They burned the Denrama's corpses.

Seventeen of the forty had been killed. Nole was dead. G-Wiz was near comatose, as she stared at the bloody bag. Now that Mordenaro was gone, the adrenaline was gone from her system. She could only stare at Nole's remains, her face a tear-streaked mask, her eyes bloodshot and her form crumpled a foot away from the bag. Joseph was glad that she had not yet opened it. He wasn't sure if she'd be able to stand that.

Luevo and the rest of the Denrama returned to the spot, pitching up tents and tending to the wounded – Joseph included, as one of their healers applied a special ointment to his broken arm and, their face awash with empathy, mercilessly reset his arm back in place. He let out a scream as pain shot from his shoulder down to his hand.

They began work on his ribs, before shaking their head.

“This is beyond my ability,” they said, “A healer from the Outer Worlds is what you need. Fedtek. Their magic, not ours.”

“Great,” Joseph wheezed.

At least the Denrama were in good spirits. When they were not tending to the survivors of Mordenaro's battle, they walked around in awe of the new landscape that had literally grown around them. The field was beautiful, seeming to stretch on forever and ever, the golden grasses swaying in the calm, warm wind. Spioa were drifting here, nomads who had found a new home, a few of them coalescing here and there into fully-formed beings and waving at Luevo.

The Kimao.

The prince had returned a couple hours before, his eyes bloodshot and with dried tear streaks running down his face. There was something new to the prince now. Something in the way that he looked out towards the horizon, tall and forlorn, his entire body seeming to be sick with a sort of melancholy.

“They're gone,” he whispered.

“Lots of people are,” Joseph said. They were waiting for diplomats from Ionica and a dozen other nations to make their way here, to negotiate whose land this would belong to. Waiting for the guild, too.

“So many people dead,” he whimpered.

“Yeah. For you. And Rolala.”

“More for Rolala,” Luevo said, “I was just... the messenger, I suppose. Without them, I wouldn't even be here.”

“And what do you think of all this, then?” Joseph said.

He winced as he gestured towards the fields. Luevo followed the motion, his eyes moving beyond Joseph's arm and staring at the distant mountains once more.

“It's good,” he said after a few moments, “Beautiful, like the one who birthed it.”

He was silent again. Then he turned to Joseph.

“So, that's it then.”

“It is,” Joseph replied.

“Only took... what? Three of your folk dead?”

“Yeah, something like that. Nole and Shetavalk. Maybe Archenround,” Joseph's face twisted into a dour look, “Wakeling's gonna be pissed.”

“Yes...” Luevo said.

An agreement passed between the two of them, to not say the words so casually, what with the weight of them. They were quiet once more.

The second day brought something new. Just on the horizon, coming closer and closer, looming over them and cloaking them in shadow. G-Wiz looked up at it for a few moments, her face inscrutable as the Dreamer's Lament descended down, the grass billowing away as she landed. Diplomats from various nations began making their way out, followed by Ichabod, Broon, and a stout dwarf in bejeweled armor. The dwarf made one sweeping look at the place, his eyes falling on Joseph in the tent.

“By Dorma,” he grunted, “It's always the young 'uns.”

He began making his way over. He looked familiar – Joseph thought he had seen him in Castle Belenus a few times. The dwarf produced an iron rod with a series of jagged runes painstakingly carved into its makeup. He pointed it at Joseph, the runes flashing, and Joseph began wheezing and clutching his side as he felt his ribs begin to re-knit.

“That’ll do,” he said, “We’ll still want Elenry to get a look at you, but that should be enough to get you home.”

Ichabod, meanwhile, gave him a sneer.

“Had a good time, hm?” he said.

Then the cybernetic man's eyes fell on G-Wiz and the bag. Joseph could see him put two and two together.

“Oh, Galatea,” his voice was strained, “Oh, my poor, dear G-Wiz...”

She looked up at him, tears running down her face as he ran over to embrace her. The two of them sat as silent sobs racked her body. Joseph looked away. Broon was approaching, a somber look on his face.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“Mordenaro,” Joseph replied.

The half-orc grimaced. The dwarf let out a soft curse.

“He still here?” the dwarf asked.

“No. He didn't get the prince. We got the job done.”

Broon nodded, “We received word that Archenround was in a hospital on Truth Everlasting. Had been shifted there from Kelstonda.”

“I'll...” Joseph gasped as a particularly broken rib popped back into place, “I'll explain on the way back.”

“Right,” Broon nodded. He offered a hand, which Joseph took to pull himself up. He turned to watch Manzima, Luevo, and the diplomats talking among themselves. Joseph made his way over to the group. The prince took notice, peeling himself away from the tense conversation.

