Early the next morning, Yuan explained his travel plan over the radio.

"The next seal I'd like to visit is Celsius's seal of Ice over on the Flanoir continent, but before we go there we're going to have to get some warmer clothes. It's like winter all year round there. We're probably also going to want to get you a weapon of some kind, so instead of going straight to Flanoir, we should stop at Altamira. It's a little fishing village to the southeast of here, but they should have everything we'll need. What kind of weapon do you use, anyway?"

"I was trained in the use of the heavy blade, sir."

Yuan whistled in appreciation. "That's not easy to wield. Ah, it's just across this channel." He led Botta to a secluded cove on the northwestern end of the large island before deactivating the invisibility fields on the Jet-Bikes. All it took was a simple gesture and the hovercrafts were stored, leaving two relatively normal-looking half-elven travelers that approached Altamira.

Altamira was a port town that, for the past few years, had been suffering from poor fish yields and heavy storms that tended to ruin crops. Yuan was pleased to note that, in the three months since he'd visited as part of Umbran's journey, Altamira was already looking better. The rice fields north of town looked to be orderly and thriving, and small fishing boats crowded around larger passenger ships competing for dock space. There was even what seemed to be a steamliner from Sybak docked, which Yuan eyed curiously.

"Let's get a room at the inn and then look around," he decided. Botta just nodded, drinking in sights of the humble town. Coming from Sylvarant as he did, streets paved only with dirt and buildings made of wood with little masonry were like relics of an age gone by…though, Yuan thought sadly, it would soon enough be Tethe'alla that had the towering structures of glass and bricks and Sylvarant that looked at wood as the prime housing material. He'd seen it happen often enough that the shifting fortunes of the worlds no longer surprised him, but he still felt a keen sadness that it needed to be so.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Yuan noticed that the inn was right in front of them. The Mermaid's Tear was named after the playful creatures seen around Altamira just often enough that most people actually believed they existed. It was a spacious two-story establishment, and the perky receptionist seemed more than happy to take their reservation.

"Excuse me, young lady," Yuan asked her, "but I thought I saw one of Sybak's steam ships in the harbor. Is there something going on?"

"I'm surprised you don't know about it already!" She looked excited. "Mister Lezareno, you know, Vince Lezareno, the richest man in the city? Well, he's decided to run steamliners between here and Flanoir once a month! That way, we can go visit winter and they can come to summer all year round! It's a good idea, isn't it?"

Yuan nodded. "It certainly does! Why, I may be interested in doing that myself." Well, it can't hurt to have a cover story, at any rate.

"I'm sure if you ask around you can find some more specific information. Here's your key! Have a nice stay." She bowed and handed Yuan a small metal key.

"Thank you, my dear." He nodded to Botta and they dropped off their traveling gear in the room before heading out to the marketplace.

The Altamira market was situated scenically near the white-sand beaches the island was famous for. It was a busy place: fishermen selling today's catch vied with merchants from Meltokio touting the latest fashions, and a large crowd of locals and travelers alike surrounding the steam ship. Yuan didn't see the need to rush, so he let Botta lead.

Botta was clearly fascinated. True, the "latest fashions" would have been terribly out-of-date in Palmacosta, and the selection of fish was just different enough from what Izoold had to offer that he'd probably never even eaten some of it before, but it was more than that. Everything was different and yet…it was still somehow very similar to Sylvarant. A cloak sporting the Lezareno crest shouted out a pattern unknown in Sylvarant, but it was still clearly a cloak. There were some unfamiliar types of weapons (if one could consider cards and iron bars weapons), but they were outnumbered by the more familiar bows, staves, swords, and daggers.

"It's not so different," he remarked quietly to Yuan, who was eyeing a weighted staff with interest. "I was expecting it to be more…." He trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Alien?" asked Yuan.

"Yes, that's it. But most of these people wouldn't look out of place in Triet, at least, not more so than ordinary travelers."

"There are more differences between subcultures within the worlds than there are between the worlds themselves," replied Yuan, closing his eyes. "We tend to forget that it was once one land, one people, all speaking the same language, before they grew greedy and shattered the Alliance. It was greed for power that tore the worlds apart, and the Great Kharlan Tree was the casualty." He could remember it still – the blinding flash of Thor's Hammer, the screams of the victims of war, a child trying desperately to mend the breach between the two kingdoms by using the Summoner's power that was his birthright and his curse….

Martel's voice, making an oasis of quiet love within the sea of hatred….

"Sir?"

Yuan's eyes snapped open. He'd quite literally forgotten where he was for a moment. "Ah, yes, I'm sorry, Botta. Are there any blades here you can use?"

He didn't answer for a moment, concern evident in his features. Don't ask me about it in public, Yuan pleaded mentally, hoping Botta would catch something to that extent from his glance. Apparently it worked, because all Botta said was "Yes, sir," followed by a respectful "Are you going to be all right?"

I haven't had a flashback like that in centuries, thought Yuan. "I think so."

I hope so.