The journey back to InterGuild was a quiet and slow affair. Rosemary kept an eye on Joseph as he walked, her sceptre lighting the way as they made up the rear behind Almogra and Kathen. Kathen stumbled every so often, and eventually he began limping as his legs began to give out from utter exhaustion, prompting Almogra to start supporting him, laying his arm over her shoulder and acting as his cane as they stepped over gnarled roots and fallen trees. Fireflies danced in the air around them, and Rosemary swore she could see their father in the shadows trailing them, an old insect the size of a large dog, a lantern on his crooked cane that glowed like sunset. Almogra clocked him, she knew, but a whisper from Kathen made her relax.

The large firefly did not speak to them the entire time.

They came to the edge of InterGuild to find that not much had changed. It continued bustling on, in market stalls and temporary buildings, as though nothing had happened. Guildmembers traded their wares, swapped stories and drinks, and the flags of the various guilds whipped in the Weatherfolk winds as though a bunch of people had not just been killed. As though a supremacist rally had not just taken place.

She found it disconcerting, to say the least. But she pushed those thoughts away.

She had killed people before. Killing was a part of guild life, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

And the Verdant Reclamation…

She couldn’t see Sunala in the same light. The noblewoman had shown Rosemary her true colors, and they were vile.

Joseph glanced at her, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“Rosemary,” he said, “You have the book?”

“The book?” Rosemary said, “Oh, I do.”

She produced the Dyriptium of Karn from her pack. With a hesitant hand, she offered it to Joseph. He took it, staring at it for a long time. Rosemary's heart fell at how exhausted he looked. Not just physically, but the weariness in his eyes, the way he frowned, revealed an utter emptiness he hadn't worn before, not even on his worst days.

“I got close,” he said, “Really close.”

“Joseph, you have the book,” Rosemary said.

But he shook his head. He walked over to Kathen and Almogra. The gray-skinned woman eyed him suspiciously. The lion-haired man looked at Joseph with dazed eyes.

“Here,” Joseph said. He presented the book to Kathen.

The dazed eyes widened.

“Go on,” Joseph said, “Take the book.”

“But you won,” Kathen said, “You...”

“Take the damn book,” Joseph said, “I don't want it.”

Kathen was quiet.

“I don't need it,” Joseph lied, “Just take it.”

Kathen sighed, and took the book. Tucked it under his arm, gave a nod to Joseph. Joseph turned away.

“Our business is finished,” Almogra said, “My guild will contact yours to discuss any potential damages we did to you.”

“Vice versa,” Rosemary said, “Sorry this happened.”

“It is alright,” Almogra said, “These spats, they happen. It is why we talk afterwards, after the dust is settled. It is the Law of InterGuild.”

She considered her own words, then nodded, giving Rosemary a smile.

“You seem alright. You look after your own, even the very stupid.”

“I try,” Rosemary said, “Well, see you.”

“Storms guide you,” Almogra said, and she and Kathen made their leave, weaving through the market stalls and towards the direction of the campsites. Rosemary turned to Joseph.

“Alright, Joe,” she said, “You good to go?”

“Give me a second,” Joseph said, “Just want to sit.”

“Sure that's a good idea?” Rosemary said, “You've probably got a concussion, or worse. We should get you to Wakeling as soon as-”

“I'll be fine, Rose,” Joseph said, “Just... Let me sit. Please.”

There was a hollowness to his voice. Without waiting for Rosemary to reply, he sat down on a tree stump.

“I was so close, Rosemary,” he said, “So damn close. For a moment, when I held that book in my hand, I could almost... I almost thought...”

“I know, Joe.”

“Like I could get to where I wanted to be. That I was on the right path for myself. That I was going to make things right.”

Rosemary thought back on the rally. Sunala's burning eyes. The utter arrogance on Adonal Adaya's face, his voice hoarse with raw hatred.

“I know, Joe,” she said, “Trust me, I know.”

***

They returned back to camp. Wakeling and Becenti were the only ones there, the rest of the guild still out enjoying themselves at InterGuild. They were sharing drinks over an open fire, Wakeling a nice glass of wine, Becenti a bottle of soda water. Both of them stared as Rosemary and Joseph walked towards them.

