The trip back to Sunrise City was comparatively uneventful; the Daughter of Flame managed not to blow up anything, which seems to be a source of continual surprise as well as relief to Mage Canticle. The raccoon mage secured passage for the three of them on board this vessel, returning to Caroban. The two younger mages share a single cabin, which plainly doesn't suit the fiery-haired human, though she has made no overt protest yet.

For the last several days, since the airship launched, the senior caster has spent most of his time locked in his cabin, ostensibly studying and working magic – though his chanting at times sounds suspiciously like snoring, and neither of the apprentices have detected more than a handful of rituals cast from his room. But whatever the cause, they have been left to fend for themselves…

A little black-and-white unicorn clippity-clops in a circle around the middle of the room, along the edges of a small tarp that has been laid out, inscribed in wax marker with a magic circle that has been elaborately decorated with unnecessary details, such as happy smiling Creens, happy smiling shadow-dragons, happy smiling lizard-people, and a happy smiling Primus sun that sheds happy little yellow rays on the happy little magic circle.

It's not that Rory usually lays on such things so thickly, but he has been determined to put on the best face he can for his magical abilities to his present travel-companion, and figures that doing the very best he can on his magic circles might win points.

As the airship is airborne, it is taking him considerably more time than it otherwise would to enact a "shadow play", but he's trying to get in the practice nonetheless. After all, he's been on the surface for so long, he can't let himself get spoiled with the fact that magic is quadrupled in strength there. And, besides, it helps pass the time. Play and practice, all rolled up into one nice little smiley-face bundle.

The Daughter of Flame watches the young unicorn from the upper bunk, her arms folded beneath her chest, legs bent at the knees behind her. At length, she rolls off and drops lightly to the floor – she seems to have adapted surprisingly well to flight, despite the limited traveling she's done. She crouches and points to one of the wax smiles on a lizard. "I do not understand the significance of this rune," she states. "Is it to represent your control over these creatures, since you place it on their heads?"

Rory keeps gig-clopping around the circle, his voice bouncing with each step as he answers, "Huh? Oh! That's a smiley-face!" He demonstrates by making an exaggerated closed-mouth grin. "Two eyes and a mouth. It's because they're happy! On the sun, it's a double-smile, because Khattas have cleft lips. See?" He gestures as he points to the sun, which with considerable imagination might be seen as a lion's face joined with a stylized flaming orb.

Rory, however, has neglected to draw in various other important features, such as a nose, though there are a few strokes that suggest whiskers. The eyes are nothing more than little circles, mismatched in size.

The girl looks unconvinced. "A smile?" she says. "It looks like it would hurt the mouth to do that."

Rory pouts, uncertain whether it's a critique of the art or of his attempt at a friendly expression on his own face. "Well, it's … uh … kind of like that." He strains, trying to recall if he's ever seen Daughter of Fire smile, now that he thinks of it. He's not overly familiar with Sinaian humans, really, so he's not even sure if they do such a thing here. The Temple humans he saw were very, very solemn, and most certainly, all the wizards are solemn – especially the humans that get those long shaggy beards when they get old and wise.

If the human girl has ever smiled, she can't do it very often – and Rory cannot recall seeing her do it at all. She considers him with the same sober expression she wore before, then eventually nods. "If you say so." She motions that she will make no further interruptions of his casting.

"I'll try to think of some silly stories or maybe a good joke later, okay?" Rory offers hopefully, craning his neck around, then having to turn and flip the other way as he makes his way around the circle again. "Anyway, I'll start chanting now." And so he does, though he demonstrates the flexibility of Sinai spellcasting by doing it in a sing-song fashion. It's all gibberish, but one might possibly imagine that somehow the spells used to invoke the powers of Shadow might actually just be some children's' rhyme in another tongue, using more spidery-sounding, tongue-twisting words.

A few minutes into it, she sidles carefully around the circle and out of the room, her mouth twisted in a grimace. The comparative difficulty of magic on board the airship has been a source of considerable frustration and even suspicion in the self-proclaimed goddess. She went so far as to accused Canticle of tricking her into leaving her home, and bringing her out here for some nefarious purpose, for "surely the gods could not live where their powers are so weak!" The raccoon eventually managed to talk her out of it, but she still gets angry whenever she tries to work magic of her own, and bored when watching another do the same.

