Let us speak of Kehaulani. Twenty-eight years old. Her metahuman power was the gift of night – she knew the number of stars in the sky of every plane she visited. Numbers that changed depending on where she was in the multiverse, or how badly light pollution affected the area she was in. She tended to avoid large cities as a result.

Such a metahuman power was not considered by the Council of New Ludaya to have military application, which made her of the Worker class, building homes for newcomers, repairing the roads that Pauldros the Stonemaker had hewn from the ground, tending to the fields upon fields of corn, wheat, and barley.

She was born on the Wandering Archipelago to a family of nomads. She had dark hair, usually tied back but tonight it was free, as well as a scar on her right eye after a run-in with slavers on the Onaui Coast. She had gained weight since her arrival to New Ludaya. No, even before that. The demands of pregnancy had made her seek out far more food than she was used to.

Oh, yes! She was having a child tonight. The father, another metahuman by the name of Three Eye, had died near the start of the pregnancy, murdered by Federation soldiers. The grief had almost been enough to terminate the baby, but Kehaulani had persevered. And now she was in a safe place, attended by three midwives in her home. They whispered to her, encouraged her, made prayers to their gods, for Kehaulani had never been one for religion.

But it helped. Kehaulani had given birth but once, but that had been a stillborn. Her body had made her forget the pain. The intensity. She was sweating now, letting out measured gasps.

“Almost ready to push now, Kehaulani,” one of the midwives, Paper Puzzle, said, her papyrus brow furrowed, “You're doing great. Keep breathing. That's the spirit, thatta girl, thatta girl.”

She could hear Eksonis outside. Her husband. Not the father, no, but her lover still. One she loved differently than she had Three Eye, but adored all the same. He was not allowed in their home – the midwives had all but pushed him out. So now he paced below.

“There, now!” Paper Puzzle said, “Push, Kehaulani! Push!”

She grunted. Started to push. Felt the world go dim as pain and concentration took over. Her screams mixed in with the baby's, the glass-piercing cry of birth. Paper Puzzle eased the baby into the world, held him to another midwife, whose hands turned into clamps, putting pressure on the umbilical cord. Paper Puzzle's own hand suddenly went sharp as she cut the cord, freeing mother and child for the first time.

The baby was still crying. Good.

Kehaulani collapsed back into bed, exhausted, her forehead slaked with sweat.

“A son!” Paper Puzzle said, “A son. For now. You never know what the future brings.”

The Counter of Stars felt them lay her child against her bosom, and she brought him to her breast to start eating. Paper Puzzle was checking her over, making sure she was breathing, making sure she was not bleeding out too heavily.

Downstairs, she heard the door open. Close.

Eksonis was still outside. Some distant part of Kehaulani wondered about that.

Then, gasps from the midwives.

“Luminary!”

“Luminary.”

“Luminary,” Paper Puzzle said.

They said this in turn. Kehaulani opened her eyes.

There. At the foot of the bed. The Founder of New Ludaya. Older in a way that many were not. Sixty years old, a venerable age, a symbol of a survivor, though her childhood was on Prime and as such was not quite as harsh as other metahumans in the multiverse. Long hair fell on either side of a calm, spider-web wrinkled face. It had once been blond, but time and war and sorrow and anger had claimed its luster long ago, bled it white and almost stringy. She wore a simple shawl, threaded herself, and a necklace looped down to her chest, an amulet with the New Ludayan symbol – twin strands of DNA with a sword crossed through – imprinted on its metal surface.

The midwives were quiet, bowed their heads in deference as Luminary looked down at Kehaulani. Calculated old eyes looked up and down the Star Counter. This member of the Worker class.

“A child,” she said, “A new life, born on New Ludayan soil. Tell me, a boy or a girl?”

“A boy,” Kehaulani said.

“Ah, I see,” Luminary said, and she moved over to her side. Kehaulani, despite everything, resisted the urge to pull her son away from the Founder's piercing gaze, “He looks strong. Like his father was.”

Kehaulani nodded.

“Tell me, have you thought of a name?” Luminary asked.

“...Three Eye – his father – he and I spoke of it when we first found out I was pregnant,” Kehaulani said, “We wanted to name him Makaio.”

“After the island of your birth” Luminary said, “From the Archipelago?”

