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By the time they landed, Zeff was more than ready to go. Being alone with his thoughts was becoming something that he greatly disliked. Too much sitting around and contemplating was liable to drive him crazy.

Well. Crazier, he supposed.

The tropical climate on this island wasn't exactly what he was accustomed to. The thick, muggy air and blindingly bright sun didn't suit Rainlords at all. Frankly, he'd never understood the appeal of such places as tourist destinations. People thought this was beautiful and not just obnoxious? To his mind, the ideal weather was that of a bright but still overcast sky accompanied by a very faint drizzle, gentle enough that it felt more like a cool and pleasing mist against one's skin.

He'd learned that about himself as a young man during his travels with the Vanguard. He'd seen much of the world in that span of time, but nowhere had he ever found more desirable weather than at home. He'd quickly grown to miss it back then, and judging from this place here now, he soon would again.

The little island that they'd chosen to use was barely even capable of receiving their small fleet of aircraft. The tiny airfield was already over capacity before the last of them touched ground. Dimas Sebolt used his gravity manipulation in order safely move a few planes out of the way, parking them outside the simple chainlink fence that encircled the compound.

It was inconvenient, but the seclusion of this place was the important thing. If they'd chosen a large airport as their landing destination, then it would have complicated matters significantly with Vantalayan authorities.

At least, that was Zeff's understanding of it. He was no pilot.

The short trip to the mainland took a few more hours. It was hard not to be impressed by Dimas' ability to carry so many people through the air like this. The man was noticeably slower than when flying alone, but the sheer utility of his power was undeniable. He'd not been neglecting his training, it seemed.