Rory's eyes follow Daughter of Fire as she leaves the room, as he's torn between the notion of sticking to this spell for a considerable duration and hoping that she gets back for the good part … or dropping it all and going after her. He hasn't much time to think the matter over without seriously tripping up his casting, so he comes to the rushed conclusion that he really ought to finish his practice spell – at least this one – and if Daughter of Fire doesn't come back, then he could tag along. Perhaps she just wants to be alone. Clippity-cloppity-clip-clop.

Several minutes pass while he brings the spell to its conclusion, and he notices as he continues that, though he's lost one observer, he's gained another. Silhouette sits on top of the room's fold-out writing desk. Her expression looks sober to her companion, however.

Rory gives Silhouette a curious "what's wrong?" look on the next round about the circle, and resolves to ask her about it once he's done chanting. If he's going to adjust to sky island level of magic, he's going to have to be a little less flippant about aborting spells – No telling what effect that could have amongst all the other mages and their spells going on, after all. As the spell comes to a close, he tries to focus on at least some sort of input for the shaping of the spell, in case it doesn't come up with any life of its own. He tries to draw upon some of the interesting things he saw in his dreams of the unicorn knight, of his world with its humans and faerie-folk, its castles and secluded glades, kings and queens and jesters, pennants and pageantry, feast halls and dances … and people of his kind. Family.

Shadow-unicorns take shape in his mind and start to shimmer along the edges of the circle, while castle scenes flicker and vanish against the wall – the pre-effects of a spell not quite finished. Silhouette seems quite in place among them, and for a moment she smiles. She waits for Rory to speak the last line, then signs, "Do you feel that?"

Once the spell is fully going on its own, Rory takes a great sigh of relief that now he can actually enjoy some of his handiwork, occasionally chanting a little here and there to give the magic an extra push to keep it going. (He just has to remind himself to do it a little more often than on the surface, that's all.) He looks to Silhouette, and though his first inclination is to nod and smile, it occurs to him that he really can't answer that honestly without knowing what "that" is. "Feel what?" he hand-signs back in return.

"Magic. Not here … off the ship," Silhouette returns.

Rory pauses a moment, trying to "listen" through what he has of a magic-sense, to grasp what it might be that Silhouette is indicating, while the shadow-landscape of his imagination slowly takes over the confines of the cabin berth.

Now that he's not busy dwelling on his own spell-casting, Rory can extend his magical "senses" … and finds that he does pick up a signature of magic, ahead and to the port side of ship. While he's "listening" with his magical "ears", he hears something with his mundane ones, as well – the sounds of raised voices above decks – by the captain's wheel, perhaps? It's muffled from here.

Rory sighs, suspecting trouble … but not discounting the possibility that it could be nothing at all, and he really doesn't want to waste a perfectly good ritual. Therefore, he puts a little more chanting into sustaining the ritual a good while longer – It's fresh, after all – then quietly makes his way to the door, cracking it open and peering outside, ears perked as he tries to follow the sounds.

Silhouette slips out the door before him, silent as always, and vanishes into the ordinary shadows of the steps up. There are definitely people arguing above, and one of the voices sound suspiciously like their "Fire Goddess." He can't make out the whole sentences yet, but catches a few words: "Wrong!" in higher-pitched tones, and "Dagh take you!" in a lower growl.

Rory mouths an "oops", and picks up his pace. With all the yelling, he's not so greatly concerned about stealth. Stubbornness makes him still worried about his precious ritual being wasted, and he does so hope this won't take too long. "… but this sounds pretty serious," Rory whispers to himself, and dashes up the stairs to the upper deck.

At the upper deck, he can see several crew members, including the captain gathered by the pilot, who is glaring at the Daughter of the Flame. That girl divides her angry looks amongst all of the crew, fists set on her hips in a stance that reminds Rory of the way she spoke to Bark-Snap-Growl when she was burning down his village. "You mortal fools! I am a goddess!" she declares. "I can tell when others of my kind are near, and you are taking us the wrong way!"

