A new day finds a big black Vartan exploring the ruins of the airship graveyard. Wrecked ships have long ago been joined together by bridges and cross-walks, some solid, some rope, and others have been rearranged into living quarters for the former feline occupants.

Much of the more shocking discoveries have already been made by the first searchers … and the more grisly remnants of the cannibals' lifestyles have been done away with. Still, there's the occasional, ominously-placed skull, or some other macabre reminder. This ship, however, hasn't yielded such. Its make and markings are unfamiliar, but that can be said of many of these ships.

Zoltan kicks a jawbone off the deck of one of the downed airships as he slowly makes his way across the splintered deck. He looks around for anything unusual, bits that resemble the airship from Shokar's model… or perhaps some of the machinery inside his cabin in the jungle.

A bat flutters around, then lands on the deck. "Zoltan?" A miscellaneous bat that Zoltan hasn't caught the name of yet, or managed to remember. Even with all this time to get acquainted, there are just so many bats…

The Vartan turns around. "Yes?" He absently scrapes his hoof across the wooden planks that support him on the deck.

The bat walks across the deck, occasionally stepping on some wood that gives way, and having to flap his wings to reach a safer position, before continuing. "Well, they've been talking about plans, and Boghaz has decided that we've made a pretty good haul. Despite the risks, he's going to start making preparations to set sail … for Rephidim."

"Even with threat of war? Hrrr… I hopes it wise." Zoltan rubs the side of his beak with a talon. "How soon he plan to cast off?"

The brown bat shrugs. "It depends. Some of us are going to stay here for the time being, and keep working until Boghaz returns – hopefully with more equipment and some more specialized help. But also some of the … er … Vartans are going along. It's hard to tell how long it will take them to get all prepared… "

Zoltan smiles at this, he was hoping that some of the Vartan hybrids would join up in the crew. "Hope Boghaz is prepared for trouble if we encounters it on way. Would not want to lose all treasure we found here. Any other news from captain?"

The brown bat frowns. "We're as prepared as we can be. We can't very well sit here and hide forever. As for other news … " He shakes his head. "That's about as much news as there is to be heard. Not much happens here nowadays, you know. See you about!" The bat spreads out his wings, eyeing a path back to the main camp.

"Good point," the Vartan murmurs. "I be back at ship soon. Just wanted to get one last look at place." He waves to the departing bat.

The brown bat flutters away, leaving the Vartan quite alone on the deck of the broken airship … and alone amidst the wreckage of the others that can be seen. Broken wooden timbers jut up from the hulks here and there, some bearing the remnants of tattered sails, envelopes or once-supporting cables as they creak in the light wind.

Zoltan spreads his own wings and leaps into the air. ( Looks like you managed to hide most of your secrets, Shokar – even if you didn't plan to. I hope you did find a way to escape. ) He angles his flight to take him in a low circle around the wrecked ships as he continues idly searching.

A glint of light catches the Vartan's keen eyes – from one of the airships closer to the very edge of the island, on the fringe of this airship graveyard.

His eyes widen as the reflexive response kicks in. "Shiny!" he squawks and flies towards the glint.

The glint disappears after just a flash, but locating its source is not difficult. It must lie somewhere within the shattered hulk of the airship, which looks as if not only was it damaged from collision with the island … but as if something else had smashed into it, effectively cleaving it in two, and not in the least bit symmetrically.

Zoltan circles in and lands in what he hopes is a stable spot within the wreckage. He begins to dig around through the bits of broken wood, searching for a hint of whatever shattered the ship and for the shiny thing.

Bits of the wood break away, and the deck creaks, but what remains standing seems inclined to stay in place for a little while longer, considering how long it has remained. Examining into the wreckage of the hull and deck, it looks as if the ship had been struck with a gigantic butter knife, the tip of which still juts out from the side of the ship … except that it's a fairly dull "knife", rounded on the surfaces, a grayish-green color, with streaks of rust here and there, and some sort of mottled pattern painted on its panelled surface.

It's large enough that the Vartan could easily stand on the "knife blade" jutting out from the ship, and walk around on it … though, not knowing how strong it is, that may not necessarily be recommended.

Zoltan moves closer to the 'knife'. "How did you get here, I wonder?" he squawks… not that it can answer really. He reaches out and touches the surface with his fingertip, slowly tracing his hand across the surface.