“By the gods, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “I thought you were with Tek!”

Joseph gave a shrug. He saw something glimmer in Wakeling's eye as she put two and two together.

“I see,” she said, “Well, I'm sure he'll be rather upset with you, Joseph.”

“Sure,” Joseph said, “Whatever.”

“You’d better get a look at him,” Becenti said, “Make sure everything’s in the right place.”

“Agreed,” Wakeling said, “I'll make sure he's in at least somewhat of a stable condition for Elenry.”

She rolled her eyes, floating over to Joseph. Her arm snaked out and guided him over to the campfire. With a flash of silver, Joseph's face began cracking back together, and his world felt lighter. Airier. Some of the pain he'd been carrying began to melt away as Wakeling's healing magic took hold.

“That should hold you together long enough for Elenry to have a look at you,” Wakeling said.

“Thanks,” Joseph said.

“Really, Mr. Zheng,” Wakeling said, “You always find some new way to break yourself. It's like you do all of your fighting with your head, and not with your brain.”

“I can take it,” Joseph said, “I'm not dead yet, am I?”

“There's only so much that magic can do for you, Joseph,” Wakeling said, her voice bitter with disapproval, “One day, there'll be something that hits you so hard, you can't get it healed. And where will you be then?”

Her finger flicked his forehead. Most of the damage had been healed away, but it still left him spinning for a second.

“Brain damage is dangerous, Joseph. Stop pretending you're invincible.”

“I'm not,” Joseph said.

“Then stop treating yourself like you deserve the beatings you get,” Wakeling said, “I want you at your best for the jobs you do.”

“Right,” Joseph said, “Jobs. Whatever.”

Wakeling gave him a stern look. Joseph returned it with a defiant glare. Nearby, Tek was lumbering back into camp, his face cast to the ground.

“Hey, Tek,” Rosemary said, “How'd it go?”

The mound glanced up to look at Rosemary for a second. Joseph looked over at him.

“Ah,” he said, “It was... It went alright. Had to make a few improvisations, of course, but...”

Tek noticed Joseph was in the clearing.

“Ah, Joseph, hello.”

“...Hey, Tek,” Joseph said.

Tek would not meet his eyes. The mound shuffled awkwardly, before he went over to the Dreamer's Lament, walking inside and closing the door behind him.

“You abandoned him, Joseph,” Wakeling said, “Damn stupid of you.”

“I... I did,” Joseph said, “But I needed to get something. To get what I came here for.”

“Oh?” Wakeling said, “And did you get it?”

Joseph didn't reply. He didn't need to. Wakeling gave out an angry huff.

“Well, you went out on your own, and how did that work out for you?”

“Well,” Joseph said, “I came back bruised, broken, and empty-handed. Just like with all the other jobs I do for you people. So, about the same.”

Wakeling's eye twitched.

“We don't abandon our fellows, Joseph,” she said, “Tek is your guildmate. Your comrade.”

Guilt welled in Joseph, despite his anger at the guildmaster. For he could not say she was wrong.

“I think you should talk to him, when he's had a moment to calm down,” Wakeling said, “Tek's like you. He stews by himself for a while, until his anger turns venomous.”

“Vyde,” Becenti said, “Broon and Glonthek are back.”

“I'll be with them in just a moment,” Wakeling said.

Becenti nodded. He didn't meet Joseph's eyes, either, as he turned to talk with Rosemary.

“Just...” Wakeling said, “Just remember that we stick together, alright? I know you haven't been seeing the successes you've wanted-”

“No thanks to you,” Joseph said.

“All the same,” Wakeling said, “You're angry, I get that. You're upset because you haven't made any progress. But don't you dare use that as an excuse to use your fellows, Joseph. That's the worst thing you can do in a guild.”

Joseph wanted to snap out a, 'Like you?' to Wakeling, but (perhaps wisely) kept his mouth shut. He found his fingers trembled as he did so, swallowing down what bile he had into his stomach. Food for the soul, once more.

“Okay,” Joseph said, “I won't do something like that again, alright?”

