The storm, at last, abated.

Well, perhaps that is not the correct term. The storm did not die out. It merely moved on, continuing its migration across the length of the elephant's back, curling across once-blue skies and towards the center of the lands of the Sun Dynasty. It was life-giving in some areas, providing water to crops and drinking into parched rivers and lakes. It delivered death elsewhere – it intensified around the Twin Sisters Province, cascading into a series of floods that killed over two thousand people, destroyed roads, created new landmarks by rain and by wind alone.

Some would say that it never truly went away. That it continued its journey off of Dà Xiàng, leaving the plane entirely, to join its brethren as part of the greater multiversal Squall.

(For ideas become storms, which become planes, which become land, which become people, a cycle that goes 'round and 'round.)

What mattered for the people of the Opal Hills was that the storm left their little mountain home. There were, at last, clear skies, just on the morning after Wang Ro the Elder's passing. The townsfolk in the Golden Lion Mine patched themselves up as best they could, retrieved the body of the physician. They also found the wounded Guo Kenan, being tended over by none other than Zheng Jo, the man who had killed Tai Haoran. They also found Guo Kenan's daughter there, a sobbing wreck, presumably due to how injured her father had become.

(Neither Joseph nor Guo Kenan told the townspeople the full truth.)

Guo Kenan's wound was a curiosity to the people of the Opal Hills, even Tan Fa. They allowed, reluctantly, for Zheng Jo to look after the innkeeper, for he had seen such injuries before. Despite the fact that Zheng Jo had killed Tai Haoran, it was as though a spell had broken over them. He could have killed them all, they realized. Yet he did not. He tended to the innkeeper’s injury. He worked, with some effort, to dislodge a metal, pointed stone from Guo Kenan's leg, wrapped up the injury in bandages, and carried him home with his Anri-infused form.

And he did nothing else to them.

But Guo Kenan would always walk, from that day on, with a limp.

They buried the physician in their own way. A stone tomb, with a few clay pots with food inside for offerings that he could use for the world beyond.

It would not have been the way that Wang Ro, the Darwinist, would have wanted to be buried. He wanted to be cremated, his ashes scattered to the winds of his homeland, a distant plane from here.

(But we are not always mourned how we wish.)

Wang Ro the Younger was silent during the ceremony. He made the proper bows, burned the incense, his face as wavering glass. He had never known about his father's ways. Neither Guo Kenan nor Guo Liling told him. Neither did they tell the village who had killed him. No one asked.

The events in that small cavern grove were best left untold.

Without a parental figure, Wang Ro the Younger would have been cast adrift. But Pan Baihu took charge of this.

“Wang Ro the Elder was my friend,” the mayor said, and with the disappearance of Zheng Jo his usual bluster had returned, “I would dishonor him by not doing anything for his boy.”

And so it became that Wang Ro the Younger became Pan Ro. Pan Bao became his sister, and he joined the prestigious Pan family that had governed the Opal Hills for so long. It would take a long time for him to accept this. Longer, still, for him to stop using the name 'Wang' in secret, in his thoughts.

***

They buried Tai Haoran just behind the monastery, in the way of the White Flame Sect. His body was lit aflame by Grandmaster Zhou, in the moments just before dawn, before the sun had risen over the mountains. The back of the monastery was where the dead were to be kept, their ashes intermingling around the sapling of a white ginkgo tree. But Tai Haoran was the first to fall in the new temple of the White Flame Sect. His ashes were the first ashes to be joined with new life. Grandmaster Zhou and Xiao Rai bowed. Burned incense. They spoke no words, and when they were done, they went out into the front courtyard. Each of them kneeled, to meditate with the rising sun.

It was supposed to be a day of silence. But that was broken by the stifled sobs of Grandmaster Zhou. Tears streamed down his face. He almost seemed to break down at many points throughout his meditation. But mourning was to be done in a quiet way, so that Tai Haoran's spirit would not be distracted as he went to the world beyond. The old man hoped his student, his son, would not be able to hear him.