The surface is that of a material that Zoltan has come into contact only very rarely. It's metal. Thin metal, by the give, and painted. The scheme starts to make sense to the woodsy Vartan – In addition to the dull green and gray are bits of brown. It's a scheme meant to break up the visual outline of the shape, such that would make it harder to detect in vegetation, if there were any reason to PUT such a thing there. The underside of the "blade", by contrast, changes to a bluish-white tone, except where it's marred by streaks of black, as if burned, and yet more spots of corrosion.

There are also some sort of large letters painted on the top and bottom of the "blade", in a light gray color, outlined in black. They are in no language the Vartan can recognize, however … very plain, blocky characters that seem designed to be easily read from a distance, despite the attempt at camouflage.

The Vartan scratches his head. Very strange. He starts trying to clear away more of the broken bits of wood, hoping to reveal more of the shape.

With a loud crack, a large section of the rotten wooden hull entrapping the giant blade rips away, sending up a cloud of choking dust, as moss and other vegetation growing on the shaded interior lets off spores, and bits of the decayed wood spray about, repeated when the rotten wood crashes against the debris and rock far below.

The Vartan coughs dust from out of his lungs and starts fanning his wings, hoping to clear the air away.

At first, this seems to only make things worse, but eventually the cloud clears. Inside the rotten hull, the Vartan can see, from the fragmented sunlight that filters through cracks in the wood, that this is much, much more than just an oversized butterknife. Something large has crashed into this ship, and the "butterknife" merely protrudes from it to one side.

The Vartan holds his breath as he waits for the dust and spores to clear away. He fumbles with his pack and pulls out a lamp made from Ceramic and glass. He carefully lights it with the help of his tinderbox.

The wind stirs up a bit more dust, but nothing compared to the cloud that erupted earlier.

The light from the lamp illuminates a little more just inside the hull. Further in, the "knife edge" gets wider and thicker, and at a couple of points, there are large cylindrical shapes that interrupt its length.

Breathing as little as possible (due to the junk in the air), Zoltan enters the airship. He ducks low under a piece of wood and walks closer to the metal shape.

Inside, the rest of this large metal … thing … is painted in the same mottled scheme, though there are other features marking its surface. The larger form is remotely cylindrical, running perpendicular to the knife blade, mostly horizontal, though slightly angled downward in the direction it most likely plowed into the airship.

The cylinder is large enough to hold quite a lot of whatever is inside, if anything. Several Vartans could probably fit inside, if it were as hollow as the feel of the metal "skin" suggests under the Vartan's hooves.

( It looks a little like someone was trying to make a big metal raktor! ) the Vartan thinks to himself. He walks across the surface, seeking a way inside.

Still, there's some sort of a rigid frame within the "skin" that the Vartan finds he can walk upon, without so much risk of his hooves stabbing right through the metal skin – and possibly resulting in great personal injury to himself as well as damage to this thing.

Further in toward the main body of this giant metal bird – if that's what it is – some more of the white symbols can be found along the craft. There is also some sort of a symbol that seems to stand out from the rest, painted in different colors. It looks much like a stylized star, not unlike that of the Temple, except that there is no "anchor", and it has five points. Toward the "beak" of the craft, there are brighter colors – or, perhaps, they were once bright – including red.

It looks as if someone has painted, in a stylized fashion, a glaring eye facing toward the fore of the metal bird, and a gaping maw full of triangular teeth.

And then … SHINY! At the Vartan's hooves is a little broken fragment of glass. Many broken fragments, in fact.

( Raktors don't have teeth! then again… they're not green and blue either. Maybe this was created to scare people. ) He blinks at the glass under his feet and carefully picks up a shard. Zoltan looks around, trying to locate a shattered window.

Looking about, the Vartan can find a possible source of the glass. Above the painted face, where the fore of the cylinder curves into a bulb, there is a bit of a rise consisting of a curved grid of bars forming a frame, within which are broken remnants of glass panels. Just beneath the glass panels can be seen a number of smaller square paintings contrasting with the dull gray and green – red and white, with little black crosses on them with bent edges.

Zoltan bends down and looks through the glass to get a better glance at the inside. He holds his torch close as he scans for signs of life – or what might have once been alive.

