The meeting with the order came in the painfully early morning as Celestia watched the sun barely peek over the choppy sea water thrashing against the ship’s hull. Taking in the clouds in the far-off horizon, she could tell something was coming.

It wasn’t here, yet, but whatever it was made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

You’re being paranoid, she thought to herself, clasping her hands behind her back as she looked out the porthole then paced towards the center of the room.

A part of her agreed. The other part of her knew better than to doubt her sense. She had survived the Crusades as a pre-teen thanks to her instincts, had survived the Three-Tribe conflicts and Griffon Wars due to much the same. So she kept the encroaching menace in mind, but did not let its thought consume her. Rather, she took a seat in the middle of the room, cross-legged, and concentrated.

The waters brushing the ship were in-time with her breathing and each slap against the boat dulled the world around her. The light from the windows was muted as she concentrated, drawing her breath in and out.

The groaning protests of the ship turned to whispers as she focused, simply breathing.

In. Out.

The conversations out on deck she heard with crystal clearness vanished, becoming the protests of ghosts.

In. Out.

In came the sound of silence. Out came her worries and reservations as she entered her Dreamscape.

Like usual when she entered the world that lived within her mind, she was greeted by the sound of roaring water.

Like usual, she took in a breath of crisp mountain air and took stock of the waterfall she stood near, its waves tumbling down the precipice of the mountain she stood on and crashing majestically into the lake before.

A normal travel into her Dreamscape would entail a march across the mountains and to the forests below, or stripping nude and meditating underneath the icy waters, or, on rarer occasions, trying her hand at painting the noble and majestic scenery before her.

But, this was not a normal trip to her respite from the kingdom’s rule. So she pulled herself away from her normal Dreamscape—it vanished in the literal blink of an eye and easy gesture of her hand—and left her world a white, featureless void.

Channeling her innate power, she breathed life to the empty land, creating a wide oval table surrounded by chairs. Around this came a room. Windows popped into existence, bathing the area in the gentle glow of sunset over a field as soon as the vague concept poured into her. Once finished with this, she created a few dim overhead lights to complete the glow. There was now light.

And it was good.

Finished with this, she glanced across the barren room and with her will, created paintings tucked away in beautiful wooden frames. Replicas of everything from Matthias Grünewald to Raja Ravi Varma and even a copy of Cabello’s own Thomas Sully. Though the last one she briefly reconsidered; she loved his work, but the picture she subconsciously chose to present was of her father, standing tall astride his horse as he guided refugees to nearby Camelot.

Though, with that being ancient history, even before the Three-tribe conflict, most wouldn’t see it as a slight. Hopefully.

It seemed strange to her, being host for the world council, considering how young Cabello was compared to many of the lands, but her grasp on magic was the most potent out of all the leaders of the civilized world, so there was little argument over this matter of convenience. Entering the Dreamscape was far easier than a physical gathering of the leaders, and as such, her world worked on being neutral ground.

Granted, actual signings of bills, treaties, and laws remained right where they should be: in the physical realm. Convenience regarding discussion was all well and good, but Celestia felt the Dreamscape meetings should never outright replace physical encounters in front of the physical public.

A part of her considered conjuring a butler to allow the leaders the opportunity for a drink, but she decided against it.

Seeing no reason to delay any farther, she put a finger to her temple and concentrated, envisioning her sister’s milky, pale skin and deep blue eyes.

Luna, she thought.

As she knew from being on the receiving end on more than one occasion, Luna would of heard that, sounding exactly like Celestia whispered her name.

It was a technique very few had mastered despite its seeming simplicity, mainly due to the immense magical reserves it took to not only cast magic from the Dreamscape onto the physical world, but to project it as a sort of beacon to the target, allowing them access to the individual’s Dreamscape. Many couldn’t manage even one step, let alone two.

A thrum filled the room and a pinprick of a black dot appeared on the far wall. It grew and widened, first to be a baseball, then to a beachball, finally stopping at Celestia’s shoulder. From the ball of summoned energy came a gauntleted hand, then after it pulled its way through, a boot. Finally, the Nightwalker herself, Luna, appeared, giving a dust off her pauldrons, then pulling the dark, starry hair she wore behind her back forward, free from the portal’s grasp.

Celestia was hardly surprised at the full plate Luna wore. Luna had always favored practical apparel that rewarded you for planning ahead. Celestia herself was more of a fan of comfort when she wasn’t heading into combat.

