"There was once another who made the blooms, who's dreams became gardens... do you remember, or have you forgotten the roots from which you were cast? The tree that became your solace from the abyss is her effigy," a voice whispered, as if its owner were right beside Drayden, a voice that spoke to him alone. It was a woman's voice, with an ambiguous coldness in her tone. Under the microscope, the paint began to shift as if reacting to the presence. "I remember, for it was from her seed I was grown, in a bramble of her lingering regrets, thorns of sorrow. Just as she, with a touch, I can plant a seed in the dreamless... just as I did with Malachie. And this, the paint of creation? I made it grow as well, and through it, my connection to you, Drayden. I am curious, you were there from the time before, were you not? You and Abdown... did you... simply watch as the Silence consumed my mother?"

The microscope shuddered, and from it, a portion of the sample leaked out into a trail onto the table, turning black as it did so, forming into a thorny vine, and at the end, an eye-like red bloom opened. It was a signature of the witch, Zilthai.

Abdown cast a glance at Vortahar as he left, deciding against pursuing him, for now at the very least. He assumed this was against his mentor's wishes anyways and would likely stir trouble, regardless of any good intent. Later perhaps a discussion was in order, over some tea.

The governor put his hand on his chin, pondering what to do now. An attack was staged so close to home, even if he felt no malice in it. It forced his hand, and he had to make a decision, one that'd certainly conflict with the coward of a mayor.

"You," Abdown said, turning in the direction of Raimondo. "I'm curious... what are your intentions with the Harlequins? I must say, it is rare to see those of us willing to take up arms, in your case, quite literally," he continued, giving a look at him, then over at Aeila, who also participated in the fight. "I feel I'm under pressure to make some... executive decision regarding all this, and the spread of Silence."

"Executive dec... decision?" the mayor muttered, a faint shimmer of some frustration in his eyes. "What? Haha... no, don't worry about it! You resigned yourself to advisory, remember?"

"Under the pretense," Abdown responded almost immediately, raising a finger and casting a piercing gaze at the diminutive mayor. "Of maintain the peace."

"Oh... oh! But nobody was harmed, all is well! B-besides it was... it was after you, right? Seems l-like a personal matter, right? No need...no need to involve..." the mayor responded, his tone getting quieter and shriller as he found Abdown's gaze increasingly... intense, shrinking back until no more words exited his throat.

"The Harlequins chose to pick up arms against the Silence, and some broke the taboo of killing others, even if they were infected, and overall, the Silence should be our greatest priority," governor Abdown said, turning back to Raimondo. "They are dangerous, don't get me wrong, and they have to be stopped, but they aren't exactly wrong, either. What does justice dictate in such a situation?"

A lone man walked the path towards the castle, dressed in armor that had been hastily strapped on, leaving him to adjust it every once in a while. His expression was sullen, trying not to make eye contact with those that looked upon him. They whispered to one another, keeping their distance from him like he were some ill omen. He was a strange man, of the like from a foreign land, darker complexion and eyes a hot yellow, messy hair black as night with a strange bluish glisten to it.

He had no real name, no lineage that was obvious to him, things that even a lowly peasant would have in comfort. Rumors spread about him, that he was born of a devil, or cursed at birth, and he wouldn't be surprised if they were right. They called him Editus Rayne, a bringer of misfortune. Ever since he could think on his own, he has known only a cycle of unending struggle, and the cruel cold within and without. He didn't even know why he had survived this long, or cared to do so. He was here, now, hand picked to be sized up for the role of knight.

Why am I even doing this? This is laughable, I'm not fit for a knight, they know it well, and yet... picked by the king himself? Why? he wondered as he scratched through his hair with slight visible frustration. From everything he knew, from what all people have said, the king wasn't the kind to pull such a cruel prank. They say he is a good man, a righteous man, concepts foreign to an unwanted child grown into a cynical man. Everything to him was a subject of suspect, as much as his own existence was. Just, what the hell even is a righteous man? he wondered in frustration. He wanted to see it with his own eyes, what is truly the brightest of virtues.