From Zoltan's new perch up on the cylindrical main body, through the panels he can see some dusty remains of cloth. There are two chairs inside the panelled frame, both occupied by skeletons in heavily decayed gear, some of which looks to have once been leather. One of the skeletons looks distinctly canine – perhaps a Jupani – while the other has the flat face of what was possibly once a human.

In addition to the rust and corrosion that can be seen, there are also many more black streaks tracing across the surface. Also, Zoltan can see another "knife blade" sticking out the other side. More and more, this looks like some sort of metal raktor, or perhaps a metal ptera.

( A flying machine! This was some kind of flying machine. ) He draws himself back and looks at the whole metal husk. ( It obviously didn't fly very well though… stupid builders. If you make something look like a bird, it doesn't mean that it can fly like one. )

The Vartan looks back upwards in the direction that the machine probably crashed from. ( But you hit an airship… so you must have been able to fly. Probably went too high and the magic stopped working. )

A gaping hole gives testament to the way the metal craft came crashing in through, clouds drifting by in the distance, a few Creens fluttering in to their nests in the shadow of the fragmented hull, and flitting back out again.

Zoltan pulls himself back up and looks down at the ship. At least there weren't any Vartans inside, hopefully Shokar was smart enough not to ride in this strange metal bird.

As the Vartan peruses the ship some more, he finds more features … There is a large fin sticking up from the very back of the craft, with some more images painted on it, though not easily visible from this angle and distance, and two more fins jutting out at each side – like the one Zoltan stood on earlier, but smaller. There is also another glassy bulb sticking up from the central body, broken again in places, with some sort of metal rod sticking out through it, and some sort of chair – unoccupied – inside. Here and there are strange little holes in the skin of the craft, not explained by decay, and too random to be by design. There are a few portholes on the side, some intact, some broken … and also a door.

Zoltan begins to move toward the tail of the metal bird. Halfway hoping that there is some writing on this thing he can read… or at least recognize.

None of the additional writing proves to be more recognizable. There are more symbols, but few of them, some of them repeating what is elsewhere on the craft, and too simple – and short – to possibly mean much of anything. The star symbol is repeated, but there is also a circle on the back, a field of blue, with an image painted on it. It looks like a female Aeonian, but with wings, in flight, holding some sort of shiny black cylindrical artifact under one arm, with four stubby fins radiating out from behind, and something unintelligible scrawled on its surface.

The Vartan tilts his head sideways at the image… then shakes his head and walks to the door leading inside the ship. He reaches out and tries to pry it open.

It takes a bit of work, but the Vartan manages to figure out the mechanism of the door … and with a bit of coaxing gets it to open, bits of powdered rust falling out from the long-unused hinges.

Sneezing as more powder finds its way into his beak, the Vartan makes his way inside. He holds his lamp out to help illuminate the way.

The interior is cramped, especially for the large Vartan, but it couldn't have been much better for the previous occupants, judging from the skeletons toward the front. The main room has lots of … junk around. It all looks like it once served some sort of purpose, but it's beyond the Vartan, beyond anything he's seen before, except that bits of it look vaguely like the sorts of things one might find in the Temple, only not quite as marvelous. Crawlspaces lead to other parts in the interior of this craft, a great deal of the space taken up by some sort of machinery or who-knows-what. There is a large rack of some sort holding several of the strange black devices that the Aeonian was holding in the painting on that vertical fin, positioned over what looks like a pair of doors that open in the belly of the craft. A ladder leads up to the glass bulb and metal rods sticking out of the top of the craft, while more crawl tubes lead forward, presumably to where the two skeletons were, and also toward the back, where light hints at another glassy orb structure much like the one on top, only oriented differently.

Zoltan holds his lamp up and looks around in amazement. He searches around for more signs of any other occupants that might have been riding here.

Inside the craft, after an initial search, Zoltan only finds one more skeleton, this one slumped over a cramped desk, the bones broken in several places, the body and desk riddled with several holes, next to a section of the metal skin wall that has many more holes in it, letting in needles of sunlight. There appears to be some other sort of station near the fat black finned cylinders, and then there are the seats with the glass pods at the top and rear of the craft, but no skeletons or other remains can be found in those places. As for the third skeleton, it appears to be another human.

Zoltan examines the holes. ( I've seen flintlocks do things like this. But there's so many! )

It seems as if the craft has not been disturbed for quite some time, save by jungle creatures, there being hints of long-abandoned Creen nests near the areas of broken glass. There is another hatch like the one Zoltan entered, this one open, and frozen on its hinges in that position. Nearby, there are a couple of packs up on the wall, not built quite like backpacks … but reminiscent of parasails.