“Hail, sister,” Luna addressed, kneeling in front of Celestia.

“Arise,” Celestia automatically replied. Though she was grateful that Luna had finally began to assist her in diplomatic affairs, it being less of a leader’s role and more of a personal knight to Celestia was less than stellar, especially considering that it was the Dreamscape. Unless you channeled yourself into dangerous situations, lost control over what you wished to appear, you would have to be foolish to die here.

Didn’t stop Twila, she thought.

Though she didn’t have the opportunity to save her most faithful and true student in her hour of need, only being there to protect and nurture Twila’s body back to health, Luna’s explanation of what occurred was enough to let Celestia know that it was serious.

Luna rose from her kneel, looking expectantly at Celestia.

“How doth thine travel fare, dear bloodkin?”

The elder gave a wink. “Well, aside from the lack of our personal chef at Camelot, I’d wager it’s better than the mornings at the throneroom by a large margin.”

Laughing, Luna gave a genuine smile that spread over her beautiful porcelain face like a warm fire, a stark contrast to the dark and grim armor covering her body.

“Mine apologies, Celestia. T’would seem I afflicted thee with a curse of mine own wanderlust.”

“No curse, Luna. I’ve always appreciated the road. I just prefer to be where I can be readily found when the country has a need.”

“A more proactive role of finding problems before they escalate would be more ideal,” Luna said.

Celestia raised a brow. “Why do you think I travel to Scandinavia?”

“Point taken.”

Once more putting a finger to her temple, Celestia mentally called forth another name.

In short order, two entered through a portal; a young woman with almond eyes and ebony-black hair. The other was at her arm—a wizened, decrepit old man with a horrifically lined face that showed his years.

Even then, Celestia knew the wrinkles and sagged face didn’t show all the years under his belt.

He walked to the table and after a long moment of adjusting his trembling and failing body, he sat. The young woman obediently sat beside him, saying nothing and lowering her head, seeming to tune out the world around her.

Luna moved first, turning to face the man she performed an action she would not do for anyone else at the meeting, save for her sister and Twila: she dropped to her knees then bowed, tapping her forehead to the ground. Celestia smiled, then mirrored Luna’s action.

A mere five or ten years previous and Celestia knew the man before them would have done the very same to both of them. Now, however, all his strength allowed was a stiff bow of his head to the two of them.

“Well met, Nobunaga,” Luna addressed.

Nobunaga, leader and unifier of the Japanese tribe and the man responsible for Japan not being a part of China. But, despite those deeds, the one Celestia respected most was that he was one of, if not the last living non-all-folk that had fought in the Crusades—a war so severe, urgent and necessary that it brought, albeit briefly, unification to the world’s religions and erased country borders in order to forge a joint army against an onslaught of hellish devils and monsters from the icy north, lead by a mysterious man named Tirek.

The losses that man’s own ruthlessness caused were impossible to describe. Friends, family, partners, they died and their bodies were buried in mass graves—there was no time for individual ones. Celestia still remembered having to help with disposal, due to having more skill in medical arts: one of the few actually effective ways to fight the spread of war diseases and poxes that came with handling improperly cleansed bodies—but their sacrifices were not in vain. Celestia herself had watched from her position of a platoon of archers as her father Arthur Pendragon, his honest and most dependable ally Lancelot at his side, alongside Richard the Lionhearted and Nobunaga lead a successful charge against Tirek and the fleet that acted as his personal guard. Though only vaguely out of her childhood and the faint grasping of adolescence, Celestia still vividly remembered Richard hoisting the wicked man’s dead body and throwing it into the ocean.

“The child of night and light meet once again,” Nobunaga said, the strange accent of the Asian tribes guiding his every word. Though his body had been ravaged—decimated—by time, his voice remained almost as strong as the days of that bloody conflict, and his mind still was as powerful as Norfolk steel.

“I’m sorry if we interrupted anything. Scheduling for everyone is, obviously, difficult,” Celestia said to the man. Nobunaga smiled.

“I was simply visiting with one of my descendants over tea.” He reached over, giving the girl at his side a weak squeeze. She opened her eyes, being drawn back to the conversation. “No need to remain a mute observer, Oda.”

“Emperor Nobu—” she began.

“Grandpa,” he corrected. “Though technically you should add a few ‘greats’ there.”

“Grandpa.” She looked across the room. “This is a private meeting. I’m only here to allow you entrance into the Dreamscape.”

