Dawn was just breaking through as Becenti stepped out of Castle Belenus. It was a quiet journey as he made his way down the road and through the city gates, the dew still clinging to the grass plains, the Inner Sun just beginning to flare into existence. He had, at first, found the interior of Londoa strange – the sun burning suddenly, then winking out as it crested towards the east, a mirror that never really quite went past the horizon.

Yet it was now home, of a sorts. There was still a cold nip in the air, like those bygone days of desert winter, not cold enough to snow but certainly cold enough to make one want to curl up in bed and sleep 'til noon. There was still that odd paradox of tiredness mixed with anticipation of the new day, still that sonder feeling of the world waking up alongside you, feeling the same feelings, a thousand worlds opening their eyes.

He felt that now, as Scuttleway awoke behind him.

Unfortunate, then, that he was not going to the bakery like others, or to the arena for practice, or to the library with its armies of books to read.

The starship was waiting for him just down the road, a silvery, bulbous creature that reminded Becenti of a shiny dung beetle. Green lights pulsed on its hull, with four insectile legs holding its bottom off the ground. Its name, proudly displayed on her side in High Federation Basic, was Little Geezer (Property of Pagan Chorus)

Pagan Chorus. The guild he would be working with on this outing. The guild of the Silver Eye. High Federation military, dressed up in the rags of mercenaries and the legality of nomads. Valm's lapdogs, if he were being honest. But he wouldn't say that to their faces.

The enemy of my enemy, and all that.

One of the guildmembers stepped off of the Little Geezer, bedecked in ivory-white combat armor, a riff on the Federation Peacekeeper's riot gear, scarred and flaked by many years of combat, wear, and repair, clashing with the fact that the armor's wearer had the head of a doe, innocent yet wild, the totality of nature within those dark, orbular eyes.

“Rhunea,” Becenti said.

“Ho, Shimmer,” Rhunea said.

“Just... Becenti, please.”

“Discarded your name, then?”

“Picked up my old one,” Becenti said, “My days of Shimmer are long behind me.”

But Shimmer's actions are not, Becenti knew. That's why he was here, after all.

“Climb aboard, should only be a few hours,” Rhunea said. She beckoned him inside. The Little Geezer was comfortable and sparse, with the only seats being the pilot and passenger’s at the front.

“It's a modified troop transport,” Rhunea explained, “A prototype that the guildmaster bought off of the Federation military. Nothing too fancy, but she's pretty.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

The Little Geezer's engines were a drone-like buzz as it took off, the plains below becoming a blur as it whizzed towards the Traveling Point, jumping higher and higher into the air in spurts of energy, a distinct plasma trail burning behind it.

“I hope you've been well, Becenti,” Rhunea said.

“Well enough,” Becenti said.

“Must be worried, if you're seeking out the prisons after this long.”

“...A project of mine, shall we say,” Becenti said, “Something to ease my anxieties.”

“Because of Dakos, eh?” Rhunea said.

“Yes,” Becenti chose his words carefully, “Indeed.”

“Don't worry about him,” Rhunea said, “He's been sighted on Tresta, the Runway, and Caoshao. Nowhere near Prime.”

“I know,” Becenti said, “But if he goes after the rest of the Sons...”

“He won't,” Rhunea said, “He knows he's too weak right now. And when he's strong, Pagan Chorus will be ready.”

Becenti kept his mouth shut on that. There was a hint of overconfidence in Rhunea's voice. But then, Pagan Chorus was a powerful guild, and their track record against the Sons of Darwin had more victories than defeats.

The Traveling Point was on Darkheld Landmass, on the other side of the inner lands of Londoa. Eln meia galleons treaded the dark waters, as there was no Inner Sun here. The Traveling Point itself was over the sea. One moment there was the dark world of Londoa, the next they were cutting through imagination itself, carving through the desert, making their way through open sky, until they finally reached their destination.

They traded hardly a word with the other as they went. Memories swam in Becenti's mind of his time with Rhunea, on the outpost worlds of the Outer Reach, fighting back against the Manticore's empire. Back then, there had been the United Guilds. The Silver Knights. Dreams in the night – dashed by the war's end, of course. But still, they were dreams.

But thirty years staled camaraderie, tucked it into the back of the mind, where nostalgia festered and made the past rose-hued. He had been Shimmer then, but he was Becenti now. A name changing meant the person changed. He was a different man. And Rhunea was different, too. She still possessed that willow-like grace, a general aura of kindness, but war and the missions of Pagan Chorus had hardened her. She had worn robes and a threadbare witch's hat back then, taken from her grandmother’s shack when she had started her wanderings so long ago. Now, she was all Fedtek and starships. Becenti wondered if she even remembered her plane of birth, or if her place had always been on Everlasting Truth.

