Aldreia Firedawn had never been the most devout of clerics to Pelliad, Lord of the Endless Suns. She had, as a baby, been left on the doorstep of an abbey on Imena, a tucked-away medieval plane that floated with the rest of the Ozhai Paradigm. The priests had taken her in, raised her as a foundling, and she took the First Oath of the Sun when she was but thirteen years old. The Oath required one to drink a full glass of white wine, taken from grapes harvested from the tallest vine in the orchard, that which reached up to fully take in Pelliad's solar greatness. She had taken her drink. Crossed her heart, had the symbol of Pelliad painted on her forehead like a third eye, swore the Oath, to always uphold Pelliad, to not eat nor drink when it was night, to sleep when the sun slept, to walk when the sun walked. She had remembered feeling a hollowness during the ceremony. There was little pride to it. She assigned little meaning to it.
It was the first time, at that ceremony, that she had felt the spell of drunkenness. And she found she liked it.
The next week, in the dead of night, she and a friend snuck into the wine cellar, and opened up a few bottles. Father Imbius found her the next day, her sleeping gown stained purple, her eyes bloodshot, with an empty bottle in hand.
That, indeed, was the first of her problems. Alcohol called to Aldreia Firedawn, even then. When she read about the laws of Pelliad, the love it forbade, it called to her. When she read of the banning of relationships, the insistence on gender roles and gender binaries, it called to her.
It called to her for all that she felt about herself. All of herself, the stolen glances of her fellow sisters, the yearning in the night, was wrong and immoral, to act on it even moreso. To walk away from the Light of Pelliad was to consign oneself to hell. Her time at the abbey and as a cleric was to be reminded that she was an aberration.
Yes, the wine there, as well as whatever she could get her hands on, was a welcome reprieve indeed.
Which was why she was proud of herself that she hadn't drunk a single drop on that first day on New Ludaya. Aldreia rolled her eyes at Evancar Morandus, allowed the archaeologist his freedom (who was she to say no?), instead lazing in the guest room, or walking around Mt. Redress, listening to the sound of the New Ludayans as they worked on expanding the mountain's interior.
She was the last to get back to the guest room at the end of the night. The rest of her guildmates were there. Becenti and Joseph. Nasir and Iandi. Becenti gave Aldreia a warning look, one the cleric ignored, turning her back to him as she settled into bed.
She was the first to get up in the morning, near the crack of dawn. A magic spell went off in her head, installed in her mind long ago, that woke her up with the sun's rising. Sometimes it was marred by drink, but today it was not.
Aldreia got up, rubbing her eyes, mumbling to herself. Her head was hurting. She…
She wanted a drink.
“Dammit,” she whispered.
She got up. Pulled on her robes, brushed her hair, cleaned her teeth. Made herself presentable, then stepped out of the room. Down the mountain.
She found the nearest metahuman, a stone-flecked man who was busy chiseling away an alcove in the hall.
“Excuse me,” she said, “You know of a place to get a drink?”
The metahuman looked up at her.
“It's a bit early for it, isn't it?”
“What, you've never heard of breakfast mimosas?” Aldreia snapped, “Just get me a place.”
“There's a bar a few floors above us,” the metahuman said, a bit surly, “Usually it's reserved for the Rulers, but you're a guest of theirs, aren't you?”
“I suppose I am,” Aldreia said, “Ah, thank you.”
The metahuman huffed, before returning to his work. Aldreia walked up the winding hallways, the ramps and stairways, up to the bar, which was located on an overhang, a shelf of stone that jutted out into the open air. Tables and chairs were set up, and the bartender was busy shaking a few drinks out to a blond-haired older man and a blue-skinned metahuman with four spiked, feather-like ears. Both of them were dressed to impress, both in nice suits.
The elder of them took note of Aldreia as she walked up to the counter and ordered a drink from the mass of shimmering light. He nodded to his son, striding over to lean beside her.
“It's on the house, Rhetoric,” he said.
“Of course, Mr. Dorucanthos,” Rhetoric, the mass of light, said.
He poured Aldreia a drink. Aldreia looked over at Mr. Dorucanthos. Who smiled at her with a slightly oily smile.