“Until... until he is fit to choose his own name, yes,” Kehaulani said, “As I did.”

“It is a beautiful name. Just because it is temporary, does not mean it is not important.”

She laid a hand on Kehaulani's shoulder.

“Congratulations, my child. May your son grow strong. May he be gifted with a power that makes worlds shudder.”

She smiled her pristine smile. Like a grandmother's.

(And it made Kehaulani shiver.)

“Ms... Ms. Luminary,” Paper Puzzle said, her voice mouse-like, “Ah, the mother. She needs rest now.”

“Ah, yes,” Kehaulani said, “And that man outside – is that Three Eye?”

“Eksonis,” Paper Puzzle said, “Kehaulani's husband.”

“Hmm. A family built by bond, not blood,” Luminary said, “A fine thing. A survivor's clan. I leave you, Kehaulani. Rest well.”

And Luminary left the room. A few moments later, Eksonis moved inside. His reptilian eyes, nervous and twitching, flickering around the room, landed at Kehaulani.

“Be quiet,” Paper Puzzle admonished, “She needs rest.”

“Of course, of course,” Eksonis said, “May I approach?”

“If you're gentle,” Paper Puzzle said.

And Eksonin did, walking over to his wife's bed as though the floor were mined. He broke into a lizard's smile as he looked at her, at her son.

His son, too, not by blood but by bond.

“He's beautiful,” his voice was a whisper.

Kehaulani was content. Her eyes fluttered as she looked at her husband. Then, she yawned.

“She'll need sleep,” Paper Puzzle said, “It has been a long night.”

“May I stay?” Eksonis said, turning to the midwife, “I'll stay out of the way. Just let me be in the same room.”

Paper Puzzle nodded.

“That can be arranged,” she said.

And thus did Eksonis do so. He stayed by his wife's side throughout the day. She spent much of it sleeping, little Makaio at her breast. Paper Puzzle and the other midwives made sure the mother was comfortable, put the cutting of the umbilical cord into a pickling jar, for certain metahumans kept them to be buried with them at death.

The sun glistened high above. The mountains sang. The trees breezed.

All was well.

***

The Horrid Welt was a seedy old bar in the slums district of Scuttleway. The owner, Halt Kohranthi, was a kitsune, and he had bought the bar upon his arrival to the city. Once upon a day, it was said, Halt Kohranthi was the prince of a far-off kingdom on distant Terna Minor Landmass. One of the richest men on Londoa, who had spent his vast fortune traveling across the Shattered World, both the inside and the out, and had bought the bar as a last act of capital, a humbling of the super rich.

Or, perhaps, he had just wanted to buy a bar. Foreigners to Scuttleway drew suspicion or awe, oftentimes both.

Whatever the case, he ran himself ragged keeping the place open. Deep rings purpled under his eyes, for he had spent the entire night tending to the bar. Only a few patrons were still here, now that morning had come and most folks had cleared out. A few merchants from out of town, who had ended their binge drinking here at the Welt. A member of one of the trade unions who came down here to talk to the poorer parts of town, in hopes of eventually working them up for a strike.

And a member of the Amber Foundation. Aldreia Dawnbringer slept at the counter, in a puddle of spilled beer and her own dried saliva, her platinum blond hair askew around her in the muck like a dead octopus. The cleric was snoring, still nursing a half-empty cup.

The front door opened. Dama Runebreaker walked in. She was a dwarf, tall for her race at five feet, with her hair tied back in a series of auburn braids, clearing a heart-shaped face. She was already in armor, with knives belted across her chest, at her sides, a thin blade tucked into her hair as a pin amongst her bunches of braids.

She looked over at Halt. The kitsune shrugged.

“Morning, Dama Runebreaker,” he said.

“She been here all night?” the dwarf asked.

“Drank me out of hearth and home,” Halt said, and his sly eyes narrowed, “She's worked up quite a tab. And I need her to pay up soon.”

“I'll get her to pay you,” Dama Runebreaker said. She sighed, walking over to Aldreia's side. She rested a hand on the cleric's shoulder, gave her a gentle shake.

Aldreia stirred.

“Mmm?” she said, and she yawned, turned to look over at Dama Runebreaker.

At the sight of her guildmate, she started tearing up. Broke down into a fit of sobs.