Home, of a sort.

“Final hop, then we're through,” Rhunea said.

“Broken Equinox, was the plane?” Becenti asked.

“Indeed,” Rhunea said, “A place of eternal Autumn. You'll like it. A fine prison for him.”

Becenti nodded. The Little Geezer lurched as it fell through the last Traveling Point, the drone smearing into the rainbow place between planes. Then they were on Broken Equinox.

***

It was, indeed, an Autumn plane. The forest below was an ocean of orange, a false wildfire that extended out as far as the eye could see. They had arrived in early morning, the moon still visible high in the sky, paired with the sun that was rising from the north. Night had left behind a couple stars as well, which glittered, just barely, through the dawn's veil of dark blue.

“False stars, of course,” Rhunea said, “The planet that we're on is the only one on the plane, encased in a glass bauble, with points of light mimicking stars on the bauble's inside.”

“Very Ptolemaic,” Becenti noted, “And the entire planet...?”

“Locked into one season,” Rhunea said, “Hence the name 'Broken Equinox.' Tailfen came up with the name, I believe. This world refuses to move on.”

“And, considering our prisoner, I presume it's hunting season?”

Rhunea nodded, “Always.”

Between the maples, oaks, and aspens that made up the bulk of the forest, there were several tower-sized trees of a sort that Becenti was not familiar with, with twisted, multi-armed trunks with branches that arced upwards, encapsulating the leaves into a sphere. It was one of these trees that Rhunea flew the Little Geezer towards.

“He has multiple bases, from what we can gather,” Rhunea said.

“You haven't kept a guard on him?”

“The Traveling Point is high in the air,” Rhunea said, “In a place he cannot get to. We check in on him once a week. Besides: the curse placed on him means he can't leave.”

“How so?” Becenti asked.

“It's a paradox,” Rhunea said, “So long as he hunts, he cannot leave.”

The comprehension of the prison dawned on Becenti. He gave a dark smirk.

“That's... rather brilliant.”

“You should have been with us, when we planned out the prisons,” Rhunea said, “We used the strengths of the Sons as their weaknesses. August is an ilderwen – he has to hunt.”

“And you're sure he won't see us as prey?” Becenti said.

“Of course not,” Rhunea said, “I hope, at least. He knows that attacking guildfolk gets him in trouble, and a prison that will be more... restrictive. He's been rather content here.”

The Little Geezer landed at the base of the tower tree. Rhunea stepped out into the cool morning air, sniffing it for a brief moment, ears perking this way and that. Yet they both knew that August was as silent as the void, especially when he was hunting.

It was early morning, the perfect time.

“We'll wait, then,” Rhunea said, “He must be out.”

“And you're sure he'll come here?” Becenti asked.

“He was spotted in this region last week,” Rhunea said, “He usually stays in an area for a couple months, then leaves to let the ecosystem recover from his hunting.”

“I see,” Becenti said.

And so they waited. Becenti's stomach growled, and he wished he had brought breakfast with him.

“Need anything?” Rhunea asked.

“I'm fine,” Becenti replied.

But he knew she wouldn't take that as an answer. The deer went back inside the Little Geezer for a few moments, before coming out with two bowls. Oatmeal, with almonds and raisins stewing within. He took it with a muted nod.

They ate. There was, he noted, no sound save for the whispering dance of leaves on the wind. No birds sang in the trees, the most immediate indication of life. He had always loved the ambience of the forest, and the lack of song made him feel uneasy.

There was a hunter about, he knew, and the wildlife had learned that a predator now stalked the world. They had adapted to his presence, keeping quiet as he made his paths through Broken Equinox. No doubt they would not sing until he had left he left the area entirely, for another part of the plane.

“So, the Amber Foundation, then,” Rhunea interrupted Becenti's train of thought.

“Oh!” Becenti said, “Yes. A fine guild.”

“No longer Shimmer, but still in the game.”

“Of course,” Becenti said, “I joined up with the war's end. Had nowhere else to go.”

“You could have gone with us,” Rhunea said.

She had thrown that statement out absently, pretending to be digging at a particularly ornery piece of almond in her oatmeal. But there was meaning in her words, an invitation for a heavier conversation.

