An old man strolled across an alley of bookshelves and scrolls. Cobwebs and dust settled in the many corners of the wooden labyrinth, but he paid it no heed. It was too much work. The sun dawned over the windows, warming wrinkles on the archivist's face and bathing him in the light.

It was an enjoyable morning, birds were beginning to wake up and sign their melodies and he still had a pack of his favorite coffee beans, received as a gift on the night of lunar shift. The man arrived at his desk, it was messy and covered in manuscripts. He pushed unnecessary papers to the side, then opened a cabinet under a desk, took out a bowl with black coals, and placed it on the top.

The archivist flicked his fingers in a rather elegant fashion and the coals began to burn with a small, blue fire. He smiled gently. His hands moved to the cabinet once more and took out two items. First, a plain, brass kettle with blue runes engraved around it. Second, a birch casket with two kissing birds carved on it, their long tails encompassed the box, feathers were shaped like spirals and had tiny flowers growing out of them. The top of a casket was embellished with a large, blue opal, surrounded by a barely visible mist. As soon as the box opened, a cold cloud of fog spilled out, partially concealing the item inside, which turned out to be simply an ice sphere.

The archivists put the ice inside the kettle, placed it on the black coals, then closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, relaxing. It didn't take long until he heard a pair of small feet racing to his desk.

"Good morning, Airi." - The archivist uttered as he let out a prolonged yawn.

"Mornin'" – A child's voice replied.

While the old man still dozed off, the youngling put an empty plate on the desk, then ran off somewhere. After a few minutes, Airi returned with a hot pan, with a crispy potato cutlet, eggs, and some asparagus.

"Thank you, Airi." - The old man said as he reached for a fork and knife. Airi sat next to him, patiently waiting until the meal was finished, and after the archivist wiped his lips with a napkin, Airi hastily took the utensils and ran off, only to return a few minutes later with a basket of food.

"Are you ready, Airi?" - The archivist asked and the child nodded.

The archivist moved his hand to a lower drawer of his cabinet and pulled out a dented broken crown, then put it his head. - "Okay, let's get moving." - He said and got up from his chair, then continued a lazy stroll towards the center of archives with Airi accompanying him.

"Airi, I heard that you want to know of the twelve ships." - The archivist spoke slowly. - "It might take us an entire day to find the records, are you sure that you won't get tired?"

"No." - Airi shook her head.

"Hmm. I see, I see. You're very determined."

Airi nodded.

The two walked, passing the bookshelves until what appeared like a library started to turn into a garden. They crossed a bridge over a small river, passing a few large stones with historical records inscribed in them, and kept marching until they reached a druid circle with a large oak in its center. Dozens of knobs were protruding from its bark, giving access to the drawers inside.

The archivist climbed a wooden ladder next to a tree and reached for one of the compartments.

"First... the Dragon of Dawn..." - The old man passed a large scroll to Airi, then worked his way down. - "It's the ship of Samurai."

Airi opened a scroll, revealing a picture of a wooden ship with massive crimson sails and a castle in its rear section. The ship had two golden dragon heads on both sides of its frontal plate, which guarded three cannons placed in a ring.

The archivist continued. - "The Samurai often train themselves purely in a physical aspect. Their warriors usually hone their techniques - mind, bodies, and qui - soul to the point where no tech or arcane is necessary. The Dragon of Dawn represents this path. It's made out of a single branch of the hardest tree known to the man, and its frontal railguns are simply weapons that accelerate heavy missiles to unbelievable speed."

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"Is it true, that it is capable of slaying nightmares?" - Airi asked.

"It's very much true. Nightmares have no soul or mind. Once you destroy the body, it often is their end and dragon's railguns are pretty much capable of that."

"Ohh..."

Airi asked a lot of questions, but Archivists answered only a few of them, he knew there is no time to study the records with their small basket of food If Airi wanted to learn of all the ships. Perhaps, another day. So, he quenched her thirst for information with his own knowledge, as they walked.