Rory is immediately beset by horrible visions of Mister Fire Serpent meeting Mister Explosive Gas Bag. (Not that he's seen one actually explode – that would be fairly traumatic – but that's how he imagines such things happen.) "Uhm … Daughter-of-Fire? What's wrong? I've got my spell going, by the way. Please don't do anything scary. I really would rather not get killed or anything like that." In his mind, he chides himself, Stoopid, stoopid, stoopid! Should have seen she was in a bad mood! Should have gone after her!

The captain sneers at her. "Look, missy, I don't care who your father is or what you think you are, we've got our air charts and messages from Caroban, and I can guarantee you that we're still at least five days' out, unless you think the gods have picked up their home and … uh … moved it … " What started out as a sarcastic, impossible alternative now clearly dawns on the captain as actually possible, given what he's dealing with. But the Rhian captain rallies bravely, "And they'd've sent word if anything like that was planned!" He turns to Rory for appeal. "Reason with her, willya, kid?"

The little black and white unicorn puts in some more chanting while he's trying desperately to think of something useful to say. "Uhm … " Okay, crackleberries aren't going to help this time. "Uh … " How's she supposed to know where Caroban is, any road? "Ah … Daughter of Fire … which way is the right way, then?" he timidly asks.

Idly, Rory wishes she had a shorter name. He imagines she wouldn't take well to a nickname, though. She just doesn't seem like the type. That'd be about like calling Sunala "Sunny" for short, in the deity business.

Fortunately for Rory's peace of mind, at least the redhead doesn't have any spells held at the moment. Though her familiar is coiled up at the bottom of a brazier back in their room… Better not to think about that. She turns to the unicorn as well. "You must feel it too! There are gods at work nearby," she gestures to the port side of the ship, "And they ignore it, as if their pictures and papers have more knowledge than us!" she continues indignantly.

Rory looks about, remembering what he sensed earlier – thinking maybe Daughter of Fire was somehow responsible at the time. He chants a little more, out of nervous habit right now more so than out of his stubborn desire not to waste a perfectly good play-acting ritual, and clip-clops over to the port side. He ventures, "You know, there are more mages than just in Caroban. Maybe it's another airship? Maybe an apprentice field trip… " He decides to take a chance and let his ritual sit for a bit – a minute, at least – as he tries his very limited knowledge of Light Magic to begin an invocation of a minor spell of Enhance Sense: Here, he focuses it on his magic sense in the hopes of picking up something more distinctive – and hopefully useful.

The tableaux of crew and "goddess" remains in place as Rory begins his new spell, varying their gaze from each other to him. For the moment, the Daughter of Flame seems content to let him conduct his survey, and doesn't continue her upbraiding of the pilot and captain. After a minute, Rory completes his work, and he feels his magical senses expand, groping towards the spell he felt earlier. The cantrip lets him determine that the magic at portside is an old spell, and powerful. It doesn't have the "feel" of something recently renewed, so it must have been imbued with a lot of energy some time ago. But he can't tell what its purpose is – except that he doubts it's a ship's air mage, because it seems to be staying in pretty much the same place while their ship travels past. It's also above them a bit, too. He might be able to see whatever the spell is on, if the ship's envelope weren't in the way.

Rory chants a little more, though it's for his shadow ritual (Yes, even in a tense situation like this, he still hasn't quite a knack for keeping things in proper perspective), though it also gives him some time to ponder what he's just sensed. He decides to go for the direct approach: "It's some sort of old spell – I don't think there's actually a mage … er … 'god' to go along with it right now. Something powerful, but really old. It's up that way – " He points. " – but we're moving and it isn't. Maybe a sky island? I can't see." He nonetheless leans out a token amount, however vainly (a young life in Babel has made him not overly squeamish about heights) in a token attempt to see what it might be.

As expected, craning his neck doesn't help much. The Daughter of Flame moves to his side, watching first him, then turning her own head towards the source of her inquiry. Her expression is sour, but curious against her will. "Did the gods of Caroban plant it here as a way-marker?" she asks. "Are you sure it is not their abode?"

The captain sighs in relief. "See there, miss? Even your fellow 'deity' knows Caroban ain't here. You gotta get your head screwed on right, little girl."