“Who was it this time?” Dama Runebreaker asked.

She gestured to Halt, who walked into the back, coming out a moment later with a glass of water. With a sleight of hand, he switched Aldreia's drink. Blubbering, she took a sip. Her face scrunched up as though she had eaten a lemon.

“Gods!” she said, “Halt, get me a drink!”

“You've got a drink,” Halt said.

“Something strong!”

“You've had enough of that,” Halt said, and he shook his head, “Dama Runebreaker, you'd better get her home.”

“Aye,” Dama Runebreaker said, “Come on, Al. Let's go.”

“I'm not done mourning,” Aldreia said.

“You can mourn at home. Talk to Elenry. I hear she's good with relationships.”

Aldreia pouted. Then, she wiped her tears.

“F-Fine,” she said, “Let's go-”

She got up. Stumbled, and Dama Runebreaker caught her. Aldreia's legs shook as she walked, and the dwarf had to hold her up as the two of them made their way towards the door.

“Aldreia,” Halt said, “Don't come back for a few weeks, okay?”

“But-!”

“You drank too much this time,” Halt said, “The kind of drinking that's not healthy.”

“I'll-”

“That's enough, Al,” Dama Runebreaker said, “Let's go.”

“...Alright.”

And they moved off. Out of the Welt and into Scuttleway. It was just after breakfast, and the day promised to be a peaceful one. Spring was in the air, and the clouds high above were light and whisperish. The other side of Londoa could be seen through the clouds, cities and farms and, if one looked closely, the gray roads that connected nations. The people of Scuttleway gave Dama Runebreaker and Aldreia a wide berth as they walked. The cleric clutched her head miserably.

“Banned from the bar,” she muttered, “Again.”

“Third time this year,” Dama Runebreaker said, “Aldreia, it's getting to be a problem.”

“Can't help it, helps me not think about her,” Aldreia said.

“You dated her for a week.”

“You don't understand,” Aldreia said, “She was my soul! My light!”

“You said that about the last four girlfriends.”

“Well, excuse me for having a big heart full of love!”

Dama Runebreaker rolled her eyes.

***

Castle Belenus stood tall, and was oddly empty for this time of year. Most of the hundred-odd members of the guild were out on jobs, traveling across the multiverse on behalf of clients. A few of them were working on expeditions. Others were sent out as bodyguards. Some were even taking on mercenary work, fighting in one of the endless wars that raged across an endless reality.

Myron Becenti, second-in-command, was waiting in the Great Hall, just below the Glass Slipper. The metahuman was wearing his usual suit-and-tie affair, his graying hair tied back into a ponytail, the hints of tattoos beneath his sleeves. His was a stony face, his brow knit in concern as he saw Dama Runebreaker all but drag Aldreia into the guildhall.

He strode over.

“What happened?” he said.

“Just a bender,” Dama Runebreaker said, a bit too hastily.

Becenti shook his head.

“Did that Jenny girl dump you?” he asked Aldreia.

The cleric winced. Cast her gaze away from Becenti. She knew that he never liked her drinking binges, especially after a rough break-up. He had never been a fond friend of alcohol.

Becenti sighed.

“Come on, I'll take her from here,” he said, and he brought out a hand.

“'M fine,” Aldreia said.

“You most certainly are not,” Becenti said, “Come on. Into my office. We need to have a talk.”

There was an edge in his voice. A warning. Dama Runebreaker moved away from the two of them as Becenti helped Aldreia stand. Then, without a word, he started going upstairs. The cleric, after a moment, started to follow.

The staircases of Castle Belenus were winding and twisting, made worse by Aldreia's hung-over state. Becenti, unlike Dama Runebreaker, did not help her walk. Did not help her climb. Instead, he simply walked a few steps, always a few steps, ahead of her. He was unyielding. And all she could do was curse and splutter her way behind him.

At last, they arrived at his office. Becenti opened the door for her, letting her walk in. Becenti's decoration style was sparse and bare-bones. A couple shelves full of books. A Diné blanket, diamond-patterned, hung up on display. A desk with a mountain of paperwork to one side. Becenti sat down. He gestured for Aldreia to join him.