Xiao Rai's meditations were not on Tai Haoran. Rather, they were on the piece of resin, scorched and stone-like, hidden away in her room. She had picked it up when no one was looking, stolen it away, and now the last vestige of Wang Ro the Elder's work, that slice of the World of the Tree, lay with her now.

She thought on this, and on her new place in the White Flame hierarchy, with a concealed smile.

***

Joseph was in no real shape to travel. Not for the next week, at least. He kept away from the town, preferring to squirrel away in a nearby cave. But he was not alone. Guo Liling would walk up the mountain path to his little makeshift abode, to give him supplies from the now-abandoned clinic. Salves and balms and bandages, which he applied to himself, his gunshot wounds and his cuts and burns. They spoke very little in his last week in the Opal Hills. She would leave him his medicine, as well as food, as though he were a spirit with its offerings.

He returned to working on his translations. His journal. Well, Nai Nai's journal, but more and more he had been calling it his own. Nai Nai, Fēngbào, was gone now. Her legacy was in the journal, an inheritance to Joseph, in addition to the multiverse itself.

His wounds healed. Enough that he could start walking again without trouble. He worked on his hair, too, using a knife and a borrowed mirror to shave it, as best as he could, on the sides, keeping it long on the top. A new style for him, though he found that he liked it well enough. It certainly wasn't the style of the Sun Dynasty, but he would rather be a curiosity than a suspicion. Burn scars were easier to show than burnt hair, after all. That legacy of Tai Haoran, at least, was erased. The rest would heal, with time.

But they would never fully fade.

Joe noted, with a bit of bitterness, that he was becoming a being of scars.

Guo Liling visited him, on the seventh day, to note that he had packed up his belongings. His journal and his notes were put back into a bag. He had his walking stick in hand, and was doing a few preparatory stretches. She laid the food down at the mouth of the cave.

“You're leaving,” she said.

“Yep,” Joe replied, “Figured I'm well enough to get down to Old Gate City on my own. Take a turtle, get myself home.”

“I see,” Guo Liling said.

Joe nodded. Looked at her, as the innkeeper's daughter was looking away from him, to the side and towards the mountains. He sighed.

“You alright?” he said.

“I'm...” Guo Liling shook her head, “Everything feels tense. But tired, too. I don't know. I'm... I have bad dreams at night.”

“About what happened.”

“Yes.”

“Well, if it's any sympathy, I have bad dreams, too,” Joe said, “About... About what I've done.”

He rolled his shoulder, winced a bit at a phantom injury.

“We talked about it before. But the multiverse is a dangerous place.”

“But worth it.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Joe said, and he gave her a grin, “It's worth it for the sights alone.”

“When you...” Guo Liling said, “When you leave, where will you go?”

“Well, the plane right by Dà Xiàng is called Skellmodren. It was discovered recently, a few years ago. Big cavernous place, though I was only there for a little while before I came here.”

“And why were you there, Joe?” Guo Liling said, and now there was something aside from pain glittering in her eyes.

“I was just passing through,” Joe said, “Two of my guildmates, Rosemary and Mallory-”

“Such weird names,” Guo Liling said.

“Hey, don't interrupt me,” Joe said, smirking, “Rosemary and Mal, they're there on a job protecting union workers who've gone on strike. Helping with the negotiation process with their job.”

“Who is Rosemary? And Mallory?”

“Oh, shit, getting into it,” Joe said, laughing, “Well, Rosemary's an elf. Carries a rose sceptre, she's...”

And for a moment the joy turned into something deeper.

“She's… important to me, you know?” he said, “Anyways, Mallory's a Steamer. Controls steam. There's a special organ in her body that produces it, and she can manipulate it, and...”

He went on talking to Guo Liling. About his guild, the Amber Foundation. The adventures he'd been on. His friends. His enemies. The worlds of freshwater seas and landscapes created by giant locusts and airships that trawled across the sky. Of men who could shatter into glass and mentors who could control heat.

He looked at Guo Liling when he was done.