Rory blinks, thinking the way-marker notion a terribly clever idea. "You know, it could be a guide-post. I haven't been to Caroban before, myself. Mage Canticle might know. Uhm … " He looks pleadingly to the captain, and clip-clops over to him. In a low tone of voice, he says, "I'm really, really, sorry, sir, but I think there is something up there, though it's certainly not Caroban. Is it possible we could take a teensy little look? Or would it put us too far off course?" He tries to keep his voice very hushed.

The Daughter whirls to fix her glare on the Rhian as Rory approaches him. "You," she hisses, "are a living testament to the ills of over-indulgence with mortals. You are why Father warned me never to treat mere mundanes as equals. I wonder that my fellow gods tolerate your behavior, for I am not sure how much longer I will!"

Rory winces, and looks to the captain. "She's like that," he whispers, doing his best to look worldly and knowing these sorts of things, vaguely recalling seeing some Babelite doing that to deal with such a situation – not that he recalls it actually working.

The captain blinks a few times, looking a little taken aback by the girl's vehemence. He seems on the verge of a retort, but pauses, considering Rory's quieter words. "Oh, not you, too! Look, hey, we're an airship on the way to Caroban! If that – whatever it is – is some kind of road sign, wouldn't it be giving directions to us? The mere mortals, that is," he finishes, sardonic.

Rory scratches his head. "Uhm … well, since Caroban is sort of secret and all, I would suppose it's to give directions to other mages." Rory pauses a moment, chanting again idly, gathering his thoughts, running his hand through what of his mane pokes out from underneath his cowl. "Uhm … just a request. I'm sure it's nothing really important. Could … could the navigator at least make a mark of our current position? I could ask the College about it once we get to Caroban. And … I'll try to get Daughter of Fire below-decks. I've been working on a spell – a shadow play. I was hoping we could play-pretend, but I think she got bored."

"All right, all right, we'll mark it on our charts," the equine captain concedes. "Just get her out of here, willya?"

Rory nods several times, and chants on his way back to Daughter of Flame. He announces, "They're going to mark it on their charts, and we can ask the High Council about it when we get to Caroban," he says, looking hopeful. In actuality, it's quite unlikely the High Council would have an audience with him, but he rather likes the sound of "High Council", and has latched onto the notion that he'd really like to speak with them all anyway, and show them all the neat new spells he's learned. "Can I show you my shadow play now?"

As usual with her, the Daughter of Flame doesn't look happy about this turn of events, but she at last nods and goes along with the unicorn.

"Secret island my foot," the Rhian mutters as the two mages depart for their cabin. "Dagh take the College, they've got no business training up kids so young… "

Back in the cabin, it's a lot darker than it was before. Those gifted with enough imagination, upon giving their eyes enough time to focus, can see spelled out a setting a great deal more lively than any of Rory's wax crayon drawings, though it still has certain naive touches – such as far too many happy Creens flitting about – that make Rory's handiwork evident.

With the aforementioned imagination to fill in the gaps, the cabin has been transformed into the middle of a clearing amidst tall silhouettes of trees standing against a stylized sky – with a moon in it, as Rory would be proud to point out knowledgeably – back on the world that he has come to know as Aeonia.

Rory sing-songs, "A long time ago, in a place far away, once upon a time, or maybe yesterday." He inwardly congratulates himself for rhyming. He knows that's important.

The Daughter of Flame squints as she looks around the transformed room, as if trying to see it through Rory's eyes by looking through each of hers only one at a time. "What is that circle on the ceiling?" she asks. "Is it not happy like your other circles? It doesn't have a smile."

"The faeries do their dances, under a bright full moon," Rory sing-songs, pointing at the circle, and feeling it somehow lacking that it doesn't have a smile. He'll have to fix that next time – no going back now. "While the unicorns play to a jaunty little tune." He heard someone use the phrase "jaunty little tune" earlier in the trip, and decides to make full use of it by including it in the song. He smiles again, figuring someone ought to be proud of him right now.

Amongst the shadows of the trees, Silhouette flickers, dancing in out between the shadows of a forest just like herself. She is smiling.