As the cleric sat down, Becenti waved at the air. A flash of silver light overtook the room, and a raw egg, a bit of a neon green powder, and a glass of tomato juice appeared out of thin air. Becenti took it. Cracked the egg into the glass. Dashed a bit of powder. Handed it to Aldreia.

“Drink.”

The cleric's nose turned at the sight of it.

“...My vows prevent me from eating the unborn,” she lied.

“The egg's not fertilized,” Becenti said, rolling his eyes, “Drink.”

Scowling, Aldreia took the drink. Downed it, almost coughed it back up, yolk and all. But her headache began to lessen. The urge to vomit ceased. She leaned back in her chair, looked at Becenti through bloodshot eyes.

“Sir,” she said.

“No need for that,” Becenti said, “An old hangover trick. That's all.”

He sighed. Clasped his hands on the table.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“So,” he said, “It didn't work out?”

Aldreia scoffed. Pouted.

“It didn't,” she said, “She needs time to think about herself. She wants to take a break. It's her, not me. She wants kids, and I don't. Or I want kids, and she doesn't, or whatever other horrid reason you can come up with.”

She sighed again, rubbed her forehead with three thin fingers.

“Always the same excuses,” she said, “For Jenny. For Dualia. Maegred. Always something that's... something we don't agree with. Or it's just the roll of the dice. But always I feel like I'm doing something wrong.”

Her lower lip was quivering. But Aldreia had wept almost all night, and she doubted her body could even spare the moisture. The headache of the hangover was gone, replaced by a ravenous thirst.

“Do you have any water?” she asked.

Another flash of light. A pitcher of water. Aldreia took it, ignoring its attendant cup, and drank greedily. Becenti waited for her to finish. To wipe her mouth on a beer-stained sleeve.

“Aldreia,” he said, his voice even, “Do you remember you were supposed to leave for a job last night?”

She froze. Her eyes widened.

“No,” she said, “Oh, by Pelliad, the Rinos job-”

She made to rise. Becenti brought up a hand.

“They're long gone,” he said, “Meleko and the others. They took the Dreamer's Lament last night. They actually found you at the Welt. But I told them to leave you.”

“L-Leave me?” Aldreia said, “Why?”

“Because you were drunk,” Becenti said, “Because you looked miserable.”

He leaned in, and his voice became hard.

“Because this is the third time we've had to leave you behind because of your blackouts.”

Algeria’s brow furrowed in anger, then slowly started to dissolve as she pushed her rage down. This was Becenti she was talking to, not some random catcaller on the other side of the street.

“Aldreia,” Becenti said, “You know that we have rules here. You have to go on jobs, if you're to remain in the guild. Everyone has to do their share. Even Mo.”

“I've never seen the mimic leave the storage room,” Aldreia grumbled.

“If you're not able to go out on guild contracts, then you know we don't have a choice but to eject you.”

Aldreia was quiet. Stared at the wall. Becenti stood up, letting her digest his words, and he walked over to inspect his bookshelf, fingers dancing over book spines. In truth, his stomach was twisting itself into knots. He never enjoyed these conversations, especially when it came to sobriety. A former alcholic's guilt.

He turned back to look at her.

“Now,” he said, “That doesn't mean we're kicking you out tomorrow. I'm going to give you another chance. The next time I go out, you're coming with me.”

“But what if-”

“That's not a request.”

He stood stock tall.

“I'm not about to let you waste your life on some drinks, or some girl. The best way to heal a broken heart is to do new things, go to new places. It won't be long.”

Aldreia looked about to either scream or cry. But she nodded.

“Very well,” she said, her voice controlled.

She rose from her seat. Walked out. Becenti let her go.

He turned back to the books, found one he had been curious about rereading, and went back to his desk.

***

For a metahuman, traveling the multiverse presented a heightened chance of danger. The High Federation despised the myriad folk, and their bases were erected on many planes, their soldiers always scanning for the metagene in the multiverse's population, and their politicians passed laws that, year by year, were choking the rights of the multiverse everywhere, all in an attempt to politely destroy them.

As such, many metahumans stuck to the outer Squalls of the multiverse. Those planes that had no Traveling Points to the Silver Eye Galaxy. Planes that would require several jumps across reality to arrive to, where establishing a military presence was difficult. There, at least, they were free from the worst of the Federation's policies. Paths across such planes were drawn by metahumans, the safest routes across the multiverse.