Part of that statement was a lie, but there was enough truth in it for Wakeling to leave him be. She opened her mouth again to give a final statement, when Becenti called to her again.

“Vyde!” he said, “They're back! Glonthek says he needs to talk to you now!”

Wakeling let out a sigh, gave Joseph one last warning look, and moved off. Her hand patted his shoulder, before slithering after her.

***

“You're back early,” Becenti said to Rosemary.

The two of them were sitting at one of the tables, the din of InterGuild playing quietly in the distance. Rosemary was lying down, head resting in her hands, a tired look on her face. Now that things had quieted, what little adrenaline keeping her going was melting into her feet.

“Water?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“It's carbonated,” he warned.

“I'll take whatever,” Rosemary said, “God, I hate how exhausting fighting is.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

He poured her a glass, handing it to her. Rosemary took a few sips, before setting it down. Becenti gave her a level look.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, “You aren't hurt?”

“Not as much as Joe,” Rosemary said, “I, uh, kept my distance.”

“Who was the other guild?” Becenti asked.

“The Beasts of Dol.”

The old man's brow furrowed.

“Krosa and his ilk,” he said.

“Yeah. We met him, actually. A bear, right?”

“One of the last of his kind,” Becenti said, “He's... dangerous. I'm surprised you're alive, if I'm being honest.”

“Well, we had help,” Rosemary said.

She told him of their truce with Pagan Chorus. At the very mention of that name, along with her telling him of Almogra, Becenti's disposition grew dour. He poured himself a quiet glass of water when she finished, downing it like it was a shot. Rosemary wondered if he wished it was, despite swearing off drinking.

“Is... Did we do alright?” Rosemary asked, “I mean, Almogra didn't seem too upset that her guildmate and Joseph got into a fight, and she didn't immediately seem to want to talk to Wakeling, or anything.”

She gestured at Wakeling, who was talking quickly to Glonthek and Broon. The guildmaster was nodding and signing a few papers that Glonthek was presenting. Their attorney looked exhausted, as he took a proffered glass of wine and drained it like it was nothing.

“Be glad she didn't,” Becenti said, “Pagan Chorus has an entire legal team backing it up. They could destroy us with a signature.”

“Oh,” Rosemary said, “I didn't know that.”

“But it's good that you kept Joseph's head on straight,” Becenti said, “He... He's been through quite the wringer, these last few months. Seen more than I wished he had.”

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“Don't have to tell me twice,” Rosemary said, “I pop your little dream pills nightly.”

She took another sip of the soda water. Nearby, Wakeling was arguing with Glonthek, who was frantically showing her paper after paper.

“Broon decapitated the guy!” the lawyer was shouting, “His head rolled off the cliff! Of course they want to have us pay in full!”

The half-orc looked sheepish and guilty. Becenti gave a (disturbingly humorous) huff at their antics.

The rally came into Rosemary’s mind.

“Becenti?” she said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“No, I've never decapitated anyone, Rosemary.”

“Not that,” Rosemary said, “But...”

She sighed. Glonthek started pulling out a few more papers out of his briefcase. He was walking over to the table.

“I'd make myself scarce, Rosemary,” Becenti said, “We'll talk later.”

“Right,” Rosemary said. She got up and scurried away, just as Glonthek slammed the briefcase down and started ranting to Wakeling.

***

“I hope you're happy, Kathen,” Almogra said.

Dicaeopolis was checking him, magic whispering on his lips, sparks flying from the satyr's fingers as he worked. The way that they spat, the way the air smelled of ozone while Dicaeopolis worked, reminded Kathen far too much of Joseph's abilities. He suppressed a shiver.

“Was never quite good at magical healing,” Dicaeopolis admitted, “But, well, we're just here to make sure you don't have a concussion, yeah?”

He tapped Kathen in the head, and a jolt shuddered through his body. Kathen winced, the healing magic knitting parts of his body back together. He could almost feel the purpling bruise on his head start to recede.

“Alright, boss,” Dicaeopolis said, “That's about all I can do here. Might as well let the old Fedtek get to work.”