“...You could come with, you know,” he said.

“W-What?” Guo Liling said.

“The multiverse,” Joe said, “It's vast. It's out there. And you can walk to it.”

“I...” Guo Liling thought on it. This was all so sudden, and the metahuman noted the sudden panic written on her face. He shrugged.

“You don't have to,” he said, “Not right now. But it's out there, if you ever want to go. I'll tell you where the Traveling Point is.”

She turned. Waited with bated breath.

“Just to the south of Old Gate City, in the Lihao Province, is a river known as the Caihong River. You can reach it by turtle, if you've got the money. At the base of the river, just at the mountains, is a small glade. The Traveling Point's there. It's tricky to see, if you're not sure what to look for. It looks like a ripple in the air. A desert mirage.”

He stood up.

“I've used up enough daylight, I think,” he said, “I should head out.”

Guo Liling nodded, smiled at him. Joe returned it, though it was a bit sad.

“I'm... sorry,” he said, “For fucking things up.”

“You were merely a traveler,” Guo Liling said, “What the others did, they did for their own sake.”

“I'll try to remember that,” Joe said.

(Though, in truth, he would carry this guilt for a very long time.)

He waved goodbye to Guo Liling. Started back down the snaking path out of the Opal Hills. Stayed at Old Gate City for the night, eating its warming food, listening to the strings of the guzheng one last time. He set out in the morning, walking, occasionally buying space on passing wagons. It took him a week to get to the Traveling Point. He stepped through, out of the glade and into a dark cave. Rosemary and Mallory were waiting for him. Mallory had a new fresh cut on her cheek. Rosemary had a purple eye.

“Hey,” Joe said, and she ran over to embrace him, “Should I see the other guy?”

“Oh, hell no,” Rosemary said, “I made sure he paid.”

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“Dreamer's Lament's picking us up on Tearstained, Joe,” Mallory said, “We should head out.”

The metahuman gave her a nod. She regarded him with a cool look on her face.

“Right,” he said, “Let's go home.”

***

It was two weeks after Zheng Jo left the Opal Hills that the second visitor arrived.

This one, however, did not disguise himself, as the metahuman had. No, Tirmo Telundela swaggered into the inn of the Opal Hills with a bright smile on his Elven face, his blond hair long and his pointed ears on full display. Twin blades curved on either side of his gray cloak. He wore an easy smile as he ordered a drink. The innkeeper, Guo Kenan, regarded him with a dark look.

It was late at night. No one was in the inn tonight, not even the regulars. The scouring of the Opal Hills had led to the sort of exhaustion that made people want to stay home, even weeks later.

“You certainly are foreign,” Guo Kenan said.

“Of course I am,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he smiled, “But foreigners gotta drink too, yes?”

Guo Kenan grimaced, but gave a curt nod. He poured out rice wine into a cup, handed it to his visitor. Tirmo Telundela drained it.

“God, that hits right,” he said, wiping his mouth with an errant sleeve, “Yes, that's good.”

“I'm honored, that you enjoy my drink so,” Guo Kenan said, with a bow, “It's sourced from the very fields you saw on your way in.”

“That's nice,” Tirmo Telundela said.

“I should warn you, master,” Guo Kenan warned, “We've just had a bit of trouble with another traveler. Folks around here might be a bit suspicious of you.”

“That metahuman bastard, right?” Tirmo Telundela said, “Joseph Zheng?”

Ah, yes. So the innkeeper knew of the Amber Foundation. There was a way he breathed in, just a bit too quickly. He stood up straight.

“Why... yes,” Guo Kenan said.

“I'm looking for an old associate of mine,” Tirmo Telundela said, “Name's... Wang Ro.”

“I'm... truly sorry, master,” Guo Kenan said, “Wang Ro passed on, just a few weeks ago.”

“Hmm, so that metahuman did kill him,” Tirmo Telundela drew out a knife, absently balancing it on a finger, “Well, that's too damn bad. Wang Ro wasn’t half bad. Kid had potential.”

