Welcome to Gaia! ::

18 saw it's ring light up and went to Gemma's room. The light and music came and the note came. Gemma read it and sighed, telling 18 to send a new note to Jake from third Earth it read,
Please tell Jade that I lost another challenge and may need help soon She gave it to 18 to send.

Ilandere was on night duty. She walked solemnly down the dimly lit tunnel in silence, her soft leather boots muffling her footfalls. Her focus was on what lie just beyond the bend. A faint sound of heavy footfalls was getting closer and Ilandere soon saw a tall shadow dancing across the tunnel walls. Ilandere drew her crossbow from the sling at her hip and pulled it to her shoulder, pointing the tip to the ground. Seconds later a man wearing the same white Rokador tunic rounded the corner and stopped.
“Nice night isn’t it?” he said warmly. Ilandere glared at him, raising the crossbow a bit.
“A bit late for a stroll, isn’t it?” she said coldly. The man raised an eyebrow.
“Actually, I was looking for someone.” He continued, his smile never fading. "I think you might know him."

Jake led Jade to the Lily's home, while filling her in on general Third Earth things. When they finally arrived, Lily was pacing her floor, a large portfolio in her hands. "Lily, we're here," Jake announced.

"Finally! Jena, I'm Lily, the Traveler from Third Earth. HAs anything out of the ordinary been happening on Second Earth lately? More importantly, does this ring a bell?" She held up a printed page (a rarity on third earth) with the word "DADO."

“Oh?” Ilandere readjusted her grip on the crossbow.

“Yes,” the man smiled, “His name is JinRah. Do you know of him?”

A pang of sorrow slashed through her body as she heard the name JinRah. She looked at the man sternly.

“Yes, I know him. He’s dead now.”

The man stopped smiling and wrinkled his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry…” he said, “How long has it been since… since he died?”

“Nearly two moons. He was my guardian.”

There were a couple seconds of agonizing silence before either of them spoke.

“When he was living, did he ever refer to anybody by the name of Press?” the man asked. Ilandere nodded.

“Yes he would tell me stories of a man named Press all the time. He would speak of the adventures he had with him. They were fairytales, of course. He was loosing his mind.”

The man began smiling again. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He said, “Those stories are no more fake than this very tunnel. Those fairytales are real.”