasma pistol rocked, the dundun sound echoed through the dark room.
It zipped through Adaya, who sighed.
And the illusion disappeared. He had been still standing over Rosemary's body.
“Damn,” Ora said, and he turned, pointing the pistol at Adaya, who rushed forward and grabbed his wrist. With a shocking, hideous strength, Adaya twisted. Ora let out a scream as his wrist snapped, pain blossomed up and down his arm like electric shocks. Adaya lifted the Nelnuthan up by his arm so that they could see eye to eye.
The elf's face was contorted into a look of pure disgust. Pure hate. The apathetic mask had slipped.
Adaya slammed Ora into the ground. Ora's vision swam as he turned up to look up. He could see the statue of the metahuman, high above. Iresine looked... kind. Angelic, even, not at all like the stories he had read about, that his father had told him. Adaya eclipsed the marble, glaring down at Ora-
And then a drill of light tore through him. Blood – Elven blood – splattered Ora's face, stained his fur. The head of the Verdant Reclamation swayed for a second, stumbling, clutching his stomach, at the perfect hole that had been bored through him as though he were a mere plank of wood.
And then he fell. Blood inked into his gray robes, pooled on the floor. Ora, blinking through agony, watched him breathe in once. Twice, his entire form rising and falling.
A third time.
And he was still.
Rosemary held her sceptre in hand, her skin having become unhealthy and pale. The iron needles lay scattered on the ground beside her, and her breathing was shallow.
But her eyes burned with a defiance Ora had never seen before, not in his entire life.
“H-Hurry,” she gasped.
He ran to her side. Helped her to her feet. She slipped on the ground like it was ice, her entire form shaking.
Ora heard movement behind him. He spun around to see Bone stepping through the doorway. He was bleeding from multiple slashes that the royal guard had delivered to him, but he stood, staunching the wounds and covering them with bone. He grimaced at the sight of Rosemary. Walked over and poked at the cold iron needles on the ground.
He put two and two together.
“Well, now,” he said, “That's... certainly interesting.”
She was avoiding the metahuman's gaze. Something imperceptible had shifted in the way the metahuman looked at her. Ora glared at him. There was...
Greed there, now.
“Enough,” he said, “Your brother.”
The metahuman came to. He blinked.
“Aye,” he said.
“The ghosts,” Ora said, “Are they...?”
“Tied to their master's magic,” Bone said, “Or, that's what I assume.”
They looked at Adaya's body. Now devoid of life, the elf looked thin. Small. Even pathetic, all of this bluster revealing a sick old man.
Ora supported Rosemary, the faerie's eyes lolling, her body shuddering in phantom pain. But she walked, nonetheless, as Ora guided her forward, wincing from his broken arm. They crossed the great chamber that held the stone relief of Iresine. His eyes seemed to follow them as they approached the capsized landing that led to the observatory.
Rosemary was murmuring something. Ora's ears flickered to hear her.
“C-careful,” she was saying, “The door...”
“She says to be careful,” Ora said, “Something's wrong with the door.”
Bone nodded. He opened it up, revealing the other side. The observatory was rightside up. Bone grimaced.
“I...” he said, “That's disturbing.”
“It's almost like the other room's center of gravity is different,” Ora said, “I've seen it a few times. I-I had a colleague who used every clear a-area of his office for paperwork. Set up furniture on the ceiling and walls.”
He stepped through, pulling Rosemary in with him. His stomach swam, but he was used to artificial gravity – sometimes it went out back home, and he was forced to improvise – and thus acclimated fine to the new room. The observatory was dominated by a great telescope in the center, pointing up towards a clear, blue sky, despite the fact that it was night outside. The place had been a study, with Silver Eye star charts, drawings of metahuman anatomy, an alembic tucked away in the corner.
And Brother Brain. Still there. Still frozen in a pocket of time. The man who had called himself Spinlock was a large, muscular man, though most of his bulk was hidden by a great trenchcoat. He was mid-fall, having been kicked by someone into the invisible aura of the metahuman Chronilocke's power.
“The idiot,” Bone said, and he smiled, “The damn idiot.”
“Sh-Shard,” Rosemary whispered. She nodded, weakly, to the telescope. Ora walked over to it, glancing this way and that, then looked into the eyepiece.
And although Chliofrond, the dead plane, was host to an empty night, there were stars on the other side.
Bone glanced over.
“We can reveal it,” the metauman said, “With my brother's help.”
He gestured. Brother Brain convulsed in his sphere of time, and a bead of sweat rolled down Bone's temple as he pulled at his sibling's skeleton, pulling him away from Chronilock's influence. The effort took almost an eternity. Ora kept glancing back at the door, sure that at any moment someone would discover Adaya's corpse, that they would realize intruders were in the tower.
But no one came.
Brother Brain was freed. The hulking metahuman stumbled back, catching himself just before he fell over. He was shaking his head.
“W-What...?”
He looked around. His eyes fell on Bone.
“B-Brother,” he said.
“Brother,” Bone said.
And the thin man embraced him.
“Oh my god, Brother,” Bone said, “Oh my...”
He wiped his eyes. Brother Brain looked confused, glancing around the room.
“Brother,” he said, “What happened? Why is Rosemary here?”
His gaze fell on Ora. The Nelnuthan quivered.
“Who is that?”
“That,” Bone said, “Is a Federation investigator.”
“When did a Feddie get here?”
“It's been...” Bone hesitated. His voice was slower, more careful, as he continued, “It's been several months.”
“Several... months?”
And Brother Brain realized.
“Chronilock,” he said.
“One of the Amber Foundation kicked you into one of her bubbles,” Bone said.
“I remember steam,” Brain said.
He was quiet.
As was Bone.
The world seemed to slow, for just a moment, as Ora's stomach set. He realized it was his gut talking to him.
Telling him to get out.
“Is the... job, still on?” Brain asked.
Bone nodded.
“Yes, Brother,” he said, and he smiled, “Oh, yes, it is.”
“W-Wait,” Rosemary said, and her hollow eyes widened, “Wait.”
“Hang on,” Ora said, “Please-”
Bone spun, his powers activating, and Ora felt his entire skeleton revolt against him. He flew up like a marionette on its strings, slamming into the wall, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him. Rosemary joined him, and she let out a quiet cough, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
“Get to work, Brother,” Bone said, “Open the telescope. And we take what's ours.”