“And the players all align,” he spat, “Dignitaries from fourteen different countries and seventeen different landscapes, all begging for a slice of the pie. Utter bastards.”

“Politics as usual, I guess,” Joseph said.

“Indeed. I'll smooth their feathers – try to, of course. I'm not the best at this sort of thing,” Luevo said. He cast another sad look about the place, “I’ll make sake sure the Denrama get to live here. They sacrificed... a lot. If they can't stay here, I'll make them live in the royal palace.”

“Turning over a new leaf?” Joseph smiled.

“Can't say you taught me that, but someone in your little guild did,” Luevo smirked through his exhaustion, “Well, it's time to stop being a mopey little bastard. That's for later tonight, when I'm alone with my thoughts.”

“TMI, dude,” Joseph said.

Luevo let out a false bark of laughter, “Right. Well, thank you, Joseph. No, really. I would not be here without you. Anyone else...”

The mask of bravado melted away, “Anyone else would have failed. Nole and Shetavalk, I won't forget them. Ever.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Joseph said.

Luevo extended a hand. Joseph shook it.

“We should head out,” Broon said, “Get back to Castle Belenus. Let Wakeling know.”

“Right,” Joseph said, “Be seeing you, princey.”

“And you, Joseph,” Luevo said.

Joseph gave him a lopsided grin, then after a few moments turned and headed for the Dreamer's Lament.

***

Joseph told the tale as the Dreamer's Lament whirled through the lonely sky, sitting on the old couch he had slept in his first night in the multiverse, his hands wrapped together in a knot – a knot that mirrored the twisting in his stomach as he recalled Mordenaro's brutal attack and Shetavalk's death, the battle on the train, Nole's eternal sacrifices, his body looking more and more ragged as he regenerated fighting the Grim Walker. Broon's expression went darker and darker with each passing moment. Ichabod had taken G-Wiz upstairs to the bridge.

“A cup of coffee,” Ichabod had said, “With a pinch of sugar. As you like it, my dear.”

“A-alright,” G-Wiz's voice was hollow, “Okay.”

No biting words from Ichabod. So the bastard had a heart.

Broon was quiet as Joseph related the last leg of the journey. He took a deep breath, and Joseph noticed he seemed to be pulling himself together.

“Seems you need something a bit stronger than coffee,” the dwarf said.

“Urash, please,” Broon said, “Joseph, are you... are you alright?”

“...N-not really,” Joseph muttered.

“What kind of shit question is that?” Urash snapped, “Come on, Broon, even a goat knows better.”

Broon grimaced. Joseph gave a smile to try and ease the half-orc's embarrassment.

“Was kind of a shit one,” he said.

“Joseph, if we had known that you'd be up against Mordenaro, we'd have never sent you,” Broon said, “Please, you have to believe me.”

“You would've sent Nole, though?”

“...To be honest,” Urash said, “You're damned lucky Wakeling sent Nole – from what it sounds like, he and Arc are the only reason why you're still here.”

Joseph nodded, seeing the logic – marred as it was with what had transpired, “And G-Wiz?”

“Would have been taken off,” Broon said, “They'd send Urash here, or Wakeling herself would go.”

“Might as well call the job entirely, if Wakeling's going,” Urash said, “Too much at stake. Mordenaro in the game changes the entire landscape.”

“And leave all those people to die?” Joseph asked.

“Maybe,” the dwarf shrugged.

“Urash,” Broon said.

“Alright, alright,” Urash said, “I'm just saying, you're lucky to be alive. You and G.”

“I just want to head back now,” Joseph said.

“We'll be reaching the Traveling Point in another day,” Broon said, “We'll be back in Londoa in a few days or so.”

“Right,” Joseph said, “How'd you know that we'd be out here?”

“We arrived at Ionica's capital a few days ago,” Broon said, “Hired to take all those dignitaries out to the new frontier.”

“Would've been quite the downer if you'd failed out there,” Urash said.

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Joseph shuddered, “Let's not... Let's not talk about that, okay?”

***

It was a quiet trip. No one talked much after Joseph related everything. Broon wrote it down, nodding in a grim satisfaction when he finished. He didn't prod Joseph for any more details. Urash the dwarf kept to himself, tinkering with a few jewels on the table, a small metal hammer in hand, each spark whispering of a dark sort of magic with each chip he made in one of the gems. Ichabod kept to the bridge, guiding the Dreamer as she wheeled through the multiverse. The last day on Nesona brought an interesting sight – one that G-Wiz pointed out. She made her way downstairs.

“T-the Spioa are out,” she said.