“A bit early for it, isn't it?” he said, “Well, can't be helped. I'm the same way. Odd business leads to odd hours, doesn't it?”
He tapped the counter.
“One for me, too, Rhetoric.”
“Of course, Mr. Dorucanthos.”
The light poured him a drink. The older metahuman raised his glass to Aldreia, then took a drink. The cleric still hadn't touched hers, instead giving him an annoyed glare. At the table, the blue-skinned metahuman rolled his eyes.
“Father,” he said, “She thinks you're trying to hit on her.”
“Oh?” the older metahuman said, looking over at his son, “Hitting on her, Jaskaios? Why, she's your sister's age.”
“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Aldreia hissed.
The older metahuman blinked. Looked at his drink, then to Aldreia's, then to her face. She resisted the urge to throw a pillar of fire at him.
Then, he let out a barking laugh.
“I see the misunderstanding!” he said, “I'm sorry, my dear. I remembered that you were on the guest list, and saw you were all alone this morning. No, ah, ill-intent.”
“You'd be wasting your time,” Aldreia said, “I like girls.”
“Ha!” Mr. Dorucanthos said, “See, Jaskaios? I'd be wasting my time anyways!”
Jaskaios sighed.
“You'll have to forgive the old man,” he said, “He's just like this. We think it's an illness of some sort.”
“Nomatrius Dorucanthos,” the older metahuman brought out a hand, “Seat of Commerce on the Council.”
“Aldreia Firedawn,” the cleric took the hand.
“Firedawn?” Nomatrius said, “Why, a cleric to Pelliad?”
“Former cleric,” Aldreia said, “I like girls.”
“Ah, I see, I see,” Nomatrius said, and his cheery attitude dropped, “My condolences. It seems your guild has your back.”
She nodded. Grateful, at least, that this Nomatrius seemed to have a conscience. That, on a second glance, he didn't look at her with the same predatory look most men did.
Recalled the disappointed look on Becenti's face the night before, and tried to push down her guilt.
“Yes,” she said, “They're fine enough.”
She looked down at her drink. Took a reluctant sip.
“They treat me better than I deserve, I suppose,” she said.
“Family does that,” Nomatrius said, “They also see us for who we are, and it's far better than how we see ourselves.”
He smiled at her. The oil in it was gone.
“Tell me,” he said, “What do you think?”
“...Of what?” Aldreia said.
“Of this. New Ludaya. Us. Homo mirabilis. Metahumans. All of it,” Nomatrius said, “From what I've been told, the only metahumans in your guild are Becenti and that Joseph boy, yes?”
He was leaning against the counter.
“Yes,” Aldreia said, “They're fine enough. Joseph is a bit of an ass. But then, who isn't?”
She shook her head.
“I haven't really gone on many jobs with him. Can't say much about his so-called 'character' aside from what I've heard from my guildmates.”
“And?” Nomatrius said.
“...He's rough around the edges,” Aldreia said, “He's, pardon the language, fucked up before.”
“Who hasn't?” Nomatrius said. Aldreia gave him a sideways glance.
“He's a fighter,” Aldreia said, “Whenever we need violence, he's there.”
“He's a metahuman with a combat-based ability?” Nomatrius said.
“Indeed,” Aldreia said, and she took another sip of her drink. It was good. Sweet. Someone who wasn't paying attention could get buzzed very quickly.
“Well,” Nomatrius said, “He'd be useful here.”
“And what about non-metahumans?” Aldreia asked, “As far as I can see, I'm one of the only baseline humans here, aside from my guildmates.”
“They'd be welcome, after a time, I'm sure,” Nomatrius said, “It's been discussed with the Council, of course, but as of right now the only people who are welcome as citizens are other metahumans.”
“An ethnostate,” Aldreia said.
“A speciostate,” Nomatrius said, wagging a finger, “We're not an ethnicity. We're not a part of the human race. We're a separate species of our own.”
“As if that makes it any better,” Aldreia muttered.
“So you don't like what we're doing here?” Nomatrius said. He was still jovial, but there was a subtle edge to his voice.
“I never said that,” Aldreia said. She looked at her drink, debating on what to say. Jaskaios stood up, to look out at New Ludaya.