He gave a mock salute to Almogra, who rolled her eyes. She approached Kathen, kneeling down with a scanner in hand. They were back onboard the Point of No Return, the ship's engines humming deep in Kathen's belly. InterGuild had two more days until its conclusion, but already Pagan Chorus was leaving. Bluebell was sitting next to a pile of books he had obtained during his time here. Dicaeopolis had a new, glowing tattoo swirling his middle finger. The primary mission they had here – the politics and the negotiations – had been completed.It was time to leave. Only Oliander was staying, for a few miscellaneous tasks set upon him by Valm. The Guildmasters' Moot had come to a close. It had been a loud affair, Almogra told Kathen.

“And,” she added, “It would have been good for you to be there.”

“I know, I know,” Kathen said, “Sorry to ditch you.”

“It is alright,” Almogra said, “Though the Prime Voice will be disappointed.”

“I know,” Kathen said, “I just-”

“Do not care,” Almogra said, “So, did you get what you wanted?”

Kathen nodded, a smile creeping onto his weary face. He held up the Dyriptium of Karn. Almogra looked at the cracked cover for a few moments.

“I see,” she said, “For Antular, yes? You told me about the book.”

“Yeah,” Kathen said, “For him.”

“I hope it was worth it,” Almogra said.

“It is,” Kathen said. He looked down at the book, and opened it up. Each page was scribbled in a language he couldn't even begin to understand, lines and dots melding together into long lines of script, the occasional illustration being drawn of a plant here, a native there. He would need to run the book through a translator, see if anything matched up. Almogra seemed satisfied with his scan, and she rose and went to the cockpit. The ship began lurching upwards.

Kathen turned a page, fingers tracing along an illustration of a gorgeous snapdragon.

“That Joseph,” Almogra said, “He was a metahuman, was he not?”

“Hmm?” Kathen said, looking up, “Yeah, he was.”

“Perhaps we should check him on the database,” Almogra said, “Make sure that, should we face him in the future, we are prepared.”

“Probably a good idea,” Kathen said, “Guy's scary when he wants to be.”

***

The next day, Joseph walked to the Bookish Wyrm. He went down the makeshift roads, past the temporary buildings, slid out of the way of approaching wagons heaped to the brim with wares. The clocktower high above rang four in the afternoon. The lack of a sun, however, set Joseph on edge. There was no light here. No true light. All of the light in the Flyleaf Forest was brought here, most of it artificial. Light was the invader to this plane. He wondered, if the plane were alive, if it would have preferred to have slept in darkness.

He was in a sullen, defeated mood as he stepped inside the tavern. Most of the Wyrm's clientele were busy with InterGuild, so the place was relatively empty. Bulg and Meloche, however, were at the same table on the second floor. The philosopher waved over to Joseph, and though his face was hidden by mounds of sap, Joseph felt an aura of hopefulness about him.

“Joseph, of the Amber Foundation,” Bulg said, “I see you have sailed harsh stars indeed.”

Joseph was quiet as he sat down. He didn't say anything, instead staring down, trying to piece together every individual grain on the table's wooden surface.

Meloche and Bulg exchanged glances, before the philosopher leaned in, resting his hands on the table.

“The book, Joseph,” he said, “Did you get it?”

“...No, I didn't,” Joseph said. He looked up. Bulg's face betrayed no emotion.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Bulg,” Joseph continued, “I didn't get the book.”

“I see,” Bulg said, “Very well. My time has been wasted, Meloche. I am disappointed, but not surprised. He carries little ruthlessness, for this sort of job.”

The alien rose up, his head brushing the ceiling as he extricated himself from the table.

“Maybe I can look,” Joseph said, “It's a big plane. I can look around some more.”

“If you have not found the book already, you are not going to find the book in the time I am on this plane of existence,” Bulg said, “You had your chance, Joseph of the Amber Foundation. I am a busy man. I have little time for second chances.”

And with those words said, he swept out of the bar, the entire building shaking dully with his footsteps as he went downstairs. Meloche let out a bubbling sigh, before standing up and heading to the bar. He returned with two drinks. Joseph took his and sipped, his throat burning as the whiskey went down.

“Whiskey for sadness, beer for gladness,” Meloche said, “Wine for when you have a stick up your ass.”