The downside of Dreamscape meetings. An earth-folk or sky-folk couldn’t enter them without assistance from a soul-folk. This meant physical contact in the real world in order to be summoned into this realm.

“The meeting has not started yet, child. This is a moment of rest before a necessary and laborious chore.”

“Chore indeed,” Luna complained to herself.

Nobunaga chucked. “Still as curt and honest as ever, Pendragon. I hope your child is much the same.”

“Someday we’ll see,” she replied.

He turned to face the Daywalker, his brow raised in an almost comedic fashion. “And for the elder?”

Celestia tilted her head, smiling as she thought of what Twila’s reaction would be to the question.

“Perhaps a few years down the road. You know I don’t have enough time to properly raise a child,” the all-folk answered.

“No,” he agreed. “Rather you have to spend time and babysit a group of adults, yes?”

She chuckled. “In a few moments, I suppose that’s true.”

“Well, consider the idea. I would like to see one last Pendragon enter the world before my tale ends.”

“Thine constitution matches mine William’s. Thou hath many days and stories ahead,” Luna chimed in.

“I suppose we’ll see.” He took in a breath, preparing himself.

Celestia continued the motion she had previously; putting a hand to her temple and bringing forward someone else. From the portal this time came Twila who, as Celestia all but expected took a deep, invested stock of the paintings along the walls before even approaching the group.

The all-folk paused as she took stock of Twila.

The girl seemed distant. Not emotionally, but physically. Distorted, small flickers made her appearance translucent, static-filled, rather than flesh incarnate.

“Are you alright?” Celestia questioned her former student. Twila flinched, then offered a nervous chuckle.

“Better than ever!” she remarked with false enthusiasm.

“Are you sure? The castle life isn’t boring you any?”

“Castle?” Twila repeated, then jumped a hair. “Oh, right! Castle! T-the castle I’m staying in. Right now. While we’re talking.”

Celestia looked plainly over at Twila for a long, drawn-out moment.

“I’m at Innscraft!” she blurted out in a panic.

“She wanted to aid our group. In part due to her representing thine chair, I was obligated to follow her orders,” Luna explained. “I take full responsibility.”

“In part. What was the other part of your reason, sister?” Celestia questioned.

“I understand her wish to help an issue personally. T’would be abhorrent, leaving a personal friend to a fate such as that.”

“What of the throne? Is it held?” The all-folk put her hands behind her back, her pose rigid and unflinching as she measured the two. She had expected Twila to step away from the throne, even if for a bit, and had assumed the questioned she asked would have a reasonable answer, but had to make sure that Twila had taken necessary steps.

“My brother Lewlin Shields sits at the throne. You won’t find a better man for the job.”

Celestia nodded. “Acceptable answer.” She tilted her head. “But that doesn’t explain why I see Luna just fine, but you…”

“I’m at a cafe with Chylene. There’s interference—I think there’s some lead in the roof.”

“Lead?” Celestia repeated.

Lead in most buildings made no sense. It acted like a magic dampener, fizzling out weaker spells and fatiguing most soul-folk that went near.

“I don’t know why,” Twila answered. She pushed up her glasses. “But I’m going to do my best to find out.”

“Well, be careful.” Celestia’s brow arched in concern. “If something is amiss, summon Luna or Will at once.”

“Of course.” She nodded. After a beat, she smiled gently across the table. “You be careful too.”

“Though I am glad thine two had a moment together, I would rather we press on,” Luna admitted.

“You’re right. Pardon me.” Celestia gave a small, apologetic bow.

Putting her finger to her temple, Celestia called down more to her, hailing from all walks of life. The French, the Germans, Italian, Swiss, Chinese, even a representative from the southern continent, Macon. Dozens more arrived until there wasn’t a free seat in the house.

They spoke amongst one-another, some in the common English tongue, others in their native speak. Though Celestia knew many languages from her many years of life, she still wished she recalled the Babel spell taught to her by Merlin the Bearded centuries ago, if only to see if the foreign words were directed at her.

Seeing no other reason to stall, she cleared her throat. All eyes fell onto her at the action, most with a quiet admiration or respect. A few, either from their limited time speaking to the all-folk or those that had found themselves on the wrong end of Excalibur, with trepidation.

“A good morning for many and a good evening for others,” she addressed, giving a polite bow to the congregation. “We have many matters to attend to, the most pressing, of course, is the assassination of two dear members of the council: King Frederik and President Napoleon. Our prayers go to their families and subjects and I ask that you join me for a moment of silence.”