“You seem like an educated girl,” Nomatrius said, “No doubt, you've read up on other metahuman nations.”
“And other speciostates, both historical and proposed,” Aldreia said, “Epochia. The Great Elven Nation, the Utopian Movement. And they often fall in line with far-right movements across the multiverse. It is easy to co-opt those nations with far more hateful ideologies in mind.”
“Well, I can agree with that,” Nomatrius said, “I've heard of the Verdant Reclamation's recent actions in the multiverse. As for Epochia, I would argue that that is more mythological than anything now. The 'history' of Epochia is more folktale than truth. It died out thousands and thousands of years ago.”
“Father,” Jaskaios said, “She should be here soon.”
“Ah, yes,” Nomatrius said, “Ms. Firedawn, would you like to accompany me? There is a shipment coming in that I want to oversee personally.”
Aldreia finished her drink. Wished she had more. But nodded.
“Good, good,” Nomatrius said, and he rose. He, Aldreia, and Jaskaios made their way back inside, before descending down, outside and down the path out of Mt. Redress's base.
“History,” Nomatrius said, “Is not a static thing. It is not...”
He scratched his beard.
“It's not a recording of what happened, as though separated by sapient logic and emotion. It is not a force outside of ourselves.”
They stepped past a few metahumans who were carrying in a harvest of grain into the mountain. The gravel path greeted them, and they continued walking into the forest.
“Rather,” Nomatrius said, “History is a record of people doing things. The decisions that are made. On an individual level. On a governmental level.”
They stopped at a clearing in the forest, along with a few other metahumans who were standing by a few empty wagons. They were being directed by a pelican-headed woman. Jaskaios walked up to her, started conversing with her and pointing out specific parts of the clearing.
“What I'm trying to say,” Nomatrius said, “Is that just because the concept has failed before does not mean it is going to fail now.”
“That's a bit naive, isn't it?” Aldreia said.
“Perhaps it is,” Nomatrius said, “If you take the wrong lessons away from it. If you ignore what didn't work in the past.”
Above, on the mountain, the Traveling Point rippled. A ship erupted from thin air, a sleek, mud-brown cargo vessel that pushed out the Traveling Point's outer diameter, allowing its full bulk through. It was the size of a caravel back on Londoa, and it made its way towards the clearing. It landed, and a woman jumped out, accompanied by several humanoids made of...
“Keratin,” Aldreia said.
“My youngest, Melitta,” Nomatrius said, “When she buries her fingernails into the earth, they sprout up as warriors who follow her every whim. She mostly uses them to help with deliveries nowadays.”
Indeed, the keratin soldiers had begun unloading a series of crates. Aldreia walked over to one of them, opening up a top. Her brow furrowed at the sight of it.
“Are these... plasma cartridges?” she said, “And rifles.”
“Hmm?” Nomatrius said, “Oh... yes.”
He opened the crate up, fishing out a plasma rifle. He inspected it for a few moments, aiming down its sights. It was sleek and modern.
“We buy these from surplus stores, primarily from Enduin III and Glimmor Prime,” he said, “For those of us who don't have combat-oriented abilities.”
“...Indeed,” Aldreia said, “May I...?”
“Be my guest.”
He handed her the rifle. It was heavy in her hands. She had practiced down at the range a few times with Meleko, but even now its weight felt uncomfortable. She'd always preferred her magic, those last vestiges of her faith. She repeated Nomatrius's actions, a thin frown on her face.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“I understand that must look awkward,” Nomatrius said, “But, as the Seat of Commerce, I wanted to ensure this shipment came in safely. And for you to see it, as our guest.”
“For the nation's defense, yes?” Aldreia said.
“We are metahumans,” Nomatrius said, “Our histories are filled with oppression. Genocide. Bloodshed and broken communities. Even the Dorucanthos family hasn't gotten away from it all unscathed.”
His sigh shuddered as he looked out towards the treeline.
“I lost my wife to the High Federation, Ms. Firedawn. I think of her every day. I don't want that to happen to any other of my people.”
His gaze returned to her.
“It is a precarious thing, the concept of nation. We can easily be led astray, if the wrong leaders are in power, if the wrong decisions are made. But we have to try, don't we? We must form a nation once more, so that we can be protected and defended. I believe in that. That's why I invested in New Ludaya, when Luminary approached me. So no more metahuman husbands have to lose their spouses. No more metahuman children have to be raised without a mother.”