It was on one such path that Gallimena and Mister Meaning took. Gallimena carried Mister Meaning as though she were a steed, and they traveled from hidden plane to hidden plane, a network that would lead them to Londoa and the Amber Foundation.

We should describe Gallimena first. She was a metahuman with the power to turn into a horse-sized chicken. Vicious, the guards at the front gates of Scuttleway grimaced and pointed at the sight of her, of the claws hidden in her wings, at the toothed maw. Like a raptor in the coat of a hen.

Mister Meaning slid off her back. He was tall. Thin. Skin so dark it was nearly black. A prickled mustache and his hair in a flat top. He nodded to a few of the guards, presenting a fake guild ID to them, and was allowed to pass through, on condition that his... 'chicken,' be well and restrained. Mister Meaning smiled in contempt as he said “Why, of course.”

And the two of them set off for the Amber Foundation. To their orange-hued guildhall, Castle Belenus. As they walked, Gallimena started to shine, before transforming with a flash of light into a shorter girl with a straw hat over brown hair.

“Let me do most of the talking,” Mister Meaning said.

“Right,” Gallimena drawled.

The front entrance to the Amber Foundation was open. A few of their guildmembers were sitting at the stairs. A man in a blue jacket. A young woman with a red cloak and a rose sceptre. A fishman, a Deep One from the deepest trenches of reality. They were looking over the man's shoulders as he held out a torn journal in front of them.

“So it's out there, somewhere, but it's going to take a second for me to find out what language the destination is written in.”

“Looks Locorian, Joseph,” the Deep One rasped, “I have a few books, hidden from the usual sight. You may borrow them.”

“...You'd do that?”

“Of course, Joseph.”

“One in a million, Phin,” the man, Joseph, said. His smile disappeared at the sight of the newcomers, “'Sup.”

“Greetings,” Mister Meaning said, and he gave them a bow, “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Mister Meaning.”

“And I'm-” Gallimena started.

“And this is Gallimena,” Mister Meaning said, still wearing his polite grin, “Tell me, good man, is this Castle Belenus? Guildhall of the Amber Foundation?”

“It is,” Joseph said.

The red-cloaked woman spoke up.

“Are you clients?” she asked, “Tourists?”

“Clients, or something to that effect,” Mr. Meaning said, “Tell me, Ms...?”

“Rosemary.”

“Ms. Rosemary, is the one known as Myron Becenti around?”

At this, Joseph's eyes narrowed.

“...He is,” the man said, and he rose, “Why are you asking?”

“We come bearing a message from an old contact of his,” Mister Meaning said, “We have been traveling across the multiverse for quite awhile to get here.”

“Who's the contact?”

“He'll know who it is when he reads the letter.”

Joseph hadn't moved. He was giving Mister Meaning and Gallimena a suspicious look.

“Hey, Phin,” he said.

“Yes, Joseph?”

“Send a message to Becenti. Let him know he's got visitors. I'll guide them up.”

“Of course,” the Deep One opened up his tome, flipped through a few pages, whispered dark words that made the visitors' minds swim, but Mister Meaning understood it to be a message to Becenti, sent via spell. Joseph turned and went into the guildhall. The two metahumans followed soon after, leaving the red-cloaked woman and the Deep One behind.

They went up the winding stairs up to Myron Becenti's office. Dodged past a few of Joseph's guildmates – an android, a peevish-looking dwarf, a one-armed half-orc, a sapient swarm of hornets. Joseph knocked on the door once.

“Come in,” a tired voice said.

He opened it up. Allowed Mister Meaning and Gallimena to come inside.

“Join us, Mr. Zheng,” Myron Becenti said, “I was just having a talk with Ms. Firedawn.”

Another one of the Amber Foundation. A cleric, though her white robes were stained with grime and beer. She was moving away to one of the corners, leaning against the wall. Joseph crossed over to join her.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“Piss off,” she growled.

Myron Becenti looked up at the two newcomers. Dark eyes gauged the both of them, their manner of wear. His eyes were enchanted, trained to see more than just what was on the surface. Mister Meaning and Gallimena walked inside, Gallimena a bit nervous, her hands twisting themselves into a knot, Mr. Meaning leaning and relaxing.