“Ha,” Joseph said, though he felt no mirth, “Well, that's it, then.”

“What happened, Joseph?” Meloche said.

“I found the book,” Joseph said, “But I fought a guy for it.”

“And you lost?” Meloche wondered, “Goodness, you must have fought a monster indeed.”

“No,” Joseph said, “I... I ended up giving it to him. It was... His reasons were better than mine.”

He took another sip, wincing as it went down. He felt out of practice, drinking whiskey like this.

“What better reason than to go home?” Meloche said.

“His... Yeah, his dad was dying,” Joseph said, “He needed the book to help him with that.”

Meloche's sticky fingers rapped on the table in wet thumps. He looked away for a second, staring out the window, as though considering what to say.

“Joseph,” Meloche said, “Everyone has a sob story.”

“I know,” Joseph said.

“What matters, out here in the multiverse, is that you have to put your sob story first,” Meloche said, “That's the way it goes. You only have yourself out here, in the end.”

“I know,” Joseph said. But I don't care, he wanted to say.

Perhaps Meloche was psychic. Or perhaps he properly got the meaning of Joseph's words. The philosopher let out a watery sigh and rose to his feet. With a quick jerk, he drained his glass, laying it on the table facedown.

“Well,” Meloche said, “I have business to attend to, as well.”

“You don't have anything else for me?” Joseph asked, “No other contacts? No places I could visit?”

“I'm afraid not, Joseph,” Meloche said, “Not when it comes to the sarcophagi. Bulg was my only contact for those. Call me if you need a favor for something else. But for this, you are on your own.”

He rested a hand on Joseph's shoulder.

“Be safe. Be well. I will see you when we dream again.”

And the mountain of sap walked away, going downstairs. Joseph swilled his glass, watching Meloche through the window, as the metahuman disappeared into the myriad crowd below.

He stared hard at his drink for several hours after.

***

The golem approached the camp of the Amber Foundation in the early morning. Very few were awake at this time, all of them exhausted or demoralized from their time on the Flyleaf Forest. Contort and Becenti were sitting at the fire as Oliander stood at the edges of the campsite, waiting to be allowed in.

Contort glanced up from his morning coffee and nudged Becenti.

“Looks like we got a guest,” he said.

The old metahuman looked up, and something in his stony face changed, almost imperceptibly. He rose to his feet.

“Stay here,” he said to Contort, “This won’t be long.”

“Alright,” Contort said. He leaned back as Becenti walked across the grass to the golem. There was a new limp in his step, one that had not been there before. No, it had always been there. Becenti had just been very good at hiding it. But whoever this visitor was, he was someone from the metahuman’s past.

Shimmer’s past.

Oliander gave a polite nod to Becenti. Becenti returned it. Memories swam in both their heads of past times, of warbound family and dark days of comradery. Shimmer had told Oliander his greatest dreams, his most secret regrets. Like a treasure chest, Oliander had held them to his bosom, never speaking, never revealing. The golem’s eyes were soft as he beheld his old friend.

Yet it was not Shimmer who stood before him, but Becenti.

“The paperwork,” he said. Curtly.

Oliander became downcast, but nonetheless reached into his bag and produced a datarod. He presented it to Becenti, who took it.

Stellar Queen’s prison. Wherever it was. The location was right here, in the datarod. It could be easily lost. Easily fall into the wrong hands. Valm was arrogant, indeed.

“It will take me time to get there,” Becenti said, “I have a few other matters to attend to.”

Oliander gave a nod.

“Valm understands?”

Oliander shrugged. It mattered little if Valm understood. By this point, all Becenti had to do was send a message to Kristandi. The Prime Voice was hardly involved, now.

He had used his scalpel, and let it feed.

“Very well,” Becenti said, “Thank you for delivering this to me.”

Oliander nodded. His eyes had hardened, become professional and distant. Part of Shimmer broke at that.

But Becenti pushed it away. He had a hundred things to say to his old friend. He had nothing to say, too. He chose the latter, giving one last awkward, off-putting nod and heading back to the campfire. He slipped the datarod into his pocket.

“Someone you know?” Contort asked.

“Once upon a time, yes,” Becenti said. Oliander began to move away, rumbling across the knoll and back into InterGuild.

