Chapter 134: Book 2: Sinking

Chapter 134: Book 2: Sinking

I can't stop it.

The thought intrudes on my mind, foreign and not my own. There's a distant part of me that appreciates that Gheraa makes it clear that these thoughts are his way of communicating with me. He could have disguised them, I assume—made me entirely unaware of his intrusion—but he's instead left me aware.

Presumably, though, there are limits. Otherwise he'd just be speaking with me directly. The fact that he can't is just another reminder that despite his presence here, he's dead.

What remains of him still acts to show me exactly how out of my depth I am. I can feel my senses being guided, for lack of a better term. They pierce through the veil of the Intermediary's door, a hint of Phaseslip's power allowing me to cross that threshold, and...

I sense it. The raid boss.

There's an asteroid coming.

It's enormous—probably the size of Isthanok all on its own. If it were just an ordinary piece of rock, I'd be confident in Whisper and Guard's ability to stop it, but it's not. That thing is full of enough Firmament to incinerate all of Isthanok on its own, and something about that Firmament is... wrong.

It's twisted the same way Gheraa's Firmament is twisted. Someone's death is fueling it, and at the core of that death is something entirely unlike Gheraa's more protective bent.

It's raw, unstoppable hatred. Anger. It burns so brightly that it scalds my mind just to sense it, and I withdraw almost immediately; Gheraa's presence wraps protectively around me in the same instant, preventing further backlash.

"He's right," I say out loud. "I can't beat it."

There's no one here to hear me. My voice echoes into the empty Intermediary—Bimar, Tarin, Miktik and Guard are all back in the outskirts of Isthanok, past the gate. They can't hear me. I doubt they can even sense what I'm doing.

"Not yet," Ahkelios supplies quietly. He forces himself into being. It's clearly a struggle for him. The Firmament of the Intermediary is intense, and manifesting for him is like forcing himself through a layer of thick, sticky tar. I can feel the strain of it through our shared bond, but he's forcing himself out anyway, just so he can be here for me.

I reach out for him, and he climbs into my hand. "Not yet," I echo.

I still have one option, and I've never been anywhere more perfect for it.

A second-layer phase-shift is best performed in an area of heavy, dense Firmament. The storm outside of Whisper's castle would have been almost perfect for it, but that storm is gone now, and Whisper isn't really in a position to provide it again: but that's fine, because I have a source of something even stronger.

So strong it's going to be dangerous to attempt my phase-shift here. So strong it might be safer to just hide here, beyond the threshold, where Gheraa can bend his remaining power to protect me.

I recognize those thoughts as Gheraa's vestige reaching out to me again, making me an offer. Hide, it's saying. It can make sure I stay safe, away from the impact, no matter what happens to Isthanok. It even presents an argument: if I stay within the Intermediary, if I live through the impact, then anyone who remains alive after the asteroid impact will stay alive. If I lose the raid, even those survivors will be gone.

But how many people are going to survive an impact like that?

Guard and Whisper, maybe. One or two of the Arena's combatants, the ones with strong enough defenses to survive an impact of this magnitude. But even those are stretches—I doubt this impact is going to leave any survivors within the Great Cities, let alone within Isthanok.

No. The choice the vestige is trying to give me isn't a choice at all, and it knows that as well as I do.

I need to try to grow now. Even a phase-shift isn't necessarily going to be enough, but the conditions here are optimal, and Gheraa can bend his death to my benefit. He can twist the corridors of time here, stretch things out so that I have all the time I need. My core is strong enough to withstand a level of pressure that Miktik and Bimar can't.

But in order to really benefit from this environment—in order to push this shift as far as it can go...

I can't wear this armor. I need to expose myself to the full force of the Firmament here. I need to let it tear away at my core, to force me to confront the core of my power.

My hands reach for the latches on my suit.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ahkelios asks. He doesn't stop me—instead, he hops from my hands onto the ground, watching. There's undeniable worry in his voice, but also... faith. Hope?

"No." My answer is pretty simple. I thumb the latch, hesitating for a moment. "But I have to try."

I flick the latch. There's a series of clicks, a hiss as the armor pops open like a shell—it's designed to be easy to move in and out of, I'll give it that.

Then there's a fraction of a second where nothing happens. A fraction of a second where I let myself believe that it's not going to be as bad as everyone has led me to believe. That I'll be able to push through this shift with no further complications.

That fraction of a second, it turns out, is just the world holding its breath.

PRESSURE

I can't breathe. I'm buried within my own Firmament. Worse, I can't tell where my Firmament ends and where the Intermediary begins—my connection with my power has deepened, but it's deepened more than it's supposed to, and now my power is greater than my self.

That's what the questions are for. With every phase-shift, the self needs to grow in tandem with the Firmament, or it gets overwhelmed. And I...

[ You have completed your second phase-shift! ]

[ Anomaly detected. Please report to your designated Integrator— ]

[ You have completed your third phase-shift! ]

The entirety of the Intermediary is unstable, pulled out of alignment with the weight of what just happened. Ahkelios is still holding on to me, only now his eyes are wide. He's shaking me, shouting, trying to get my attention.

I can't move. I imagine this is something similar to what happened with Guard—too much power, not enough self—but the fix I applied to him won't work here. It's not the raw quantity of Firmament that's the problem, it's the fact that I've delved too deep without shaping enough of myself.

I need... I need to fix this. How do I fix this?

Start with an answer.

Gheraa told me what the second shift demands: a definition not of who I am, but who I want to be. With that answer, I shape the direction of my Firmament and my growth. I remember the answer I gave him: that I want to be strong enough to be kind, to have enough strength to risk mercy and compassion even if it doesn't grant me a calculated advantage.

That answer hasn't changed, but it needs refinement. It needs to fit what came before and what will come after.

The storm of power within me begins to settle, just a bit, as I reassert myself.

The first layer. I am whatever I want to be. I allow no labels to define who I am.

The second layer. I will be strong enough to define a future on my own terms. Fear will not define my choices. I will choose kindness and mercy and compassion, weather the risk, and I will win regardless.

Because that's what the Trials are about. It's what Gheraa has shown me—it's what I've seen, even, though Teluwat and Whisper and Naru. The Trials aren't just designed to connect the Interface to each planet. Like Gheraa told me, they choose who goes to each Trial.

The notion of randomness is a lie. The Trials corrupt their participants, prey on their worst traits, turn them into soldiers for the Integrators that are happy to accept the power offered even at the cost to themselves, their family, their loved ones.

They become obedient. Gheraa was right: selfish desires are easier to prey on, and the Integrators build on that.

I accept no such deal. I will take the power I need to build a future I can believe in.

My soul solidifies a little against the onslaught: if nothing else, I feel a little more like myself, and I'm no longer just a speck in the sea of my own power.

But it isn't over yet, because the third layer still calls to me. It, too, demands an answer. The first and second layers define the self: what exists in the present and what will shape the future.

And the third...

Define your truth.

I prepare myself to answer, but before I can, something in me cracks, and I feel my soul begin to crumble.

My core isn't ready for this. I shouldn't be at the third layer. I've only just aligned myself with the second, as much as that's helped, it isn't enough. The second layer exists to guide and direct the growth of Firmament, and it hasn't had the chance to take effect.

And so the third layer has no purchase. Instead of finding something to align with, it drives a stake into my core, destabilizing everything I've built, cracking the foundation I established with the first layer.

I know who I am, and I've chosen who I will be. But the third layer demands success in the second.

Right now? It considers me a failure.

And the penalty for failure is death. True death. This will destroy my Firmament on a fundamental, permanent basis.

If I die here, I'm not coming back.