“...I could have,” Becenti said, “But... No. Too many memories. I did not want to stay in the Silver Eye.”

“Better some other place,” Rhunea said.

“Precisely.”

“Even though you had people on the Silver Eye who cared about you?”

He gritted his teeth as regret washed over him.

“Even then, Rhunea. I... I did not like myself, then. I was self-destructive. You would not have cared for me for long.”

“I would have,” Rhunea said, “And you know it.”

What felt like a thousand years passed between them. Moments shared, then discarded. Becenti gave her an earnest look. What could he say that she would accept? That he did not want to be Valm's puppet? That Pagan Chorus was a mercenary company? That he did not want to play the role of soldier anymore?

That, deep in his heart, Myron Becenti despised the High Federation, and he wanted nothing to do with them?

Dark words, and potentially to the wrong person. He was already a metahuman. Already marked by the Federation as a suspicious individual. He could not afford to slip now.

He gave a smile, though it did not reach his eyes.

“I… I know, Rhunea. But you know me. Always… Always the adventuring type.”

“...Indeed,” Rhunea’s voice ached with the pain that came with a lifetime of bittersweet sorrow. But she did not prod further.

***

Midday brought the prisoner. August stepped out of the treeline, three rabbits swaying from his belt, a wolf carried atop his shoulders. Thirty years had not changed him – but then, he was a spirit. A concept. Those tended to age gracefully. A full six feet, built slender and quick, he wore a simple gray tunic, with gray pants that dug into a pair of black boots. A dark green cloak blanketed his shoulders, clasped by a silver brooch. August's face was sharp and angular, his eyes filmed like a Spioa's. His hair was hidden by a bycocket, a pure white feather springing out of the hat's side. The hunter did not acknowledge the guild, pitching the wolf to the ground, unslinging the rabbits and tossing them on top of the predator's carcass. Only then did he turn to face Rhunea and Becenti.

“I know you,” he said, “You are not the usual overseers of this place, but I know you.”

“August,” Becenti said.

“Shimmer,” the ilderwen replied.

“Just Becenti, now.”

“Ah, so that phase is over,” a small smile played on August's face, one that dropped as he turned his attention to the Pagan Chorus, “Witch Rhunea.”

“Simply Rhunea, please.”

“So much changes,” August said, “Not surprising. Please, give me a moment. I wish to dress my kills now.”

He knelt down, producing a simple hunting knife that he jammed into the wolf's stomach, tearing it open with a precise, professional cut. Becenti and Rhunea stepped back, leaving the Son of Darwin to his work as he removed the wolf's intestines, then got to work on skinning the predator.

“The wolves here are cunning,” the ilderwen said as he worked, “They have to be, with me around. Most of the packs have left this territory since my arrival, but some are stubborn.”

He finished peeling the hide away from the meat, the small smile returning to his face.

“Some are game.”

“We have some questions for you, August,” Rhunea said.

“I believed you would,” August said, “Two of the heroes of the Silver Eye, to see one such as myself, thirty years after the war’s end? By coming here, you show that the wheel has begun to turn once more.”

He walked over to a nearby tree, tossing the hide over a branch.

“Perhaps,” Rhunea said.

“To live is to be in a world of instability,” August said, “You cannot be sedentary for long. You are either just getting into a crisis, in the middle of one, or just getting out of one. There is no such thing as stationary.”

Becenti and Rhunea were quiet, waiting for August's further explanation. But he gave none, instead walking over and kneeling down to the rabbits. His knife began its work once more.

“What do you know?” Becenti said.

“About what?”

“Don't play coy, August,” Rhunea said.

“Hmm,” August stared at the knife for a moment, pausing in his work, the rabbit's entrails hanging down from an open cut, “If you're wondering about the rest of us, I'm not the one to ask. I've been here, with my hunt.”

“No news,” Becenti said.

“You come to the wrong place for that,” August said, “And you know who you would need to ask.”

Names flashed in both Becenti and Rhunea's heads. But they said nothing.

“Will you be staying for lunch? Dinner?” August asked, “Most of the food I bring in goes to the scavengers of this place.”

They both shook their heads. August nodded.

“I will leave, then,” he said, “The sound of others offends me, words or otherwise.”

Without another word, he walked away, leaving his prizes behind.

“Wasteful,” Rhunea said.

“He can afford to be,” Becenti replied, “You've unleashed a monster on this place.”

“Indeed,” Rhunea said, “At least he knows to be conservative, and allows the ecosystem to heal. Shall we be off?”