They went up to the bridge. Broon opened a door that led out to an observation platform, a crow's nest implanted into the side of the ship. The wind was cool and crisp, the clouds a sea beneath them as they all stepped out to watch the open sky. Figures emerged from the air, carried on the currents – Spioa, full and dancing, dipping in and out of the clouds like dolphins. Through the buffeting in his ears, Joseph could hear peals of laughter.

And then, breaching the surface like a whale, came a great form. A woman – the clouds her robes, translucent as they were. Joseph found himself blushing as she looked at the observation platform, her sightless eyes – eyes like Shetavalk's – seeming to pierce into his electric soul, a smile playing at her lips.

“I'll be damned,” Broon said, “The Lady of the Wind. Mother of the Spioa.”

“Shetavalk's mom,” Joseph said.

“Quite the looker,” Urash said.

She disappeared beneath the clouds once more, her children whirling around her like autumn leaves. All of them disappeared with her.

“I… I remember Shetavalk telling me that Spioa don't truly die,” G-Wiz said, “That they just turn back into the wind, waiting to be reborn again.”

“Reincarnated,” Joseph murmured.

“He did say he didn't want a funeral when he went the way of the dinosaur,” G-Wiz said, “'I wouldn't be dead, merely whispering.' Or something like that.”

“Mm...” Joseph said.

“Aye,” G-Wiz finished. Then, “You think Nole would reincarnate? Come back as something else, maybe?”

“Him?” Joseph smiled, “Probably would come back as a toad, or a big ugly tree.”

G-Wiz smirked, “Aye, he probably would.”

“I don't mean to interrupt this nice little scene,” Ichabod said, “But we're technically still flying towards the Traveling Point – about to hit it. I'd rather not be outside when that happens.”

“Right,” Broon said.

“Bye, Sheets,” G-Wiz said to the open air.

“...See you, Sheets,” Joseph said. He felt awkward saying it out loud, to no one in particular. It felt right, though. Perhaps the Spioa even heard him, as Joseph felt the wind pick up one last time as he made his way back inside.

***

Nole's funeral happened as soon as they landed back at Castle Belenus.

It was a quiet affair. A line of guildmates welcomed them as the Dreamer's Lament landed behind the guildhall, having received word of Nole’s passing hours ago. Joseph recognized quite a few familiar faces – Contort and Mekke standing beside one another, Phineas clutching his magical book, Calacious Nine the Jellyfish floating a bit above the ground. Rosemary stood beside Mallory, Chadwick resting in her hands, the cat's eyes inscrutable as Joseph got off the ship. He was followed by Broon and Urash, the former resting a hand on Joseph's shoulder and guiding him to stand beside Barbara, the three of them turning to face the airship. Ichabod got off next, nodding to Wakeling, who was in the middle, carried on a pillow by a large, wooden puppet. The rest of the guild parted around her as she waited for G-Wiz.

Galatea walked down the steps. Her face was pale, and while she had been crying intermittently in the last few days, tonight her brow was knit in a look of steeled, dark determination. Her boots sunk into the ground as she stepped off of the airship. Hoisted over her shoulder, swaying back and forth like a pendulum, was the bag that held Nole's head. Joseph hadn't seen her look into it once. She re-adjusted her grip on the sack before she set off, weaving her way through the hedge maze of the castle. The rest of the guild followed.

No one said a word.

No one even coughed.

It hardly felt like anyone even breathed.

She led them through the maze, through the leaf-hewn walls, Chadwick running atop them, dancing from hedge to hedge. Then, as they exited the maze, she took an abrupt turn, going towards the side of Castle Belenus. Joseph looked around at the rest of the guild, confused by the sudden change in course. But no one voiced complaint or question. So he followed their lead, walking a bit faster to keep pace with the rest of the guild – already Broon was far ahead of him, for as one the guild broke out into a jog. G-Wiz made her way along the side of the castle, between the guildhall and the city walls, both painted even more brilliant shades of orange from the dimming of the Inner Sun, the shadows of the guildmates running long and high as they exited the small crevice. She kept going until they were well past the boundaries of Castle Belenus, running down the streets of Scuttleway.

The city was uncharacteristically silent. No one made note of their journey, nor the grim package that G-Wiz held. Joseph supposed that, to the people of the city, this was business as usual for the Amber Foundation. A cacophony of footsteps echoing off of stone roads filled the silence. Banners fluttered in the towers and on the walls of the city, wind breezing past the guildmates as they continued. Quiet winds. They arrived at the northern gate of the city, which opened up towards the plain beyond Scuttleway.

The gate was open. They ran past it with the usual silence.