After they made it out of the garden, the two returned to the area with bookshelves. The archivist equipped his glasses and checked the map a few times, to make sure they were not lost. At last, they found a spiral staircase which led down a glass tube, through a rock, then an underground lake. At the bottom, was a spherical, glass chamber, where gravity seemed to not exist. Both guests passed through ethereal, ghastly algae, and in the same fashion, transparent fishes passed through them.

The glass chamber was full of pearls at its bottom, all covered in stories written in black ink. In the middle and upper areas, floated thousands of crystals, which upon touch displayed short series of animated images inside them.

The largest crystal was in the middle, surrounded by three rings of parchments floating around it.

"Here. The records of Porcelain Submarine." - The archivist spoke as he touched the yellow scrolls. - "It's a symbol to a lot of divers and explorers, of those who study the unknown and map the uncharted. Ironically, not much is known about the ship and the crew itself. It seems to appear at random locations, often to merely resupply, share discoveries, and exchange information."

"It doesn't seem unusual. Why was it granted the status of one of the twelve?"

"Oh, oh. They discovered the crystal skies, and prevented the fracture."

"They're the reason nightmares were kept at bay?"

"Yes, but some say, it was purely by accident. It's hard to believe, though."

"Hmm."

"What is it, Airi?"

"What is it like, to be an explorer?"

"It's... not the path many can walk. At each step, you surrender your safety, often without a reward that would make the journey easier. It's a pursuit of wonder, not of strength or knowledge."

"...so explorers don't follow any of the aspects?"

"Good deduction." - The archivist patted Airi's hair, and Airi smiled.

The archivist looked at the map. - "I think, we need to go back, but you have a choice... would you like to learn of the Scarecrow, or of the Plane Glider?"

The choice was obvious, while still wanting to learn, Airi hated Horegon with her whole heart for the death, or rather metamorphosis, of parents. Airi didn't want to listen about their goals or philosophies. - "Plane Glider."

The archivist and Airi resumed their journey, backtracking to the wooden libraries, until reaching an area without a roof. Over fifty white doves sat on the shelves, surrounding a lighthouse that seemed to grow in the middle of a hole.

It was a long way up, the tower was fractured and strong winds were pushing both visitors towards dangerous gaps in the wall. The archivist clutched Airi's held with all his strength, to the point it hurt, but it was to ensure safety.

At the top of the tower, was a vast room with a large telescope and many astronomical devices and while Airi was curious about all the surroundings, the archivist ignored it and checked a large, glass globe with multiple threads inside.

"Airi, just a moment, look here." - He called.

Airi immediately started paying attention.

"Do you recognize it?" - He pointed at a small area on a globe, surrounded by borders, but it was not a continent. It was one of the planes of existence, projected onto a sphere. The threads signalized pathways to the others planes, while neighbors on the surface were often the closest and most significant planes.

"Yes, it's our home!"

"Indeed, but to be more precise. It's one of the lighthouses. Our whole purpose is to guide the ships through the planes. The Plane Glider is famous, but for the reason of its own demise... he opened the gate of the end, which for long was thought to be just a myth. It supposedly led to a tunnel connected to all of the planes, making it possible for him to cross any realm. Nobody knows, but him. Unfortunately, that gate opened only once and the Plane Glider was lost."

"It also doesn't sound like a reason to be one of the twelve."

"Yes, but for a brief second when the gates were open, all of the lighthouses connected. Showing countless paths between them, that were never thought to exist before."

"...ahh, I remember. That's when aviators were born. They traversed the new paths, making the records and maps... but how are they different than explorers?"

"The difference is subtle. Aviators are focused on finding new paths between the planes, to make the journeys safer for travelers and convoys. It's practical, not just a pursuit of wonder. An aviator's goal is not to look in every nook and cranny."

"Mmm. I understand."

After finishing other parts of his lecture, the archivist sat on a nearby chair and rested. - "Airi, I'm a bit tired, and more than a bit hungry. Let's eat."

"Mmm. Okay." - Airi opened the basket and took out sandwiches, then shared it with the old man. She also took out a thermos and filled a cup with the archivist's favorite coffee. The archivist consumed his meal slowly, in peace, and allowed Airi to play with the devices, while he was pondering and studying the map in his mind.

"The Jesters are next." - He uttered to himself, unsure about how to proceed with this fact.