Contort knew better than to prod. He sipped his coffee.

It was a quiet, somber morning.

***

Becenti became busy with his guildwork, so the opportunity for him and Rosemary to sit down and talk did not come. Glonthek's negotiations with the Firedrakes' legal team had gone sour, and Becenti was called to help put together arguments with them. Whispers of a duel were percolating in the air. Rosemary saw him steal occasional glances to the Dreamer's Lament, as though he were considering commandeering the airship and getting the heck out of dodge, but he stayed, his mouth a thin line as he left camp to help with negotiations.

Which left Rosemary relatively alone. Unlike the others, she stopped going out of the camp. She stayed behind, watching her guildmates weave in and out of the camp like waking dreams. Even Joseph, still sporting a crooked nose and a grimace in his smile, made his leave, probably to go and talk to whoever he made a deal with, and let them know he screwed up. The thought made Rosemary sad.

Tek did not emerge from the Dreamer's Lament for the rest of the trip. He remained inside, and when Rosemary chanced to tiptoe inside, she saw him sitting down, his great bulk sagging the couch, as he fiddled with a couple of electronics. His comfort knick-knacks, she knew. Whatever Joseph had done, it had been enough for the mound's trip to be ruined. Something had gone wrong with the professor he had been meeting, and Joseph's act of leaving had caused it.

Rosemary stopped feeling bad for the metahuman. She couldn't help it, the way that Tek looked so down.

“Hey, Tek,” she said, “Do you want something to drink?

“I am fine, Rosemary,” the mound said, “I've already had a meal today.”

Rosemary knew for a fact that was a lie. She walked over to the fridge, pulling out a bag of bread and a few slices of ham and lettuce. She put together a rather poor excuse for a sandwich, and handed it to him.

“Come on,” she said, “You must be starving.”

“Have you eaten today, Rosemary?” Tek asked.

“...No,” she admitted, “But you know us elves, we can live off of sunlight alone, you know?”

She let out a hollow chuckle, settling in next to him.

A few moments later, her stomach rumbled.

“Don't lie, Rosemary,” Tek murmured, “I'm... I'm rather sick of that.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, before she leaned back up and started making a sandwich for herself. The lettuce was wilted, and the ham smelled funny. But she ate nonetheless, if only to give herself something to do. It would probably give her a stomach ache.

But the way Tek relaxed, now that someone was with him, made it worth it.

They simply ate in silence, the occasional noise coming from outside, dulled by the Dreamer's wooden walls. Tek soon finished his meal, leaning against the couch's back, which let out a thin scream in protest.

“Tek,” Rosemary said, “What happened with the engine?”

“It didn't work,” Tek said, “Joseph... He left me. We couldn't find a suitable replacement in time, and the astrator hoffmani, during a point where we were looking, disappeared into the ether. Months of work, lost.”

“Oh no,” Rosemary said, “I'm so sorry, Tek.”

“It is alright,” Tek said.

“No, it's not,” Rosemary said, “That was really messed up, what Joseph did. It doesn't sound like him at all.”

“He had his own reasons,” Tek said, “A pity that they overruled his oaths.”

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, “Yeah...”

The clashing of blades began screaming outside. Rosemary perked up, heading to the window. Evidently an agreement had been made, as Broon was fencing with a member of the Firedrakes, an imposing woman wreathed in green flame, her blade a solid extension of herself. The half-orc's blade rang against hers in burning sparks.

Business as usual. She hoped Broon won.

“Rosemary,” Tek said, “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Tek.”

“Did something happen to you while you were away?”

“Who, me?” Rosemary said, giving a smile, “Naw, not me.”

“You've been down since you got back from the elves,” Tek said, “I can see it in your eyes.”

Rosemary's smile turned sad and hollow, then fell away.

Broon and the woman continued to duel. Blade upon flame. She watched them for what felt like an eternity before speaking again.

“You... You try and do everything right, you know?” she said, “You make yourself loved, and fill your world with pretty things and good people. And still things just end up turning out to be... nothing.”

“Rosemary, you shouldn't talk like that,” Tek said, “Listen to yourself. It's not like you.”