“You're metahumans,” Becenti said.

Joseph, in the corner, started. Looked at the two visitors.

“Why, we are,” Mister Meaning said, “Very perceptive of you. My old name, it has no purpose and no draw. My metahuman name is Mister Meaning. And this is Gallimena.”

“Greetings to you both,” Becenti said, “You choose to travel in dangerous times.”

“Oh, but of course we do,” Mister Meaning said, “New laws being passed. What was it last month, that expansion of the Registration Act? That certain guilds have the right to act on behalf of the High Federation in 'dealing' with our kind?”

“Dark times, indeed,” Becenti said.

“Indeed, Shimmer, indeed,” Mister Meaning said.

The old metahuman glared at the newcomer, at his polite, mocking smile.

“That's a name,” Becenti said, “That I haven't used in a very long time. That only associates from... old careers, use for me.”

“Becenti,” Joseph said, “This guy here said he has a letter for you.”

“Oh, right to business, then?” Mister Meaning said, “No time for idle chit-chat, small talk-”

Gallimena, at this, elbowed her companion. He re-assessed the situation, the three guildfolk glaring at him, and wisely chose to shut his mouth.

Instead, he moved forward, a thin hand reaching to his chest. He pressed it, and his chest, traveler's robes and all, clicked open, revealing a yawning portal within. The metahuman reached in, fished around, produced a faded letter. He presented it to Becenti.

Who took it. Gave one last stony look at his sardonic visitor. Flipped it over. His breath caught at the sight of the handwriting. He opened the letter quickly, his eyes flying across its page. They widened in something between shock and horror.

He collapsed into his chair. Looked at Mister Meaning.

“It's all true?” he said.

“Every word, good man,” Mister Meaning said, and his smile became more genuine, “We've won for ourselves a home. Just a few jumps away.”

“A nation,” Becenti's voice was a whisper, “...Thirty thousand?”

“And counting,” Mister Meaning said, “More of us are finding our way there every day. I know it would mean the world to Luminary if you'd join us.”

“I...” Becenti faltered.

He looked over at Joseph. At Aldreia.

And composed himself.

“Give me time to think,” Becenti said, “I'll need to talk to my guildmaster.”

“Of course,” Mister Meaning said.

“For now, I'll arrange for guest rooms for yourself and Gallimena,” Becenti said, and he nodded to his guildmates, “Aldreia, could you please show them the way?”

“I will,” Aldreia said, “Please, sir and miss, follow me.”

“Ain't ever been called 'Miss' before,” Gallimena said.

“If you dressed nicer, you probably would,” Mister Meaning said.

She elbowed him again, then followed Aldreia out of the office. Joseph looked over at Becenti, who was reading over the letter again.

And again.

He was wiping his eyes.

“Everything alright?” Joseph asked.

“Yes, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, and there was rare joy in his voice, “Better than alright.”

***

“My dearest Shimmer,” Wakeling read, “It has been far too long since we last met. I hope you are well. I hope you have survived. I hope your dreams are filled with sweeter things. Myself? I have been in hiding. The Federation has been building up towards another Purge, Shimmer. I can feel it in my bones and in my heart. Every day they are passing new laws, or digging up old ones, or assembling new task forces. The time has come for us to cease being a diaspora. And so, I have once more undertaken our dream. A metahuman nation, Shimmer, called New Ludaya. Thirty thousand strong, metahumans all, on a virgin plane where we can be safe from the Federation's talons.

I await you there, my dear Shimmer. I wish in my heart of hearts that I could have come to you personally, but the great work that is our dream has kept me occupied at every hour of the day (who knew that nation-building would take up so much time! I haven't even had a chance to play cards like I used to!)

In the meantime, if you wish to join us (and I so dearly hope you do) I have left you in the care of Gallimena, one of our finest New Ludayan scouts, and Mister Meaning, my personal right hand. I hope he does not grate upon you so greatly (ha!) for while his tongue is sharp, his heart is pure. I await your arrival.

When we dream again,

Luminary.”

