For the time being, we must pull away from Zan: eager as he and Jiehong and Whiskey must be to return to the safety of the group, and eager as we must be to see their reunion, and the pained flames sure to sing when all has been reunited, we must take a brief diversion.

Pulling away from Zan as he enters the transportation tubes, we glide across the greenhouse-styled room and fly into the shadows, where we pass through a high-security door. As we speed through the corridors at an eagle's rate, passing through more high-security gates, each with more 'security' than the last.

Our flight takes us through the hidden passages of the tower, where the ruler has made themselves a home where others call work. We pass rooms filled with boxes of goods. Kitchen utensils, food, while other rooms hold shelves of books. Slowing our approach, we come upon a final doorway heavily enchanted with powerful wards preventing entry. Do these wards mean anything to you and I? Of course. They mean weakness.

By the grace of our unstoppable meta-narrative magic, we pass through the door with no more trouble than if a boulder were to act as a ward.

Entering a highly decorated chamber filled with a computers and machines of a magical variety, as well as a few decorative pieces, like luxury curtains and houseplants, we find a figure in a black research coat. She is disheveled. She has been up for many hours watching the unfolding drama. More than anyone, she is invested in the transpirings' which have occurred here ever since Zan and Company graced the property with their presence.

When we enter, she is alone. Soon after our entry, however, a male co-researcher, identified by his own black research coat, black enters the room. It is the clerk from the first lobby.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"An auspicious day," he says to the black-clad research coated woman.

"Absolutely. My faith has never been stronger. To see fate enacted before your eyes so powerfully. It humbles you, doesn't it?" she replied.

"Agreed. Were you able to sign Zan up for an account?" the male co-researcher asked.

"Yes. Along with his traveling companions. An interesting bunch he keeps. We should look more into them and where they come from."

"I will take the lead on that if you are fine with continuing in here," the man said, pouring himself a cup of bean juice.

"Sure. Please get going on that soon. I would like to continue sifting the data we collected."

Without further ado, the male co-researcher left the room with his fresh cup of coffee.

Hardly noticing her partner's departure, the woman slunk back into her office chair and rubbed her temples. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the bigger things driving her forward. Her goals. Her hopes. The purpose which drives her academic pursuits.

She opens her eyes and begins reviewing her data. Though much of it is irrelevant and relates to trite tidbits of 'deep magic knowledge' of no concern to the masses of the world, aspects of her data are more prosaic. More and more, it is impossible for us to not to notice how Zan's name repeats time and time again.

Gradually, the researcher narrows in on the data focused toward Zan. Isolating his data to investigate minute characteristics, the researcher spares no expense in analyzing every detail. Through hours of intense inspection, the researcher finally pinpoints what she has been so desperate to find.

On her screen displays an element of her find: a graph of the data arranged in complex symbology.

Whispering to herself, the researcher becomes giddy. This is the culmination of a lifetime of effort. Of sacrifice.

Cooing to herself, she says, "Soon, Zan. Soon..."