G-Wiz had them running for almost half an hour – Joseph squinted at the winding dirt road opening before them as they got further and further from Scuttleway. At one moment, however, G-Wiz cut off from the road and ran towards the golden fields around them. Like a caterpillar, the rest of the guild followed suit. She made her way through the golden field and far from the road before she finally came to a stop, her forehead slaked with sweat and her bony arms shaking from the effort of keeping her friend's remains aloft.

One of the Amber Foundation was already here. A woman encased in ebony black armor, to the point that one could not see her face. She stood over a hole in the middle of the field, a shovel held in her clawed gauntlets, standing at attention at the guild's arrival. G-Wiz made her way to the hole, everyone else arraying themselves in a half-crescent, watching. Joseph stood near the back, and he poked his head above Mallory's tip-toeing to watch G-Wiz take a few moments to collect herself. Her face was still set as stone as she pitched Nole's head into the hole. The armored guildmate began shoveling dirt as soon as she did so, though G-Wiz ignored her. Instead, she turned and began walking back towards Scuttleway. Some of the guild watched as the armored woman finished her work – when she was done, she simply tossed the shovel to the side as though it were trash, and began walking back. One by one, they all began peeling away, a trickle of travelers back to the city.

Joseph stayed, though. The Inner Sun of Londoa had extinguished for the night, and Joseph looked up to see the other landmasses. It was as though he were in space, looking down on the dark side of the earth, fires lighting the world above him from the other landmasses. Some were orange. Others were blue. A few large green lights flashed, more brilliant than the others, blinking like stars. A neon night sky. The wind had a bitter edge to it now, but still he stood at Nole's unmarked grave.

“As he would have wanted it.”

Wakeling was still there, held aloft by the puppet – though, now Joseph noted it seemed more like an artist's mannequin, with the way the face was feature-less and the arms and legs were held together by bronze balls at the joints. Wakeling's face, barely visible in the illumination from the other landmasses, was taut.

“It makes sense,” Joseph answered, “Never complain, or bullshit. Always just get the job done.”

“Very utilitarian,” Wakeling said, “I would've gone all in. Have a statue in my honor. A band to play a sad song, written by some famous composer or other. Not in an unmarked grave, to be forgotten and never visited.”

She was rambling, and they both knew it. The guildmaster went silent as Joseph stood there, watching the world wheel overhead.

“Each guildmember has a will, you know,” she continued, “In case things like this happen. How one wants their funeral to be arranged. That's a big one – each guildmember is different.”

“Different cultures, different wants,” Joseph murmured.

“Of course, you won't need to worry about that. You're leaving us, and all.”

The words, the reminders, traveling up and down Joseph like a current. He considered them. Turned them over in his head.

Then he sighed.

“...Maybe I'm not leaving.”

“Oh?”

“I don't know,” Joseph put his hands into the pockets of his jacket – they were almost threadbare now, the enchantments having worn away by constant battle, the cloth torn to pieces by nature. He made a note to get it fixed – he'd grown rather attached to it, “It's all like this, isn't it?”

“What, the jobs? Or the multiverse in general?”

“The multiverse. Seems to be a violent place,” Joseph said.

“Oh, life is violent, I'm afraid,” Wakeling said, “Even your Earth is pretty vile, from what I hear.”

“True,” Joseph said.

“Now, there are some planes that are better than others,” Wakeling said, “Prime is good, if you don't mind the occasional madman trying to destroy the planet. Certain worlds on the Silver Eye are utopias, if you've the coin.”

Joseph heard her continue to prattle, though he pushed it to the back of his mind as he remembered the way that G-Wiz cried over Nole's remains, the way the entire guild seemed to coalesce around her in her mourning. Even that bat Ichabod had become a saint to her.

It occurred to Joseph that no one had ever treated him quite like that.

“Alright,” he said, “You've convinced me.”

“To move on?” Wakeling said.

“No. To stay. If it's all violent out there, I might as well have some people watching my back.”

Her face broke into a bittersweet smile, “Good.”

She didn't press him for further reasoning or answers. Instead, she said, “Whiskey?”

Joseph thought that she was offering him a drink, but he watched as the mannequin's head tilted down to the guildmaster.

“Be a dearie and take me home.”

Whiskey nodded, a strange, shuddering speech echoing up from within his hollow head. He turned with a slow, awkward grace and began walking back towards Scuttleway. Joseph walked over to his side.

“I had wanted to talk to you before you were heading out, anyhow,” Wakeling said, “Catch you in case you decided to just walk out after Nole's funeral.”

“What about?” Joseph asked.

“Not now,” Wakeling said, “Any talk should be had back at Castle Belenus.”