The crates were being loaded onto the wagons. A woman was stepping off the ship, laughing as she ran over to embrace Jaskaios.
“Melitta, my youngest,” Nomatrius said.
She was easy on the eyes, that was for sure. Young and bubbly, with rainbow-hued hair.
“She dyed it again,” Nomatrius noted. Melitta looked over at the two of them, her eyes locking with Aldreia.
(Oh, by Pelliad, it was happening again.)
Aldreia cleared her throat. Tried to still her shaking hands, control her heart's rapid beat.
She gave her best, her most lovely, smile.
“Dad!” and Melitta ran over to embrace her father. Nomatrius let out a laugh as he returned it, squeezing her tight. Melitta's laugh turned pained as he put her down.
“Easy on the ribs, Dad,” she said, “You're gonna break them one of these days.”
“Nonsense!” Nomatrius barked, “I'm always careful with the weakest of us.”
“Weakest!” and she slugged him playfully on the arm. Nomatrius was chortling now. Melitta's eyes slid over to Aldreia.
“And who is this?” she asked.
“Ah, Melitta,” Nomatrius said, “This is Aldreia Firedawn. She's a guest from off-plane.”
“Nice to meet you,” Melitta said.
“Y-Yes,” Aldreia said, “Indeed. Feeling's mutual.”
(Gods, that was what she said?)
“Father,” Jaskaios said, “We'd better get going. The meeting with Snapdragon is happening in an hour.”
“Oh, yes,” Nomatrius said, “Melitta, you don't have anything going on today, right?”
“Just stopping by for a little while,” Melitta said, “Why?”
“Can you do me a favor,” Nomatrius said, “And accompany our guest as she explores our new home?”
Melitta looked at Aldreia, her eyes fluttering.
“Sure, why not,” Melitta said, “I'd be more than happy to.”
“Good,” Nomatrius said, and he looked to Aldreia, “I did enjoy our talk, Ms. Firedawn. And I know your reservations. Trust me, I have them, too. But I believe in our nation. I believe in New Ludaya.”
Aldreia nodded.
“I'll... look around,” she said, “It's ultimately not up to me, at the end of the day.”
“It isn't,” Nomatrius said, “But know that we aren't doing this out of hatred for the Other. We are doing it for the sake of our own space and our own community. Why shouldn't we feel safe in our own home?”
“Father,” Jaskaios said, “We'll be late.”
“Right are you, son,” Nomatrius said, “Your good health, Ms. Firedawn.”
“And yours,” Aldreia said.
Nomatrius made his leave, Jaskaios following closely behind him. Melitta tapped Aldreia on the shoulder.
“Come on,” she said, “My soldiers are almost done anyways. Want to get some breakfast?”
Aldreia gave her a smile that she hoped was not too watery.
“I'd like that,” she said.
***
Nasir and Iandi were the next to get up in the morning, but Joseph didn't see them go. They were quiet, and all he heard as he turned, half-asleep, in bed was their hurried whispers as Nasir pushed Iandi out the door. When he fully came to, the only person in the room with him was Evancar. The archaeologist was looking in a mirror by his bed, brushing his curly, disheveled hair. He wasn't doing a good job of it, but he nonetheless had a glint in his eye as he noted Joseph getting out of bed.
“Ah, good morning, Joe,” he said, “Sleep well?”
“Eh,” Joseph said, “Bad dreams.”
“Not surprised,” Evancar said, “From the jobs I've heard you go on, and all-”
He blinked. Joseph was glaring at him. Evancar turned around.
“Ah, sorry,” he said, “I tend to ramble.”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, irritated, “Where's Becenti?”
“H-He went out a few minutes ago,” Evancar said, “Said he'd be back soon for you.”
Joseph nodded, getting out of bed. He started getting dressed, watching as Evancar opened a few books from his bag, flipping through them. The archaeologist noticed him staring.
“Ah,” he said, “Books about ruins around here. In the local Squall.”
“Mmm,” Joseph said, “Anything good?”