The all-folk bowed her head and the others around the room followed suit. She wasn’t the most religious—she believed something was after death, but had always thought the answer wouldn’t be found while her feet still walked the earth—she didn’t wholly believe in Jesus or the God Jack, Rarity or, as she was surprised to find out, Luna, did. Nor did she agree with her student's thought of this life being the end. That was a foolish stance in and of itself to her, but she would never state her view that bluntly to Twila.

With the moment passed, she rose her head as the others did the same.

“I suppose we discuss now what their death entails,” Celestia said.

“It entails questions,” a young man said, rising to his feet to look at Celestia. It took a moment to put a name with a face, but when Celestia did she nodded, satisfied with the knight before her.

“William Marshall, second-in-command of England’s army. How does my father’s homeland fair?”

“For now she’s healthy. For now,” he repeated. “Though I fear for how long, if our mysterious assassin targets my liege.”

“And just where is your liege, whelp?” a portly man with a beard questioned. Celestia gave a warning glare to the man, which he pointedly ignored.

Marshall brushed his brown hair behind his ears. “That’s hardly relevant, Mir Mehrab. You—”

Mehrab laughed. “Or maybe he sent a boy in his place so we wouldn’t see the guilt on his face.”

The knight grit his teeth, his eyes sparked with anger.

“What?” Marshall growled out. Mir Mehrab shrugged.

“Disrupt the two warring countries with a tragedy, sweep in and take them while distracted and put them under your banner. Whoever did the killing must of been worth a pretty bit of coin, allowing such an expansion of your country.”

Marshall reached to his side, grasping the scabbard of a broadsword.

“Quell thine temper, William Marshall,” Luna addressed, her tone even, but warning. “Though I share thine contempt of the man, thou shalt treat mine sister’s land as if the hallowed ground of a church. Am I clear?”

His hand rested on the scabbard of his saber for a long moment before letting out a tsk and letting his arms loosely hang at his side.

“There’s no need to upset our young friend, Mir Mehrab,” the new leader of the French, president Jacques-Charles Dupont, offered. “Considering it’s extremely possible a murder has an agent, be he mine or my German associate that took on the throne recently. The English, at least this time, are innocent.” He put a hand to his chin in thought. “My guess is an organization lying in wait for our country to be weakest, then they’ll spring forward into a coup d'etat, taking power for themselves.”

“That is indeed troubling if that’s the case,” Celestia agreed. “However, I have a theory that we’re being played by a third party, unassociated with any country.”

“A theory?” Mehrab repeated. “Or a fact? Why guard your words around us? Are we not good enough to hear the full truth?”

“Because I’m not sure of the complete story myself. One thing I’ve learned over the years is to not let go of a piece during a game of chess until you know for certain you’re satisfied with how things will turn out,” Celestia countered.

That was the truth, but, there was another piece she didn’t mention in the puzzle.

With a few exceptions, any face staring back at her could be involved in this, or even worse in her eye, be an unknowing accessory to who or whatever performed the murders. So she said nothing, keeping any thoughts on the matter to herself. The less they knew that she knew, the less the creature could know.

“I can promise after I return to the throne in Cabello, I’ll answer everything I need in order to appease you. Until then, facts need checking and answers need found.”

Looking down, she mentally checked off the list of conversations the council needed to have, then turned to face the ground once more. “Now, to put that matter to the side for a moment, we move on to economics. Alexous: I hear Byzantine has a few issues with debt to foreign powers…”

It took longer than Celestia cared for, but business with the council finally concluded after long hours of debate, proposals, and more than one remark of how the meetings were handled. Celestia’s answer was always the same on that last bit of information: if they didn’t like it, she be happy to let someone else try and host a meeting with that many people at once.
Finished, she finally left the Dreamscape and opened her eyes.

Though almost half a day had passed within the land of her mind, time moved far slower out in the real world. The hours of business within her had only came to about half-an hour real time. She rubbed her eyes in fatigue all the same and decided to get a cup of coffee in an attempt to wake up further.

As she stepped outside, Celestia froze.

That feeling struck her once again. That sense of wrongness of an impending disaster, the foreboding feeling sending such a wave of trepidation through her that she leaned back against the walls of the ship's cabin and sucked in a breath, sweating and trembling for a time until, finally, the storm within her quelled and she walked on shaky feet to continue her morning.

Later in the day, in the crimson glow of dusk, would come the real storm.