[ He waits for all the threads to come together, delicate lines of what normally would be data and power turned magic. Combined, they form solidly into rope, strong in their beliefs and further twisting and knotting into macrame. Colored by Ginger’s red, it’s reminiscent of the thread of fate - and even now, even focused like this, he has to smile faintly at the symbolism of it all. ]

… Almost…

[ And there - the moment where everything stabilizes, their combined magic thrumming in harmony.

He gives Phil a nod. Good, he’s glad the man has pulled through for Day. ]

This isn’t going to be anything fancy, alright? Nothing like your ritual. Next: we establish the connection between you and us and here - so. Whose memory are we going with?

[ Day’s? Moss’? He takes one of the vessels from Phil and places it in Day’s palm, curling his own hand over for what they do best together - hold hands. Since the other two had insisted, he’ll do what’s asked. He waits for Phil to do the same, then reaches out for Phil’s free hand. In his pocket, his amulet - dandelion wishes - pulse steadily. ]

Say the word, Phil.