The guildmaster looked at the letter. It had been written in code, and Becenti had written out the translation for her to read. He and Joseph were in Wakeling's study, at the topmost tower of Castle Belenus. She was a floating head, old and wizened, her nose crooked from repeated breakings, the result of a life of hard knocks. Her hair was shock white, though she had recently taken to binding it down into a tight bun. Wakeling read the letter carefully, occasionally looking over at Becenti, who was sitting across from her at her desk. The office was circular, walled in by shelves of books, and the ceiling was enchanted to reflect the sky, whichever way the guildmaster wished it to be. On some days, it was a starry night. Today, however, it was as clear and blue as it was outside.

“Well, Myron,” Wakeling said, “That's... quite the letter.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

“And what are your thoughts on this?” Wakeling said.

“I...” and Becenti hesitated. He looked at a loss for words, something which set Joseph on edge. He had never seen the old man so lost.

“It's a nation,” Wakeling said, “Apparently, at least. You know the dangers of that.”

“The fact that it's got so many metahumans means that it's well hidden,” Becenti replied, “And well defended.”

“Hmm,” Becenti said. She read over the letter again, “You know, I never actually met Luminary. I'd only heard of her actions during the war.”

“Who's Luminary?” Joseph asked.

“An...” Becenti looked over at his guildmate, “An old friend.”

“Sounds like more than that,” Joseph said, smirking.

“N-Nothing like that, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, a hair too quickly, “For her, anyways. Luminary's a metahuman, like us. She and I... we fought in the war together. With Rhunea, and Oliander.”

“You've told me a bit about them,” Joseph said, “They're your old war buddies from before, right?”

Becenti was quiet. He knew Becenti didn't like to talk about his time in the war.

“Luminary and I,” the old metahuman said, “We worked to found a nation after the war. Ludaya. Old Ludaya now, I suppose. Many metahumans fought against the Manticore back then. Many fought alongside their guilds. Others fought alongside the High Federation.”

Becenti looked up at Joseph.

“We'd hoped,” he continued, “That our service to the High Federation would allow us to gain a new homeland. A nation for metahumans, like Epochia had been.”

“Only it wasn't,” Joseph said.

“It wasn't,” Becenti said, and his voice went distant, “The Federation... they caught wind of what we were doing. And they did what they do best.”

Joseph grimaced. Wakeling sighed.

“And now,” the guildmaster said, “She's doing it again.”

“I haven't seen her since...” Becenti faltered, “Since Old Ludaya. I thought she was dead.”

“What do you want to do, Myron?” Wakeling asked.

“I want...” Becenti thought, scratching the back of his hand.

“There's a real possibility that the Federation could find this New Ludaya,” Wakeling said, “And you know what they'll try to do.”

“I know.”

“But you still want to go?” Wakeling asked.

“...I do,” Becenti said, “I want to see it for myself.”

“Would you be leaving the guild?” Joseph asked.

At this, Wakeling looked away. She was grimacing, and an anxiety she rarely exhibited took over. It was not every day that someone willingly left the guild, least of all its right hand. She was glad that it had been Joseph who'd asked. There was a nervousness to his voice.

Becenti took a moment to consider.

“To be honest,” he said, “That's a real possibility, Mr. Zheng.”

The three of them were quiet.

“...You're welcome to join me, of course,” Becenti said.

“My place is here,” Joseph said, crossing his arms, “I've got the guild. This nation stuff, that's your dream. Not mine.”

Becenti nodded.

“We're getting ahead of ourselves,” Wakeling said, “Myron, I assume you'll want to go to, at the very least, check it out.”

“Yes,” Becenti said.

“I'd ask that you take a team with you,” Wakeling said, “A small one.”

“Why?” Becenti asked.

“For your protection,” Wakeling said, and she shook her head when Becenti opened his mouth to object, “No, Myron. It's a potentially dangerous situation, and I'd prefer if you had a few guildmates with you. You're still family.”

Becenti's mouth was a thin line.

“Mr. Zheng,” he said, “Would you join me?”

The younger metahuman shrugged.

“For the trip,” he said.

Becenti smiled at that, though that disappeared quickly.

“I suppose I should take Aldreia with me, too,” he said, “I promised her that I'd take her with me when I next went out.”

“Poor girl could use some fresh air,” Wakeling said, and she thought for a moment, “...Take Evancar Morandis, too.”

Becenti blanched.

“The archaeologist?” Becenti said, “Vyde, he's a-”

“A what, Mr. Becenti?” Wakeling asked, her voice testing.