"Listen to them, listen now, listen to them sing; smiling, laughing dancing now on little silver wings," Rory improvises. "They sing for each other, they sing a song for you. Every now and then they stop and ask you howdy-do!" A dapper faerie lord tips his hat to the Daughter of Flame.

The human girl watches the spectacle curiously, if without seeming to quite understand it. She tilts her head at the shadowy fey figure, examining him instead of the caster. She seems more out of place than anything else in the room, with her brown skin and red hair. Even Rory, solid as he is, blends in with the colors.

"It's a merry little party, no one minds if you take a chance," Rory says as he beams and canters back and forth, rushing words to fit the rhythm, "but they'd really really like it if you'd care to join the dance!" He offers an arm to Daughter-of-Flame. "Come on!" he stage-whispers. "We'll make it up as we go!"

The Daughter blinks, looking blankly at his arm. "Make what up?" she asks. She must have caught at least some of his enchantment, because she says the words quietly – a stark contrast with her usual loud proclamations.

"The dance!" Rory stage-whispers again to Daughter-of-Flame and tries to take her arm. "You just kind of bounce around – like the faerie-folk!" He looks to Silhouette for help, a bit awkward at the human's failure to catch on as quickly as he'd hoped, but not ready to give up so easily.

Silhouette giggles at him, as the Daughter of Flame unresistingly allows him to catch her arm. The shadow 'corn bounces lightly in a jig, with the fey folk in the background engaging in similar, though less distinct, movements. The human girl opens her mouth. "Oh! A dance!" She nods once, and launches into her own steps with startling alacrity, arm-in-arm with Rory. She rocks to her toes and lifts her feet, one at a time, in high, quick steps, knees bent in a half-crouch. It looks sort of like a dance, though not the one the fey folk are doing.

Rory breathes a great sigh of relief, not caring the least bit, really, what sort of dance it is, or even whether it's in time … except that he nonetheless does his best to keep in time with her. It never hurts to learn a new dance to add to his repertoire. He laughs despite himself. He can't be certain he can repeat the human's movements, as his own legs are digitigrade, but he does his best to improvise.

As the unicorn watches and mimics her, he thinks that in some ways her steps look like they'd be easier for someone with digitigrade legs. The way she keeps her knees bent, it looks like she's trying to act like they are. She shifts the arm that's linked with his to take his hand in hers, instead, then swings face to face with him. A quiet rap at the door is almost drowned out as the Daughter of Flame throws back her head and howls.

Rory idly wonders at the species of origin of the dance style, pondering if it might be one of the many types of Jupani – perhaps the Himarian variety – but despite the knocking, he keeps up with the dance. He sheepishly worries that they're making too much racket in here, but it's got to be better than what was happening up above-decks earlier! He reaches out with a few gestures with his free hand, chanting in time, to summon a few Creens to dart and flit about and join the mayhem.

The Daughter of Flame howls again, then drops her head to a level with Rory's. She does know how to smile, it seems – either that, or she's baring her teeth at him in a threatening manner. Definitely one of the two. At least she doesn't look as sulky or angry as she normally does. She takes his other hand in hers, and steps forward and to one side of him, so that his arm crosses her chest and vice versa. With her legs bent, they're about the same height. The Creens scatter from between them at the motion to close the distance, and Rory can hear clawed footsteps retreating from the door.

"She's smiling," he whispers to himself, largely for self-assurance, though partly in wonder. Rory does his best to catch on, going about and nodding to Silhouette and grinning whenever he catches her eye (or the shadowy equivalent thereof).

Silhouette pantomimes laughter for him, though not quite so disruptively as to ruin the rhythm of her own, rather more sedate, dance. The unicorn boy manages to get a fairly good grasp of the redhead's steps after a minute. She sticks to the same basic moves for the most part, though occasionally she'll throw in something new and unexpected that he has to adapt to. That, and she howls quite a bit.

The howling part is probably the hardest part of the dance for him to get used to, and something Rory isn't quite prepared to match. Being a shadow mage, he's more accustomed to quiet – but that hardly matters. Right now, he feels as is this is the best shadow-play spell he's cast in a long, long time! He smiles genuinely at the thought.