Becenti stared at August's back. The hunter was already melting into the Autumn gloom, his clothes changing shape and color. August would return to his work, to his hunt, to the pursuit of prey for the sole purpose of pursuing prey. He was glad the ilderwen was still here.

“I am,” Becenti said.

“Valm knows that you've been doing this, by the way,” Rhunea said, “Checking the old prisons.”

“Oh?” Becenti said, “Does he, now?”

“Of course,” Rhunea said, “Very little escapes his ears.”

“And what does the Prime Voice have to say about all this?” Becenti said.

“He's indifferent,” Rhunea said, “But at the same time, he's keeping tabs. In fact, he's looking to hire you for a job coming up.”

Becenti went quiet at that.

“And Pagan Chorus can't take care of it?” he said.

“Pagan Chorus doesn't have metahumans,” the doe stated, “None who are willing to do more than dream. But the Amber Foundation does.”

“What does my being metahuman have to do-” Becenti stopped, “Earthmute's in the forecast, isn't he?”

“With his prisoner. Part of your project. A convergence is coming, Becenti,” Rhunea said, “You know how your people get when Earthmute surfaces.”

“My people? You say, my-” Becenti took a deep breath. Emotions were coursing through his veins, throbbing with every heartbeat. Control, he told himself, “Where?”

“You'll get the details when we send the offer,” Rhunea said, “But the only people we'll accept from your guild are-”

“Other metahumans.”

“Precisely.”

The wind blew through the trees once more.

“Very well, then,” Becenti said, “Come, let's get out of here. This place disturbs me.”

***

The Little Geezer soon left Broken Equinox far behind, planeshifting from world to world. Soon, they were back on Londoa, cutting over the dark waters of Darkheld Landmass. That had taken less time than Becenti expected, a fact that was both surprising and relieving.

“Well, there's your answer, I suppose,” Rhunea said, “He's still there.”

“Indeed,” Becenti said.

“We might have revealed too much, visiting,” Rhunea said, “Talking to him. We could have assured you that he was still there. But then, you only trust your eyes, don't you?”

“They haven't failed me yet,” Becenti mused, “August would have found out eventually. They always do.”

“Mmm,” Rhunea said, “Perhaps.”

“I know Valm is aware of what I'm doing,” Becenti said, “But Rhunea, be careful. Don't underestimate the Sons.”

“We aren't,” Rhunea said.

“It looks like you are,” Becenti said, “How many resources are you committing to hunting down Dakos?”

“We've assembled a taskforce,” Rhunea said, “Some of the best magicians in Pagan Chorus. A couple other guilds. We're in talks of bringing Aldr himself in.”

“Blue Sky Waiting did face off against Dakos's forces during the war,” Becenti considered.

“...It was Arthur who was the one to stop him, though,” Rhunea said, “We'll need to find an alternative.”

“Still,” Becenti said, “If Dakos frees anyone, we're... we're in trouble.”

The world became light again as they crossed to Moadma Landmass, the Inner Sun bathing them once more.

“He was right, you know,” Becenti said, “The wheel's turning. Things are changing.”

“We'll stop them, Becenti,” Rhunea said, “We're Pagan Chorus.”

“It's an inevitability,” Becenti said, “Something will come out. Wipe away the status quo. Wash the multiverse in fire again.”

“Becenti, listen,” Rhunea said, “I know your... opinions, on the High Federation. They aren't the best. But they're the most stable nation in the multiverse. They've existed for thousands of years. Tens of thousands. They've adapted and overcome worse than an escaped god.”

“We've killed them before,” Becenti said.

“Precisely,” Rhunea said, “Just... look, take the job Valm's offered you. Help us in this fight. We'll get through alright.”

The Little Geezer landed precisely in the same spot as before, just outside Scuttleway. Rhunea turned and rested a hand on Becenti's leg.

“We miss you, you know,” she said, “Oliander and I.”

Becenti’s heart fell, and he felt the beginning of tears swim in his eyes.

“I know, Rhunie,” Becenti said, “I... I miss you, too.”

He stepped off of the starship. Rhunie gave a final nod to him and a wave goodbye. Then the Little Geezer took off, disappearing towards the curving horizon once more. Becenti watched it for a long time, before it was but a blip in the sky, one that disappeared against the mosaic of Inner Londoa.

But Becenti, once Shimmer, continued to stand there, letting the wind blow against his face, ripple through his hair, the sea of grass billowing around him. He became lost in bittersweet memories and dreams of what could have been.

He stood for a long time.