As the Vartan continues his searching, he finds some cabinets that need more than a bit of coaxing to open. Many of the items inside have decayed away to uselessness, but there are some small metal cans, sealed, and some odd little tools that look like some of the "holy implements" the technopriests carry about.

Zoltan starts pulling out the cans and the strange 'implements'. He gives them a quick inspection to see if there's anything that might betray the contents inside.

The cans are printed with the same language as what is on the outside of the craft, only that there seems to be much more to say here. The letters are too regular to look hand-written. Rather, it looks as if stencils were used on many of them.

The Vartan stuffs his findings into his pack. At the very least he now has some portable examples of the writing to show around. Maybe someone can translate it. He makes his way to the two skeletons near the front of the ship, setting his jaw as he prepares for the task of digging through the corpses.

Pilfering the skeletons releases a lot more dust, but reveals something worth the trouble. The leather jackets and gear, unfortunately, are missing linings and many other components which have long since decayed. But in a crumbling leather sheath the Vartan finds a curious device of well-oiled metal, which has been remarkably preserved. It looks something like a hand crossbow … only without the bow. The short barrel suggests a flintlock, except that it's just so SMALL compared to one.

Zoltan pulls the weapon very slowly out of its sheath. He makes a point to keep it aimed away from himself as he examines it a bit closer. ( Doesn't look like a flintlock… I wonder if I can open it? )

The mechanism doesn't seem quite like that of a flintlock. There's some sort of cylinder … and as the Vartan toys with the parts, suddenly the cylinder swings out, and eight much smaller cylinders, brassy in color, rain down on the Vartan's hooves, falling out from holes in the drum that popped out.

Zoltan's feathers bristle out as the gun unloads itself. He relaxes and stoops to pick up the bullets, then goes back to searching the bodies. Did they carry more ammunition?

One of the skeletons has a leather belt that has many more of the little bullets, each one in its own little "sheath" in the leather. These are not quite like flintlock bullets, being cylindrical rather than round. And, there doesn't seem to be any place to pack in the powder.

The black Vartan gathers up as many of the bullets as he can, and then tears off some of the rotting leather from the corpses' jackets to wrap them and the gun in to protect them from damage.

The other skeleton has another strange little flintlock device as well, which becomes evident once the jacket is partially removed. This one is different, its method of loading even more obscure. Some sort of metal box pops out of the handle, and there are some more such boxes amidst the bones, though surely these boxes can't be fired through the barrel.

The canine skeleton also has a chain necklace that falls free, since the head and neck aren't in place to hold it on any longer. The metal is badly tarnished, almost black, possibly being made of silver. A simple pendant hanging on it looks much a primitive rendition of the Star and Anchor.

Zoltan gently relieves the second gun from the wolf, as well as the pendant. Then, his curiosity peaking about the gun, he experimentally aims it at some of the rotten wood on the deck and squeezes the trigger.

The resulting explosion of sound deafens the Vartan, and the rotten wood explodes in a shower of fragments which rain downward and break up into a choking cloud, stinging eyes and filling nostrils.

He just stands there for a few moments, stunned and oblivious to the choking cloud, then the Vartan erupts into a fit of sneezes and coughs. He quickly pulls his finger from off of the trigger of the gun and waits for the air to clear.

After a while, the Vartan's ears stop ringing, and the air clears enough to see again, though there's still a stench of decay in the air that lingers, without the wind to drive it away.

And … there's a smell … well, an unpleasant smell.

The Vartan begins examining this gun as well, trying to find a means of opening it.

The box in the handle pops out. Another part of it moves, expelling a little cylinder which pops out, bouncing against the Vartan's forehead … and feeling VERY warm during the brief contact.

Zoltan blinks and rubs his head. He looks for the fallen cylinder on the floor to see if it resembles the one used by the other weapon.

The Vartan's keen eyes find the shiny little cylinder, which does indeed look much like those used by the other weapon, though it is of a smaller diameter … and it is hollow, open on one end, missing the tapering tip that the others have. It is still warm, but quickly cooling.

Zoltan picks up the shell and pockets it. He picks up the little box that fell from the handle and looks it over, checking to see if there's more shells inside.