Guo Kenan raised an eyebrow at this. For Wang Ro the Elder had been in his fifties, and this golden-haired traveler hardly looked thirty. Tirmo Telundela noted this, winked at him.

“Aging cream,” he said, “Good genetics. Superior genetics, if I'm being honest with you.”

“Is there... anything else I can get you?” Guo Kenan asked.

“A room, for the night,” Tirmo Telundela said, “Say, you look like the sort of guy who knows his stuff. Has his information, yes? Tell me, how did Wang Ro die? Where is the metahuman?”

“I have no idea how Wang Ro passed,” Guo Kenan said, “It was-”

The knife slammed into the table.

Tirmo Telundela smiled.

“Please, sir,” the elf said, “I'm on a bit of a busy schedule. Times are changing, and I must be quick if I'm to stay ahead of the curve.”

Guo Kenan leaned in, his brow furrowing. He glared at Tirmo Telundela.

“I will have you know, master, that I'm not one to take such threats idly.”

“My good man,” Tirmo Telundela said, “If you do not tell me what happened here, in this little runt of a town, I will show you why those out in the multiverse call me the Emerald Butcher.”

And he smiled. Guo Kenan looked away. His blood was as ice.

“See reason, young man,” Tirmo Telundela said, “I'm only here for information. I won't harm anyone here, so long as you tell me the truth.”

Guo Kenan sighed. Looked exhausted.

And he spoke.

***

It did not take Tirmo Telundela long to track down the White Flame Monastery. It was just out of the way, and he ascended the stone steps with a whistle on his lips.

The plane was beautiful. A disc on the back of a world elephant. It was charming, in its rustic villages, its grand cities that tried to ape magnificence. But Tirmo Telundela had seen the great cities of the elves. He had been to Alu Alay, the ruins of the First Men. Even decrepit and floating in the void of a gas giant, it dwarfed the imperial dreams of these backwater peoples.

He thought on this, musing to himself. It had been a busy few months. Old contacts had reached out to him, contacts from a time of his life that he thought he had left behind. Koban Drol, bless him, had somehow survived the scourings of the High Federation. He hadn't bowed to them either, or infiltrated their ranks during their recruiting of old Darwinist members and elements. No, the old dwarf had disappeared off the face of the multiverse. He had come back. Offered Tirmo Telundela his old place. The elf had taken it.

For, while the Verdant Reclamation was his employer, the Sons of Darwin were his guild.

And so he climbed up the steps. Made his way into the courtyard. An old man was there, meditating in the center of the ancient stones. He opened up an eye, flicked a finger. A blazing white flame erupted from a fist, light, so he could better see Tirmo Telundela.

Both eyes opened, slitted with suspicion.

“Another foreigner,” he said, “Have you come to kill me?”

“That depends on how things go,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he looked around the courtyard, grateful for the light.

“You will find me no easy meal, young man,” the elder said.

“Same goes for me, young man,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he gave the man a smile.

The native gauged Tirmo Telundela for a second. Saw the age in the elf's eyes.

He relaxed.

“What is your name, old one?” he asked.

“Tirmo Telundela. And yours?”

“I am Grandmaster Zhou Winyan, of the White Flame Sect,” the man said, and he recited it with some exhaustion. A title that had long ago worn out, that he wore like a faded military badge, “What do you seek here?”

“Information,” Tirmo Telundela said, “On the recent traveler.”

“Zheng Jo,” and there was a hint of fire in Zhou Winyan's voice.

“Yes,” Tirmo Telundela said, “I represent... an organization, shall we say, who are aligned against Zheng Jo's.”

“A rival sect.”

“If that is how you wish to see it. Then yes.”

Grandmaster Zhou rose, wincing a bit as he reached for his walking stick, and again Tirmo Telundela could not help but chuckle, inwardly, at the man. Only a hundred, maybe. And already he was at the end of his life.

What a short time, humans lived. Like ants, all things told.

“Xiao Rai!” he called out.