She was quiet.

“You have us,” Tek said, “You have the guild.”

“I know,” Rosemary said, “And you guys... You all have given me so much. But Tek,”

She turned to face the mound.

“Is it still wrong that I feel like I don't belong? Even here. Even with... Even with the elves. Maybe I don't belong anywhere. Maybe I don't deserve to.”

“Well,” Tek said, “I'm afraid I don't have anything to tell you about, with that.”

“I know, Tek,” Rosemary said, “And you don't have to say anything. I'm just venting a bit, I guess. Just giving myself someone to talk to.”

She sat back down with him.

“I am sorry about Joseph. I'll call him out on it, next time I see him.”

“No need,” Tek said, “The selfish tend to self-destruct.”

“Yeah,” Rosemary said, and her heart fell, “Yeah, I know.”

***

Ichabod and G-Wiz returned to camp to see a woman of flame on the ground. Medical mages from the Firedrakes were attending to her, their voices heavy with heat as they applied grafts of flame to an open wound on her stomach. Wakeling, Glonthek, Becenti, and Broon stood apart from them. The half-orc had a shamed look on his face, and his blade was coated in neon green blood.

“Well, that's that matter taken care of,” Ichabod muttered to G-Wiz, “The rate Broon's going at, he'll have wiped the Firedrakes out within the week.”

“Rude,” G-Wiz said.

They went around the scene between the Firedrakes and the others, waiting just by the Dreamer's Lament. Wakeling floated over to a miniature sun, and she exchanged a few words with the ball of plasma. Evidently the representative of the Firedrakes agreed, and they began pulling back, giving a few last dour looks at Broon as they walked away.

The grass where they had stood was scorched black. Ichabod stepped over the patches and gave a wave to Becenti. The old metahuman gave a nod.

“I trust you've got some time?” Ichabod asked.

“Of course,” Becenti said, “You got the necessary materials?”

“I did,” Ichabod said. He presented his arm, the forearm opening up to reveal his new Cutter, an array of small needles, knives, drills, and other assorted tools. The Shardeen logo was etched painstakingly into the Cutter's side, though Becenti knew the serial numbers had been filed off.

“Good,” Becenti said, “Well, then. Give me a second to get something to eat, and we'll talk shop. We've a difficult heist ahead of us.”

Ichabod nodded. His smile was grim and devoid of mirth.

***

The next few days of InterGuild rolled by. Deals were struck, negotiations were made, adventures and misadventures were had. Tiger and Mekke returned with a new weapon in hand, a glittering scimitar encrusted with emeralds. The cat samurai was purring as he held the weapon close to his chest, running a claw along the blade's edge. Shambling and XLS returned a day later, and though they carried no physical treasures, they evidently had gone to many successful seminars, talking to one another about concepts and sciences that went over most of their guildmates' heads. Ezel drifted into camp a little while later, placing a calm hand on Broon's shoulder and joining him by the campfire. The half-orc had gone quiet, after his duel with the Firedrake. Finally, Urash rolled in with a cart filled with sacks of coin and goods, his ventures far more successful than the others. He and Wakeling had an argument of where everything would go, and how much of his haul could actually be loaded onto the Dreamer, which was starting to reach its maximum capacity. Joseph saw glittering jewels in the bags, as well as electronics and devices from a dozen worlds. He had also collected books, a library's worth, and for a moment Joseph was tempted to search through them to find another copy of the Dyriptium of Karn.

But it was too late for that.

Urash glared at his haul, as though it were not enough for the merchant prince. With a spiteful air he clambered onto the airship, and sulked in the corner as his prizes were loaded onto the Dreamer.

And with that final day finished, the Dreamer's Lament took off. It flew high into the starless sky, climbing until it was above the clock tower, thousands of other ships from across the multiverse joining it in a great exodus out of the Flyleaf Forest. The remains of the convention littered the ground below, the cleared away forest a wreck of burned grass, abandoned stalls, and broken buildings.

Without another word, a collective exhaustion laying across the entirety of the Amber Foundation, the Dreamer's Lament hit the Traveling Point, and planeshifted away.

All was silent in the Forest once more.