Sure enough, a shell can be seen inside. This one, unlike the hollow cylinder, has a tapered tip just like the ones from the belt. Again, it's a smaller diameter … but then, the barrel of the gun is smaller, so it is only appropriate. Some sort of springy mechanism is involved, but it doesn't seem to be in perfect shape.

Zoltan begins ripping more of the leather away and wraps the second gun and the little boxes up. ( Amazing. Some kind of new flintlock… but in such an old wreck? Very strange. )

Zoltan dusts his hands off and crawls back to the third human skeleton on the other side of the bird.

The other skeleton is hunched over a desk-like station, next to some badly rusted boxes, some curling wire with flaking bits of some leathery material breaking free, running to what look like a set of ear-muffs (but not very soft ones) that hang loosely at the base of the skull. Near the desk is another station with an uncomfortable excuse for a chair, situated near some mechanisms and some sort of scope that points straight down, though there's no place to put something under the scope to examine, such as the Vartan has seen his mentor use in his Shiny Shoppe.

The hippogryph pauses at the boxes, he bends down and tries to open one.

The boxes show no evident way that they are meant to open, apparently encasing some sort of mechanical instruments, rather than being meant to just be containers. Trying to discern the workings is a task, no doubt, for a great deal of study by trained professionals.

He rubs his chin curiously and then turns his attention back on the skeleton. Very slowly, Zoltan leans it back into the chair and begins picking through its clothing.

The skeleton has a necklace as well, this one with a disc-shaped pendant that seems to have some sort of hinge on one side, as if it is to be opened. There isn't any weapon to be found, though there's a curious little device which looks something like a very small knife handle, with lacquered wooden sides (which haven't decayed noticeably) and no sign of a blade, though there are several pieces of metal folded into the handle, perhaps hinged to slide out.

Zoltan takes up the necklace and the handle. He kneels down and tries to wedge a talon into the side of the pendant in an attempt to open it.

The pendant pries open, revealing two glassed-in enclosures inside. Inside one half of the pendant is an exquisitely-detailed image of a human woman, in tones of black, white and gray, with such realism that any master artist should aspire to – but such an odd realism, for a couple of blemishes can be seen and other features which artists would normally omit, rather than be slaves to optical clarity. The other side contains what must be a lock of hair pressed behind the glass.

Zoltan blinks at the realism of the image, and then sighs sadly. "You had a family. Poor human." He closes the pendant and places it back in the chair with the corpse. There are things more valuable than shinies.

The Vartan takes up the handle and pushes and pulls at the little metal protrusions.

One of the metal pieces slides out … looking like a … spoon?

The Vartan oooooohs as the spoon pops out. He starts fiddling around a bit more with the new toy.

Another piece reveals a … corkscrew … then a knife blade with a serrated edge, some sort of pick, a fork, and some other odd shapes that serve unknown purposes.

Zoltan oooooohs even more! "How do they fit all of this in one little handle?" he squawks to himself. He folds the little tools back up into the casing and pockets it. He looks to the dead human. "Dagh watch over you. I hope you're with your family now." Quietly, he exits the chamber and walks back into the larger room he first entered from.

The Vartan walks over to the open hatch in the floor and pokes his head out through it to see what lies beyond.

The metal doors of the hatch are a bit bent, perhaps having been open when the craft made its crash landing. Below can be seen bits of wood of the airship this one has plowed into. Above the hatch is the rack of finned black cylinders, and some sort of mechanisms. It would seem that somehow the cylinders move along this device, but where this ends would end up dropping them right out the bottom.

( Odd. If they're artifacts, why just throw them out of a flying machine? Maybe the people didn't want them. ) He pulls his head out and tries to wriggle into the pod near the tail of the metal bird.

About partway through … the Vartan gets quite stuck. He is, after all, fairly big, and his wings don't fold away.

Zoltan urks and attempts to back out. He exhales all the air from his lungs in an attempt to shrink his torso.

With much wriggling and straining … and the Vartan's wings pushed out in front of him…

… Zoltan at last pulls free.

Zoltan picks up one of the backpack type structures and turns it over in his hands. It does look a bit like a parasail…

Unfortunately, the material has not weathered time very well. It would be most unwise to try to test out its buoyant capabilities, which would probably turn out to be quite nonexistent.

The Vartan puts the pack back and begins digging through the junk on the floor.