There was a moment of someone in one of the rooms scuffling out of bed. A young woman ran out into the courtyard. Stood to attention. Bowed.

“Sir!”

Fresh scars on her. Tirmo Telundela smiled.

“A member of a rival sect to Zheng Jo's is here,” Zhou Winyan said, “He's got a few questions. You will answer. I am going to bed.”

He started limping off. Tirmo Telundela watched him go. The woman, Xiao Rai, looked him up and down. Her voice was a whisper.

“Are you... a friend of Wang Ro the Elder's?”

The elf looked at her. Still wore his smile, though it was a touch more genuine.

“Why, yes,” he said, “A friend. Did he tell you much, of his dealings?”

“He only hinted at them,” Xiao Rai said, “Only that he had more to him. But he was dead before he told me. Zheng Jo killed him.”

“Yes, the metahuman,” Tirmo Telundela said, shrugging, “What happened?”

The White Flame regarded him.

And began to speak of the traveler. The Anri user, though he did not use Anri at all, but something far more pure, something that weaved through his blood and through his genes, that circuited through his body as though he were a storm cloud on a rainy day. She spoke of Wang Ro the Elder, and the things he had done. The secrets. His taking of Tai Haoran to accompany Zheng Jo.

She told him of the tree, and at that Tirmo Telundela, who had been listening patiently, interrupted her.

“The tree?” he said, “Did it survive?”

“Zheng Jo destroyed it,” Xiao Rai said, and she grimaced, “It was the thing he had been searching for...”

There was something on her face. A hidden thing. Tirmo Telundela leaned forward.

“You're hiding something, aren't you?”

The White Flame met his gaze. She was one of those of a new generation, one who hungered for change in her world, who would do anything to get what she felt was hers. He could see it in the ferocity behind her eyes, just barely hidden behind a veneer of the student’s civility.

“It's alright, friend,” Tirmo Telundela said, “Anything you can give me, anything at all, will be of great help in the hunt for... Zheng Jo.”

“I have a piece,” Xiao Rai said, “A... a piece, of that tree. Some of the resin escaped the burning. It's hardened now. Like amber.”

“I see,” Tirmo Telundela said, and he worked to hide the excitement in his voice, “May I see it?”

She bowed. Disappeared back into her room. Came out a moment later with something in her hands. She gave it to Tirmo Telundela. A piece of resin, hardened due to the unique aspects of Methuselah, whose blood imprisoned his guildmaster. Yes, he held it, and knew that not all of Wang Ro's work had been lost.

“...You're taking it,” Xiao Rai said.

Ah. She was perceptive.

“I am.”

“To whoever you work for. The same people that Wang Ro the Elder worked for.”

“Why, yes,” Tirmo Telundela said, and that saccharine smile reappeared. Yes, this woman, this girl, she was starting to come to an understanding. She was already starting to see hints of the multiverse.

And it writhed in her mind.

“Shall I tell you who they are?” Tirmo Telundela said, “I'm sure they would love to meet you.”

***

Two months.

Two months of waiting. Of yearning. Of preparations. Of making sure Baba was well enough that he could look after the inn on his own. He walked with a limp, but for the most part Guo Kenan had recovered from his wounds, from his time in Golden Lion Mine. Most of the Opal Hills had. The rains, and the visitor who had accompanied them, seemed like a distant memory.

“I still don't see why you're doing this,” Guo Kenan said. He was, nonetheless, helping his daughter pack. His contribution concerned her safety. A knife. Food. Money, to pay bribes, or to buy her way to safety.

“I know, Baba,” Guo Liling said, “But... it's out there. And I have to see it.”

“Hmm,” Guo Kenan said, and he stroked his beard. Guo Liling noted a few strands of gray in it, and for a moment she felt guilty. It was not every day that a daughter left her father's house. She didn't even have a marriage to justify it.

But she had to go. And she was grateful that her father supported her.

Very little of the village did. They scoffed. Berated her. Spoke about her decision behind her back. That she was going after Zheng Jo. That he had seduced her, and she was going to be his concubine (though only a few said this last part.)