He looked ahead to the gate, taking a deep breath and exhaling, blowing his messy hair from his eyes. By no surprise to him, others had come before him, likely more enthusiastic than him. What sort would these others be? Glory seekers, looking for their slice of fame and fortune? Were they the noble sort that looked down on blots like himself, was there going to be a fight as soon as he entered their presence? He wasn't afraid of conflict, he wasn't afraid of battle, and he certainly wasn't afraid of being honest.

"Well then, o' noblest of parties, the stray mangy dog, Editus Rayne, now walks among you!" he cried out with an irreverent yet smooth tone, thick with flagrant disregard of even his own self. He then fished out something from his bag, a rolled up piece of parchment with the undeniable royal seal. "Perhaps I was mistaken and this is my arrest for some crime instead, but this summons I received seems to indicate that I was called for... service?"

"Tea is a form of drink made from boiling water and steeping in the leaves of- you seriously don't know what tea is!? Having you been living under a rock y- Oh... right," Basalah said, giving time to ponder her words, realizing she is practically talking to a caveman of a more literal sense. She had taken a moment to assess the intellect of her comrades in more scrutinizing depth. For the most part it seemed that, besides the giant and one of the skeleton brothers... John... the others seemed average, more or less, with a few sparks in between. She rubbed her chin as she entered the surprisingly roomy elevator, a fancy one with a Victorian flair, blue with eloquent designs etched into the walls, the control panel was brass, fitted with a series of buttons. On the buttons there were no numbers, rather, some form of symbols. The lack of a strong female presence also functions in my favor of asserting my own, she thought. Though my current state makes that a... considerable obstacle.

"Well, down we go then," Abdown said as they all entered the elevator, placing his arms behind his back. He then pushed a button on the panel, prompting the doors to close with a clank, and, with a shake, it began to descend. It became apparent that the elevator also had an open view out the door, giving a free look out into the shaft for some reason. Through unseen speakers the sound of eloquent violin music could be heard softly playing. After a while of descent, they could see fanciful long hallway after another passing by the door, architecture that should be impossible to fit within the constraints of a tower. After about the fifth, the lights in the elevator flickered before going out entirely, and pitch black took the entirety. The speakers crackled, as something massive passed by the elevator. Basalah, fearless, looked out the door. The elevator was descending into what would be only described as an impossible space within the rings of a massive brass Armillary sphere, tracking the rotation of this world's islands around a core, the moon above that, and beyond that, something more complex and strange, bodies beyond visible space with strange markings etched within, blocked out by a rotating curved sheet representing the veil, the lettering glowing different colors on these rings with other series of smaller spheres carried within them.

"We had never considered before the first encounter the potentiality of infinite permutations beyond our sphere, more beautiful, or infinitely more horrible," he said this, as the rings began to pass by the door in a faster motion, the blur of them generating an image within their glowing symbols of a brilliantly colorful green-and-blue planet, then something ripping through its sky, a form shooting out like a comet, striking the moon taking off a chunk from its side then plunging into the planet, blanketing it in void and scattering pieces of land into the air. The image blanks out as they seem to enter back into a relatively normal shaft again, the music returning to normal and the lights flickering back on. The elevator descended into something akin to an eloquent spacious lobby, a series of stairs curving up into upper rooms, red carpeting with intricate designs in them, above them a crystal chandelier that jingled ever so softly, and before... before them was a table, at first appearing as ivory seemed instead a white wood grown into an eloquent design, likewise with the chairs with red cushions. On this rather large table was a pot of tea, cups, and some crumpets in plates already prepared with care, along with a fine assortment of marmalades to compliment. "Feel free to help y-"

"MINE!" Basalah suddenly shrieked, breaching her collected demeanor into a wild frenzy, lunging at the table and scarfing down on the crumpets like a wild animal.

"-ourselves," he finished, stroking his chin. "There's plenty, so no worries. Quite the... appetite she has."