“Well, the Silver Eye is connected to any number of Squalls and Paradigms at any one time,” Evancar said, “New Ludaya has been in forecast with the Silver Eye for a while, but it wasn't always. I'm taking a look at a few records to see what other planes were in forecast with the Silver Eye a few hundred years ago.”
“Old records,” Joseph said.
“Yes. From a transcribed collection,” Evancar said, “You can still smell the plastic. I'm trying to see if there are any planes in the Squall around here that might have once connected to New Ludaya.”
“So you can see if there were any settlers here,” Joseph said.
“To see if there are any records on this plane at all,” Evancar said, “Planes only a jump or two away from the Silver Eye tend to, at the very least, have a survey team sent out. Expeditions from the High Federation.”
“And you think it's weird that the people here insist this plane is new?” Joseph asked.
“I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, of course,” Evancar said, “New planes spring up into existence all the time. But... this close to the Federation? This part of the multiverse is old, Joe, very old.”
“So I'm always told,” Joseph muttered, crossing his arms, “You want my advice?”
Evancar looked up at him. Adjusted his glasses.
“People here really care about this place,” Joseph said, “Be careful, you know?”
“...If this place is new, then everything is fine,” Evancar said, “I'll accept that as truth, and be on my way. But if this place isn't new, if there were at least surveys, or even nomadic peoples who lived here long ago, wouldn't it be good to know? The land has history, and no amount of insistence to the contrary erases that.”
Joseph was quiet.
He didn't have to answer that question, as Becenti entered the door. He had a rare smile on his face.
“Mr. Zheng,” he said, “...Professor Morandus. We have been invited to have breakfast with Luminary. Would you like to join me?”
“Sure,” Joseph said, “I could eat.”
“I would be honored,” Evancar said. He rose.
“I should warn you, Professor,” Becenti said, “Be sure to watch yourself with her.”
“Afraid I might say the wrong thing?” Evancar said, “Nonsense, Becenti, I'll be on my best behavior.”
Becenti raised an eyebrow, his smile leering into a frown, but he nodded nonetheless, and brought them to Luminary.
***
Breakfast today was taken in one of the private dining halls. Joining Luminary was a slight man, almost childlike in appearance, thin and scrawny, with wide eyes that seemed too large for his head and stringy black hair. He wore only a simple tunic, and he looked uncomfortable as he sat at Luminary's right side.
“Ah, Myron. Joseph. ProfessorMorandus,” Luminary said, “May I introduce to you the Shadow of the Giant, head of our military forces here on New Ludaya. One of my right hands.”
“Good morning,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Pleased to meet you.”
“I believe this is my first time speaking with you, Mr. Zheng,” Luminary said, “Charmed.”
They shook hands. Joseph gave her a polite smile.
“Pleased to meet you, ma'am,” he said.
“Ma'am!” Luminary chuckled, “Why, you make me sound like I'm old.”
“N-Nothing like that,” Joseph said, “Just-”
“She's joking with you, Joseph,” Becenti said, “Luminary, be nice. He's a good man.”
“I'm sure you are, Mr. Zheng,” Luminary said, “Come. Sit.”
She guided them over to the long table in the room, and the two parties sat across from each other.
(And Joseph took note that Luminary hadn't introduced herself to Evancar. Indeed, she almost tried to ignore him.)
A couple of servants brought out their food, plates of eggs benedict, though salmon substituted the ham. They took a few moments to dig in, and for a moment there was only the sound of silverware and water poured into cups.
“So, Joseph,” Luminary said at length, “May I call you Joseph?”
“Just Joe is fine,” the younger metahuman said.
“Ah, Joe, then,” Luminary said, smiling, “Experimenting with a new name?”
“Something like that,” Joe said. He met Becenti's sideways glance, “Been thinking about it for a while. Might as well... give it a spin, I guess?”
“Only way to do it,” Becenti said, “I will say, it did take quite a while to get used to 'Shimmer,' myself.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, simply.
“Well, it's short. To the point,” Luminary said, “Is it short for anything?”
“C-Cobalt Joe,” and Joe blushed, looking away, “Never mind.”
“And where did you think of that?” Becenti asked.
“The... the solo job I went on, a few months back,” Joe said, “Someone called me that, and I liked the ring of it.”