More bits of junk, more curios, more items with who-knows-what purpose. Lots of metal. This should be worth something!

The Vartan gathers up as much as he can and stuffs it into his pack and wherever else it might fit. He carefully takes out the guns and ammunition while he packs away the rest of the metal bits, and then puts the wrapped up firearms into the side pockets where they're less likely to get poked or dented.

Zoltan wipes his hands off and steps out through the open door. He makes his way out of the broken husk of the airship and into the sunlight.

Outside, Zoltan can see that the Freedom's Dream is higher in the air on its moorings. A few Eeee and Vartans circle it, and others fly between it and the Tower, and other parts of the island.

Zoltan spreads his own wings and flies toward the airship – eager to see if Wynona had found anything in Shokar's cabin, and eager to show off some of his discoveries.

A familiar white bat flaps up to Zoltan once he's closer. "Zoltan! Zoltan! Oh, great! We were going to send out someone to find you. The ball really started rolling. I think they're pretty anxious to leave!"

A white gryphon stands on the deck of the ship, then leaps off when he sees Zoltan approaching, winging into the air.

Zoltan hovers in the air. "Clear skies on way out I hopes? You tested yet?" He squawks to the bat. When he sees Kryago, Zoltan grins and waves… it's good to see that the gryphon is healthy enough to fly again.

Wynona nods. "We'll just have to go over the top. I think Kryago knows some way to drop the wind-wall, but nobody's really wanting to risk any accidents. Oop! I'd best get to work!" She flaps toward the deck, as the gryphon approaches.

Kryago scrawks to Zoltan in Vartanspeak, "You take good care of my kinfolk! They've never been beyond Paradys. I only know of the world beyond from books and from the Tower. And … let no one know of the secrets of the Tower. The bats do not know the extent of it. Do not enlighten them or outsiders."

"I will, Master!" Zoltan squawks in reply. "I will tell people that Paradys is but a myth, and that death awaits them on the island. That will not be much of a lie."

Kryago nods as he circles. "Not at all. Your arrival has been welcome, and we look forward to working with Boghaz's crew, but we will not welcome treasure seekers, and we still wish to have our own home here."

A Vartan cries out in half-understood Rephidim Standard, "ALL ABOARRRRRRD!"

Zoltan looks out toward the ship. "I must be on my way. Fair skies, Kryago. I hope that I can return some day." He flies toward the ship, wiggling his wings in greeting… and farewell.

Kryago smiles and gives an eagle-cry, "Return in glory, Zoltan Cambio!" He wings away as the bats begin to loosen the moorings, and the Freedom's Dream begins slowly to rise.

A couple of jaguar cubs on the deck squeal in delight when they see Zoltan, and begin waving frantically, while their Savanite keeper makes sure they don't go running toward the railing.

Zoltan lands on the deck of the ship and scoops up the two little cubs in his arms. He gives them both a hug and a preening ruffle with his beak before setting them back down again. "Time to go!" he squawks happily.

The jaguars hug back, squealing, then wave to the Vartans and Eeees that are circling about, remaining at Paradys while the airship lifts upward to clear the invisible barrier around the island.

Wynona busily chants away, within her magical circle at the aft of the ship's deck, while the Savanite, Eeee and now Vartan crew tends to the usual business of running an airship.

The ship stops rising, and starts moving out, away from the island. Jezebel watches the departing sky island, even as the clouds surrounding it begin to obscure it from view, and the rest seems to somehow fade in with the blue of the sky, even though it is not all that far away.

Zoltan walks over to stand next to Jezebel. He holds out a wing to hide his actions, and places an arm around her shoulders.

Jezebel's eyes go wide in surprise at the gesture. Then, she signs, "Thank you again, for everything."

"You're welcome" Zoltan signs. Then grins just a little mischievously. "Couldn't have let anything happen to you. You think I could take care of cubs all by myself?"

Jezebel crosses her arms, a faint smirk ruining her sour look. She pokes her shoulder against his ribs, watching Paradys recede – or, rather, watching the place where Paradys surely is, but can no longer be seen. The clouds grow more scarce, revealing more of the watery expanse below, reflecting the sky such that the Procession seems to form an ellipse, curving both above and beneath, bending back at each horizon.

( Farewell, Paradys. Your secrets are safe with me. ) The Vartan looks out over the ocean and smiles.