"Appetites like that were not uncommon with the impoverished," Grimms said somewhat starkly. "Then again, she's also growing, so maybe it is that, anyways, my gratitude for your hospitality," he continued, his tone turning back to the more familiar warm cordiality, placing a hand on his chest and bowing to their host before making his way to the table. With a strange level of care, his massive fingers plucked up a knife and with patient care spread a seemingly strawberry flavored jam on it, before consuming it within his flaming jaws. He then, with equal finesse, took a cup, filled with with tea, and, pinky out, drank it. "Ah, magnificent blend."

The figure atop the the tower sunk quickly within the building disappearing from sight, likely some form of elevator contraption or chute. Almost immediately after this, the figure emerged at the other end of the red carpet bridge, out from the doorway to greet the most abrupt visitors of his... abode. A real dapper dandy this one was, dressed fancy from neck to toe, wearing a black suit, red tie tucked neatly, black dress pants, shiny black dress shoes, carrying a black cane with a crow head carved into its handle, white gloves covered his hands, and yet tall and spindly was he, he had to bow to walk through his own door. As he faced them, courteously still rising from his bow, it was clear he was no ordinary man, had his stature not given that away yet, his face was akin to a bird, witch a beak-like curved nose, angry-looking feathery eyebrows, and piercing large red-to-yellow eyes, feathers rust-red and white, hair slicked back into a slope and silvery, giving the impression he was rather advanced in his years.

He looked them over briefly, his eyes looked like they were scrutinizing every detail of his visitors, though that may just be because they are so large and piercing anyways. He then cleared his throat, fished through his coat to glance at a paper, before making a gesture towards the group. He began to speak boldly in an unknown tongue, only to note some confusion. He cleared his throat and started again.

"Welcome, travelers from beyond the veil, to the humble island of Lunalake! I am the governor or this piece of land, Abdown is the name, and I will be acting ambassador for this land, foreign to you. Before you in this direction is Lunalake City, which-" he said in announcement, holding his hands out back towards the other side of the lake, a large city of variable colorful houses, big and small, with a rather eccentric pattern, or lack of pattern to them. They could still be defined as housing, at the very least, and by technological level and general aesthetic seemed late Victorian. What seemed out of place, however, is that even from this distance, it was clear there had been some small battle, breaks in the streets, pieces of roofing blown off, a still steaming crater in the city square. He furrowed his brow, breaking from his rehearsed cordiality. "-well, is still very much intact. A bit of an unfortunate misunderstanding that I can assure ended without tragedy."

"Right," Basalah said, suspiciously squinting. "First off, how do you know we came from beyond the veil and are not just travelers from another part of this world, and why are you being so... nice... to armed aliens? This isn't one of those ploys to get outsiders to do random quests to solve the problems the natives are too lazy to do?"

"First off, this craft of yours literally came out of a hole in the sky, a craft of make and design that even here is uncharacteristic, running on what I presume to be a fuel definable as the physical manifestation of thoughts and dreams, which, while, is not at all an unfamiliar concept to us Memorians, the usage of devices explicitly to manipulate it, is. Furthermore, this implies you are beings, or at least there are beings among you that are not innately capable of producing these effects. Not to brag, or put you down in any way, of course, because by ability alone, few of us can pierce the veil, so I applaud your feat!"

"I-," Basalah began, finding herself without words.

"Secondly, I'd rather our problems be solved by us, without dragging outsiders into it, as that would be rather rude, and well... needlessly dangerous... as well as likely resulting in bad reviews to our tourism department, which is barely existent to begin with," he continued, adjusting his tie. "Anyone want tea or coffee? Crumpets perhaps? I'm sure you are all exhausted from your trip, and I'd be a damn bad host not to offer, especially with a lady in my midst," he finished, motioning to the inside of his tower before heading inside and descending within.

"This... is all so strangely familiar to me," Grimms said, getting a good glance at everything as he got upon and walked across the cuckoo bridge towards the door.

"La- hmph, didn't ask for- I'll show you a... you... ugh..." Basalah muttered incoherently with her crackling voice, arms crossed and puffed up in proud agitation, flustered and confused shifting eyes about for anything to say. At last she exhales, looking defeated. "Ffffff... fine!" She then followed suite.