“Well, it's a fine name, Cobalt Joe,” Becenti said, “Wear it well.”
He smiled at him. Joseph returned it.
“Well, Cobalt Joe,” Luminary said, “Myron told me you're from Earth. Tell me, what is it like there?”
“Ah,” Joseph blinked, “Well, it's a lot like Prime. Same places. Same history, for the most part. A few names are changed here and there. The Soviet Union, it fell back in the 90s.”
“Odd,” Luminary said.
“There aren't any metahumans, or superheroes, or anything like that,” Joseph said, “At least, no metahumans that I'm aware of.”
“We tend to inhabit every plane,” Luminary said, smiling, “I'm sure you just weren't looking hard enough.”
“Maybe,” Joseph said, a bit put off by her statement.
“Tell me, Cobalt Joe, what do you think of this place?” Luminary said.
“Seems like everyone's asking me that these days,” Joseph said, swallowing a mouthful of egg, “It's a good place.”
Luminary smiled, though Joseph suspected that that was not the answer she was looking for. But it was what he thought.
“I mean,” he continued, “It's a beautiful plane. And I get why you're going for this nation.”
“Would you join us?” Luminary said, “Perhaps, when you get a chance to speak with the other Warriors.”
“Other Warriors?” Joseph said, “You know what I can do?”
“We... talked about it, Joe,” Becenti said, “Nothing major, of course. Just a bit of what you can do.”
“'Just a bit!'” Luminary laughed, “He told me about that soul of yours, how it can come to life like an astral projection. I heard how you fended off Silicon with it during the Death Valley incident.”
“Y-Yeah,” Joseph said, and he grimaced, “Silicon... he isn't here, is he?”
Becenti looked over to him, noted the uncharacteristic quiver in his guildmate's voice. There were few that could make Cobalt Joe nervous like this. Silicon was one of them.
(And Joseph still had nightmares.)
“No,” Luminary said, her voice measured, “He chose not to come here. I met with him personally.”
Joseph swallowed.
“Right,” he said.
“He always was a man who looked to the past,” Becenti said, his voice measured.
“Then why was he there at all?” Joseph murmured.
“Because Earthmute is a being of the past,” Becenti said, “You saw what was in his halls. He held history within his form, Joe. The past and the future, brought together in the present.”
Joseph was quiet. He stabbed at a piece of egg. Stuffed it in his mouth.
“An astral projection?” a quiet voice said.
It was the Shadow of the Giant. He was looking at Joseph intently, his head tilted, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” Becenti said, “It is his soul, made physical.”
“That certainly brings up certain conundrums,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Tell me, Cobalt Joe, does your soul see?”
“Yeah,” Joseph said, his brow furrowing, “Why?”
“Can it see now?”
Joseph blinked. Closed his eyes.
Yes. Just barely. He could make out the shadow of his stomach. It nested there, when it was not in use. He opened his regular eyes again and gave a curt nod in response.
“I wonder, Cobalt Joe,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “How you will age. Will your physical body deteriorate? Or will your soul keep it fresh and young? Or, perhaps, your body will crumple, leaving your soul free to fly away.”
Joseph tilted his head, leaned in.
“What are you getting at?” his voice was heated.
“I am curious,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “You can forgive curiosity, can you not?”
Joseph gave him a stern look.
“They are important questions,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Metahuman powers can change and evolve as one grows older, or more practiced in their use. It makes sense to ask yourself, what will you be in the future?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Joe tersed.
“Indeed,” the Shadow of the Giant siad, “Your metahuman power seems much like mine, and they are questions I asked of myself. Who is truly 'you?' Is it your body, which may eventually wither, or is it the 'you' in your stomach, slumbering now?”
“Does it fucking matter?” Joe said, almost yelled. Loud enough, at least, for his voice to echo off of the walls.
There was a moment of stark silence. Professor Morandus shifted the eggs on his plate around with a fork. Becenti’s face was as stone. Luminary was still smiling amiably. The Shadow of the Giant stared.
(And Joseph, Cobalt Joe, had no answer.)
“You've posed quite a few observations, my Shadow,” Luminary said, “But I fear you may have upset our guest.”