The only one who seemed to understand her was Tan Fa. The veteran had even given her his sword. Given her a few lessons, over the last few weeks.

“It's all rudimentary, of course,” he said, “But some knowledge is better than none at all.”

And she was grateful for that. For his support.

He and Guo Kenan accompanied her as she left the Opal Hills. As they walked past the aging stones, the old buildings, the mansion where Pan Baihu, Pan Bao, and Pan Ro lived. They went out of the town and through the mountains, past old mines that had once disgorged precious metals. They saw Zi Shi Ying overhead, the Fluorite Bird letting out a screech as he saw them. The spirit's own goodbye.

And then, at the base of the Opal Hills, Guo Liling shouldered her pack. Turned to her father and Tan Fa.

“Well,” she said, “This... This is it.”

Guo Kenan was smiling. But she could see his lip quivering beneath his beard.

“Yes, Little Jasmine,” he said.

“Keep following the road,” Tan Fa said, “You'll get to Old Gate City yet. And from there, well, that path is yours.”

He was smiling, and he drew back to allow father to talk to daughter, one last time.

“You'll be safe?” Guo Kenan asked.

“Yes, I will be.”

“You'll be happy?”

“Yes, Baba.”

“...You'll remember me?”

Guo Liling's voice caught in her throat. Tears stung her eyes. She ran over and embraced her father.

“Of course, Baba,” she said, “I will always remember you. I'll visit, when I can.”

“Oh, my daughter,” Guo Kenan said, and his great form shook, “It all seems so far away. Your old man will be gone by the time you get home.”

“No, he won't” she said, “I'll visit. And I'll tell you s-stories. Of what I see. Of what I've done.”

She broke from him. Wanted to completely break down, and part of her, a small part, was telling her to go back home. To return to the Opal Hills, to that quiet inn, to marry like her mother had married. To settle down and live a quaint life, trapped in the mountains.

But she could not have that.

And Guo Kenan, her father knew it.

He sighed. Wiped at his eyes.

“I'll look forward to that, then,” he said, “I'll wait for you to come up the mountain path.”

He breathed out. His eyes were red.

“I love you, Guo Liling,” he said, “Now go out there. Conquer that multiverse of yours. Make it stop writhing so.”

She smiled at him.

And made her leave.

***

She repeated Cobalt Joe's path. Went to Old Gate City. Stayed there for a night, eating food she had never eaten and hearing music from instruments she had only read about. She laughed. She cried into a bowl of noodles, an understanding and kind teashop owner patting her on the back as homesickness overtook her, threatened to possess her completely and send her back to the Opal Hills. She, perhaps, had a bit too much to drink.

But she recovered the next morning. Joined a band of musicians as they booked passage on one of the great turtles that plied the rivers for passage out of the city. To the south. To Lihao Province, and she traded mountains for plains and forests. She said goodbye to the small band of musicians and made her own down the Caihong River, traveling along its shore. She saw fishing communities. Visited a small temple with Anri users practicing in them, water and ice flowing across their arms as they sparred for her enjoyment, for they rarely received visitors.

One of them guided her to the glade, just at the base of a mountain. It was a hidden place, a pond that shimmered and reflected all the colors of the rainbow. Flowers grew in a field, poppies and daisies and other plants that she did not know of.

(For, they were not native here.)

The Traveling Point, as Cobalt Joe had described it, was a subtle ripple in the air. A dislodging of space. She could barely make it out as she stepped into the water, which only went up to her knees, underwater grasses brushing her legs as she approached the center of the glade.

She brought a hand. Poked the Traveling Point. Watched her finger disappear into thin air. The other side felt both warm and cold.

She gulped. Looked back, for a second, at the world as she had known it. The small glade. Beyond that, the elephant's back. The Opal Hills.

Then, with voices as a chorus calling to her, beckoning her, singing in her mind, she stepped through. Out of That She Knew.

Into the multiverse.