Later, on the evening of the same day, as the passengers are gathered for dinner, a Korv sailor approaches the mages' table. He sidles nervously up to Rory, shifting from one clawed foot to the other. His eyes keep darting to the Daughter of Flame, as if expecting her to set his tail feathers on fire at any moment. He addresses his words to unicorn, though, not her. "Begging your pardon, sir. Might I have a word with you?"

Rory makes a connection between the clawed feet and the sounds he heard at the door. With a look of an apprentice being taken off to the headmaster's office, he nods glumly. "Oh … uhm … yes, all right," he says. He turns to Daughter-of-Flame and excuses himself, "Please pardon me," as he gets up to fall in behind the sailor.

Curiously, the Korv seems to wear much the same expression Rory does. Once just outside the hall, he faces the unicorn – who, as it happens, stands taller than the full-grown avian – and says, "So sorry to disturb you. But, I, uh, I … wanted to let you know that I went to look at where, you, uh, were indicating there was magic. You know. Earlier."

Rory nods, now quite curious that the matter has come up. "Yes?" he prompts, his eyes widening and ears perking up.

"Well, there wasn't nothing there but a dead waashu. It was a big one, sir. Big enough to land on, with a sky garden on top. But I didn't land on it, 'course – being that it might be magical and all." The Korv pauses, then adds, "Creeped me out, sir."

Rory's jaw works at this, as his mind works on the notion. Finally, the most profound comment he can think to make on the whole situation is, "Ewwwwww!"

The sailor considers this pronouncement, then nods solemnly. "Exactly, sir."

"I don't see what'd be magical about a dead waashu, though," Rory says. "Besides, that felt like an old spell. A waashu would go pop after a while. Or, you know, deflate, and go … " He makes a raspberry noise as he weaves his hand back and forth like an imaginary waashu springing a leak, descending toward the floor. "Splat."

The Korv nods. "I've heard tales of ones floating for a holiday or three before popping, sir. But never for years. Unless, maybe, that was the magic?" He turns his head sideways, puzzled. "Well, in any case, we're long past it now."

"Ohh," Rory says, in a mixture of relief and disappointment – relief that he didn't get to see a giant dead waashu after all, and disappointment that he didn't get to see a giant dead waashu after all. Maybe he can make up a song about it. "I hope nobody runs into it … or mistakes it for a sky island!" He imagines himself setting hoof on the waashu, only to fall forward and impale it with his horn, followed by a large explosion. He shudders at the notion.

"Thank you!" Rory tells the sailor. "I'll let Daughter of Flame know that it was the Great Dead Waashu God!" He beams at this revelation, then heads back for the dining room, content that he has it all nicely figured out now.

The girl accepts the Great Dead Waashu God explanation with equanimity. "Though we should have paid our respects to him," she says, with only mild rebuke at their lack of manners.

After several more days of travel, they catch their first glimpse of Caroban. The Daughter of Flame stares at in open-mouthed wonder as they approach the docks, and draw close enough to make out details. She watches the distant spires of the Sphere of Light, and the fountains playing in the Sphere of Water. Not to mention the improbable architecture where Chaos clearly holds sway, and the buildings seems to change even while they watch, or the showers of sparks from the miniature volcano of the Sphere of Fire. "It truly is the realm of Gods," the Daughter whispers, leaning against the ship's rail.

Rory competes for rail space (even though there's plenty to go around), and certainly can't argue. "Darrrrrk," he utters, as he looks upon the sky island. "I like it!" He turns around, calling out, "Hey, Silhouette! We're here!"

"Oooo! Oooo!" Rory almost jumps up and down as he points toward the Realm of Water. "Look! It's a snow castle!" Maybe "castle" is a little too charitable an appellation for the structure, but Rory likes to give such things the benefit of a doubt.

"We could have a snowball fight!" Rory offers. "I'll bet you haven't had one of those in Lamu!"

Silhouette seems at a loss for words, gazing at the growing aspect of the island as they close upon the docks. Flying members of the crew and dock workers begin to flit around the ship, preparing mooring lines and getting the berth set for them. The Daughter of Flame blinks at the sight a few times, more awe-struck and out of place than Rory could ever imagine she would be. It takes her a few minutes to mouth the word, "Snow?" with apparent unfamiliarity.