“No, it's… it’s fine,” Joseph said, “Personal questions like that, they feel weird to me.”
“Hmm,” the Shadow of the Giant said, “Indeed.”
Becenti was giving Joseph a measured look. Joseph took a drink from his glass.
“I think that's enough on that, for now,” Becenti said, “On Cobalt Joe, at least.”
“One last question, if he permits,” Luminary said.
Joseph looked at her.
“Tell me, would you stay?” Luminary said.
The younger metahuman shook his head.
“With respect,” he growled, “My home is elsewhere. I look up at the stars, and they aren't exactly 'mine,' if that makes sense.”
Luminary nodded.
“Well, it is rather early to be asking you, especially when you are so set in your ways,” she said, “But, think on it, hm? You have a place here, when your options run out. We can answer questions that you obviously have been worrying about.”
Joseph's mouth tightened into a frown.
(Why, this Luminary was perceptive, wasn't she?)
“I'll keep it in mind,” he said.
***
Luminary had to attend a few meetings of her own.
“Weapon shipments,” she said, “Boring ones. You will be bored, Myron. Go on, explore and meet new people here.”
And she made her leave. As did Shadow of the Giant, who gave Joseph a final nod, an awkward sort of apology, and went off as well. It left the three Amber Foundation together in the room.
“Evancar,” Becenti said, “Where is Aldreia?”
“I... I don't know,” the archaeologist admitted, “She left before I woke up.”
“And she wasn't there when you left with the others yesterday,” Becenti said.
“She stayed in her room,” Evancar said, “Honest, Becenti, I've been on my best behavior. No awkward questions from me. Just the usual, you know.”
“I think he's fine,” Joseph said, “Seriously, Becenti, he's not hurting anyone. You don't need him on a leash.”
Becenti looked over at Joseph. His eyes revealed nothing.
“You were certainly heated with the Shadow of the Giant, weren't you?” he said.
“Don't change the subject,” Joseph said, “Lay off Evancar. He's fine.”
“Oh, I don't need...” Evancar stammered, “It's fine, I can find Aldreia, have her accompany me, it's n-nothing.”
“Very well,” Becenti said curtly, “I apologize, Professor Morandus. Do what you will.”
He hadn't averted his gaze from Joseph. Joseph's brow, after a moment, furrowed. Then he broke their little staring game and looked at the wall.
“It's nothing,” he said.
“Thinking of the future?” Becenti said.
“Something like that,” Joseph said, “I shouldn't have gotten upset about it. I just got defensive, is all. They mentioned Silicon.”
“You were already on edge,” Becenti said.
“Exactly,” Joseph said, “And...”
He sighed.
“What the Shadow of the Giant was asking, they're questions I've asked myself,” he said, “They're questions I don't like.”
Becenti nodded.
“They are your powers, Mr... Joe.”
Joseph smirked at his mentor's correction.
“Yeah, they are,” he said, standing, “But, I look in the mirror sometimes. And I'm a thing of scars. Sometimes I look at myself, and I think, 'what's next?'”
He paced around. His footsteps echoed on the stone.
“I don't want to go back to Earth. Well, maybe a little, but not to stay. Not like I did before,” he said, “So all I do is go on jobs, and fight Darwinists, and get my shit rocked. And I wonder what'll happen to my soul when it's over.”
He looked at Becenti, and in his eyes was an anxiety, a fear, that the older man had never seen in the younger metahuman's eyes.
“I've been seeing more through my soul, every day,” he said, “And when I dream, it's my soul that I see, and not myself. Blue feathers and claws, and all that.”
He let his statement hang.
Evancar cleared his throat.
“...Maybe find a hobby?” he asked.
Joseph, despite himself, snorted.
“Yeah,” he said, “Something like that.”
He shook his head.
“I dunno. I'll leave you to do whatever. I'm going to get some fresh air.”
“I have a few visits I need to make,” Becenti said, “I want to see if some old friends survived. Meet back up later?”
Joseph nodded.
“Do you mind if I come with you, Cobalt Joe?” Evancar asked, “We could find Aldreia.”
There was a tone to his voice. He recognized Joe defending him in front of Becenti.
“Sure,” Joseph said, and he gave a rare smile, “Why not.”