“Why?”

“Because it's more dramatically appropriate, dear Mr. Zheng. Did your grandmother teach you nothing about theater?”

“She didn't teach me anything,” Joseph retorted, “High School and J Dilla taught me all I need to know. Besides, it's a long walk back to the castle. In silence. Kind of awkward, isn't it?”

“Oh, very well,” Wakeling huffed, “Give me a moment. I'm not sure how to start.”

Joseph allowed her the time, stepping over a small creek he had not noticed before. He reached down absently to brush at the surface of the water, fingertips meeting ice-cold night that shot into his heart. Whiskey swayed as he walked, ignoring the chill winds, his head set forward. The mannequin was a complete mystery to Joseph – there was no expression on his face, just a flat slant of wood in place of eyes, nose, and a mouth.

“It's never easy, talking about death,” Wakeling said at last. There was an odd edge in her non-existent throat.

“I know,” Joseph said, “I'm... I'm sorry.”

“Look at you, being the comforter,” Wakeling chuckled darkly, “Aside from G-Wiz, you were perhaps Nole's best friend.”

Joseph let out a false laugh, “Is that what it was supposed to be?”

“He had a weird way of showing it,” Wakeling admitted, “Careful stepping over that rock, Whiskey. Okay, perhaps 'friend' isn't the best word. But he paid special attention to you.”

Joseph wasn't sure how to answer that assertion. Wakeling, perhaps noticing the lack of response, let it slide.

“It's weird,” he said instead, “It's... yeah. He's dead, and now I have all of these grateful feelings about him. But if he were alive...”

“You wouldn't have them?”

“Not even a bit,” Joseph said.

“It's not because he's dead that you feel thankful,” Wakeling said, “It's because he inspired you and showed you what you could be. Who he was.”

“A hero?” Joseph asked, remembering Luevo’s near-reverence of the troll.

“Hero is such a crass term,” Wakeling replied, pulling a sour face, “Nole was... a very specific sort of individual. He was always professional. He got the job done, no questions asked.”

“He did say I had to prove myself to him,” Joseph said, “Was an ass about it, though.”

“Said you were a whiner, who didn't know what to make of yourself, and all that noise?”

“Yes, and maybe he was right.”

“You're still here, aren't you?” Wakeling said.

Joseph went quiet at that.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment, “Maybe. I don't know. I still want to get home, sure, but...”

He stopped, staring up at the sky once more. More lights had flickered on, painting an outline of a city high above, a kaleidoscope of life.

“I'm not sure. I didn't give up. But I still… I want to go home.”

Wakeling nodded at that, not answering what Joseph would realize later was a quiet plea, “Well, before we do say anything on that matter, I do need you to write a report.”

“About the job?” Joseph said, “Alright. Broon already wrote one, though.”

“Broon wasn't there. Needs to be a first hand source.”

“Alright.”

“There is one more thing,” Wakeling said, “The Marlish Empire. You've rather pissed them off.”

“The Marlish...?” Joseph struggled to remember, “Ah, right. The soldier at Kelstonda. We blew up a train.”

“Indeed. Now don't you worry, ear. We'll negotiate with them. But the High Federation will most likely host a trial. You'll be called to witness.”

“To witness?”

“Have you never seen a trial before?” Wakeling asked.

“My mom used to watch Judge Judy all the time,” Joseph said, “Her 'happy place,' she called it.”

“Well, agree to disagree,” Wakeling said, “Regardless, you'll be asked to give testimony. Our guild lawyer will argue on our behalf, the Marlish will have someone to argue on their behalf. Fisticuffs will ensue, probably – do they fist-fight in Judge Judy?”

“Only in one episode I remember,” Joseph said.

“Well, everything on your end will be simple. Let the guild do the talking.”

“Alright,” Joseph said. A nervous edge crept up his spine, made his soul shudder in his stomach. The three of them stood in the night for a few moments more.

“He would have liked this, you know,” Wakeling said, “You staying.”

“Who, Nole?” Joseph chuckled, “Maybe. He'd have someone to bully.”

“He would have stopped eventually.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Joseph said, “But... yeah.”

Wakeling's eyes flashed for a moment, “Whiskey?”

Joseph looked to see she hadn't been talking to the puppet. A bottle of whiskey floated in the air, pouring itself into a phantom shot glass. Wakeling herself had a classical wine glass, like back in her office.

“Ah, what the hell,” he said.

The guildmaster winked, pouring up to her wine glass’s brim. The glass rose up for a brief moment. Joseph clinked it.

“To Nole,” she said.

“To Nole,” Joseph echoed.

And they drank.

Thanks, you damn bastard.