Rory nods. "Yes. Like on the mountain tops. It's what happens when water gets … uhm … crunchy – OOO!" He is immediately distracted by the next curiosity, and Caroban has plenty. "Look! Little bitty sky islands! There's a hole in Caroban! I'll bet that's where we're going! You see? It's all lined up like the Chart of Spheres. That's Light, that's Shadow, that's Fire … Water … Earth … Air (with the storms, see?) … and on the outside, you've got Spirit (spooky, huh?), Illusion (hee!), Life, Dream, Mind and Chaos (that's the weird place)."

Rory counts off on his fingers, tapping his nose and then his horn, then nods approvingly. "Right. Twelve of them."

"Oh," the Daughter says, weakly. "There are … a great many gods here, are there not? I can feel their work." She presses one hand against her forehead.

"There's a lot of magic here, yeah," Rory nods. "I mean … this is even bigger than the Babel Guild Hall … or the College Esoterica of Rephidim. It has the Guild Hall of Nagai thrown in, too, and a bunch of other places! I heard all about it – You see, they all moved here, got their own sky island. I'm not sure why, but it sure looks like fun!"

"It looks … miraculous," Silhouette signs. "Now I see how the Lacinus could mistake mages for gods."

"Maybe," Rory agrees out loud, "but the gods don't have to worry that someone's going to knock their candles over, huh?" He giggles at the thought of running around, gleefully knocking over candles so that the Seven Sisters can't invoke their Do Nasty Things spells. He conveniently blots out the likely Babelite response to such antics – one that wouldn't rely upon magical conveyances.

At length, docking is complete, and Mage Canticle wades through what seems like a small sea of paperwork before the small party escapes from their vessel. As they stand on the docks, the raccoon addresses the unicorn first: "Rory, it'll be a few days before they'll decide exactly what to do with you – probably you'll be tested for Journeyman status – assuming you wish to put yourself forward for it?"

The insides of Rory's ears whiten slightly at the prospect. It seems like such a weighty thing. "Uhm … well … I guess I have to, eventually. So … " He tries to stand up a little more straight. "All right! I'll do it!" He looks to Silhouette for encouragement.

Silhouette nods emphatically and signs a thumbs-up that needs no translation.

Rory nods again. "I'll do it." He smiles, feeling more assured. "I'm going to be the best Shadow-Light-Life Mage ever!"

"Very good!" Canticle says, approving as well. "You can stay at the apprentice's quarters of the Sphere of Shadow until they're ready to test you. Here," the raccoon whistles at a nearby apprentice who has been eyeing them a little too curiously, and the boy reluctantly steps forward. "You, boy, show Apprentice Rorschach the way to Shadow. As I said, it will be a few days. You should spend some time practicing, Rory, but don't wear yourself out. Have a look around, see the sights." He smiles.

"Yayyyyy!" Rory cheers. "You've got to see this place, Daughter-of-Flame!" the unicorn exclaims, as if she couldn't tell this just as easily herself. "It's dark!" He pauses a moment, pondering what her word for it would be, given her chosen element. "I mean … it's hot!"

The raccoon mage chuckles. "Indeed it is. But, Daughter of Flame, you should come with me first. I'll take you to see the Dean of Fire." He takes her hand. The red-haired girl remains uncharacteristically quiet and pliant as Canticle waves to Rory and heads off. "We'll see you soon, I'm sure," he says.

Rory's enthusiasm deflates somewhat, as he sees Daughter of Flame led off. "Uhm … catch you … later?" He waves. "Maybe tonight for supper? Silhouette will be there, too!"

The Daughter looks back over her shoulder at the words from Rory. Her eyes still have that stunned look, but after a moment, she manages one of her rare smiles, and waves goodbye to him.

The unicorn's mouth quickly shifts to a broad grin as he sees Daughter of Flame smile back, and he waves more vigorously. Feeling a great deal more confident now, he reaches out to "take" Silhouette's hand (even if to the casual observer, he's just holding his hand out to grab empty space). "Let's go see the Shadowlands!"