Becenti bit down his insult. Took a deep breath.

“He doesn't have the best track record with... metahuman artifacts,” he said, “I'm worried he'd insult Luminary, in some way.”

“He'll need a minder, then,” Wakeling said, “But he could prove useful. He could glean some information on the plane. He's not just in it for the old clay pots, Myron. He knows a lot about the multiverse and its history. Maybe more than you do.”

Becenti gritted his teeth.

“It gives Aldreia something to do, at least,” Wakeling said, “She’s stubborn enough to keep him out of trouble.”

“Right,” Becenti said, his voice flat.

“How far away is New Ludaya from here?” Wakeling asked.

“They didn't say,” Becenti said, “Though they might have taken a roundabout path to get here, to avoid Federation patrols.”

“Might be on foot,” Joseph noted.

“Take Nasir, then,” Wakeling said, “He might be able to help you on the way there. And if Nasir's going, then Iandi's going, too.”

Becenti was quiet. Wakeling looked expectant of him, waiting for his answer. When he spoke again, his voice dangerously low.

“...I see what you're doing,” the old metahuman said, “You're sending me with a security detail.”

“I'm-”

“Joseph's a pinch in a brawl, but the good Professor isn’t much of a fighter. So you have Aldreia ‘handling’ him? She’s one of the best we’ve got.”

“Now, Myron-”

“You should let him finish,” Joseph warned.

Wakeling grimaced. She nodded at her guildmate to continue.

“Iandi’s a damn Mark Eta,” Becenti said, “And Nasir’s no slouch either. An entire security detail. Just for me. Are you truly that scared?”

“...Yes, Myron,” Wakeling said, “I am.”

Becenti was silent.

“Not because of this metahuman nation,” Wakeling said, “But the... the circumstances around it. I know that they've been in hiding, and that's why this is the first we're hearing of this. But... I don't know, Myron, there's something about this that's set me on edge. If push comes to shove, I want your guild to protect you.”

“I won't need the guild,” Becenti snapped.

“Myron!” Wakeling said, and she looked like she'd been slapped, “Why, I-!”

“Becenti-” Joseph said.

“Luminary isn't going to just... stand by, and watch me be hurt. She wouldn't do that,” Becenti said, “I feel like you aren't trusting me on this, Vyde.”

“It's because I trust you at all that I'm letting you go in the first place!” Wakeling retorted.

“You couldn't stop me,” Becenti said.

“I wouldn't,” Wakeling hissed, “But you still need a place to come home to, don't you?”

“Hey-” Joseph said.

“Not now, Mr. Zheng,” Becenti said, and he rose from his seat.

“Myron,” Wakeling said, “If not for you, then for Joseph.”

The old metahuman glanced over to his protege. Joseph's arms were crossed, and he was glaring at both of them.

“...Fine,” Becenti said, “For Joseph's sake. Not mine. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to start packing. Mr. Zheng, we leave in the morning.”

And he moved off. Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Wakeling shook her head at him. The two of them let him leave. Joseph moved over to the desk, sat down at it.

“...I haven't seen him like that before,” he said.

“What, angry?” Wakeling asked.

“I've seen him angry,” Joseph said, “But not like that. He looked about to quit right then and there.”

“...Ludaya meant a lot to him, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “More than he let on. It was his... well, I hate to call it 'reward.' It was his justification for fighting in the war. His dream. Something he'd been working for ever since he Awakened. To hear that his dream has returned to him, seemingly on a silver platter...”

“Seems too good to be true,” Joseph said.

“Precisely,” Wakeling said, “If the Federation hasn't found out about it, then that means the plane that New Ludaya is on is very, very far from here. I would not be surprised if you're gone for a long time.”

Joseph nodded at that.

Then, his brow furrowed.

“Funny,” he said, “That Mister Meaning guy said it was only a few jumps away.”

Wakeling pursed her lips.

“That's... hmm,” she murmured to herself, and she looked down. Her voice was careful when she spoke, “Mr. Zheng, please, look after Myron. Watch his back. Make sure he doesn't wind up in trouble. Alright?”

“Yeah, of course,” Joseph said, “I'll look after him.”

And the guildmaster smiled a sad smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Zheng,” she said, “I'll see you off tomorrow.”