Once the pain in my skull fades, I note that I feel a lot better—maybe Zhir was telling the truth. I certainly don't feel like I'm out of Firmament anymore, though it's possible that has more to do with... whatever it is about Inspirations that causes time to freeze around me. I've always felt that this place is more mental than physical, even if Kauku's abilities tend to blur the line between the two.
"I would enjoy hearing your tale regardless," Kauku says casually, leaning back against nothing in particular. "I don't get much entertainment here in the void, you see—let alone company. Rare enough that I get an Heir of my own and the opportunity for conversation. Surely you can indulge me?"
I'm all too cautious of the warning that was just shot into my head. Try not to let it reach Kauku. I have no idea what this "it" is, and I'm assuming if my future self could have been any more specific, he would have.
But I don't need to. As far as I know, Kauku is entirely inaccessible except via Inspiration, exactly like this. If my future self is telling me that something was able to gain access to him...
Well. That means that more likely than not, they were able to gain access to him through this. Through the process of selecting an Inspiration. It shouldn't be possible—not with the way reality itself freezes to a stop to allow for this process—but there has to be a reason I sent myself this warning.
Until I have more information, it might be best to either not trigger future Inspirations at all, or to do these as quickly as possible. Or at least keep both to a minimum.
"I'm afraid I don't have time," I say. "I'm sure you've been watching. You know exactly what I've been up to."
"Quite." Kauku grins at me, all pretense vanishing. "I must say, you're doing even better than I expected. I've outdone myself."
"You've outdone yourself?" I raise an eyebrow.
"In acquiring a brilliant Heir, of course!" Kauku practically preens as he says the words. I'm... reasonably sure that he's joking. "I expect you're here to refill those Firmament reserves of yours. And to choose your next Inspiration."
"And I'd like to do so quickly," I say. Kauku tilts his head at me, curious.
"Any particular reason?"
"That depends on how much you can observe," I say dryly. "But I've been told I shouldn't let something reach you. I haven't figured out what that means yet."
No point hiding it. Kauku's powerful enough that he can probably protect himself from it, given enough advance warning—and that gives me a better shot at preventing that future than if I just left him in the dark. I'd be mortified if I tried to keep it a secret and whatever it was got to him for exactly that reason.
Kauku, however, tilts his head, his eyes narrowing at the nothingness in front of him. "You received a Paradox Warning," he says. It's not a question. I wonder if he has something like an Interface, too. If he does, it's drastically different from anything I or the Integrators have access to. "I can usually detect those... This one slipped past me due to its timing."
"Do you know what it's talking about?" I ask.
"No," Kauku says, "but I thank you for the warning." He hesitates for a moment. "I am not eager to be found here."
I blink. That feels like the truth—I wasn't expecting such a straightforward response from him. "Good?" I say, slightly thrown off. "Can you tell me why?"
"I cannot," Kauku says dryly. That's a lot more in line with what I expect from him. "But if you are concerned... it is unlikely that spending more time within this pocket of space will give anything access to me. No: if I am to be found here, then whatever your future self claims will find me either already has everything they need, or will acquire it regardless of your actions."
"You're very sure about that," I say cautiously. He tilts his head, and an enigmatic smile flickers in his eyes.
"Time is not so easy to change," he says. "Simple enough to tie into knots, to push and change and shape in small ways. But to divert its path entirely, the way your future self hoped to? That requires a far greater power than yours."
"What about yours?" I ask impulsively. Kauku eyes me for a moment.
"That," he says, "remains to be seen."
Then he waves a hand, and with a dizzying swirl, the void around me changes.
Again, three pedestals stand before me. Again, they each contain shifting, fractal shapes atop each of them.
Yet there's something that feels a little different about them compared to before. I frown slightly, stepping forward, and within me I feel the Knight begin to stir.
They match, for lack of a better term. I catch a glimpse of steel and nobility, of armor and pride, in the fractal shapes nested atop every pedestal.
"These are new Forms for the Knight," Kauku says, confirming what I'm thinking. He sounds proud, oddly. Like he's personally responsible for them in some way. "I would not normally tell you quite this much, but seeing as you have done me quite the favor by informing me of this incoming threat..."
He trails off, considering. "An Inspiration triggered via the Firmament category will give you new Evolutions entirely; any of the other categories will give you an additional Form for your existing Evolutions."
And in this case, I'd triggered the Inspiration I gained for crossing the Speed milestone. I glance again at the pedestals with this new information in mind, and to my surprise, I can make out some of what he's saying.
Because each of these pedestals contain the seed of a Concept. If I had to put a word to it, to explain what they are...
They're Concept-Bound.
Kauku makes a low, approving noise in his throat, almost like he read my mind and approves of the conclusion. I ignore how alarming that thought is—there's little I can do about it at the moment—and approach the pedestals again, reaching out with the new sense I gained from fighting that Abstraction.
It takes a lot more work than just using my Firmament sense, but I can sense it, now. The first pedestal contains the Concept of Flight, I think. Presumably, it's a Form for the Knight that gives me airborne mobility, and modifies my skills to be compatible with that skillset.
As much as I'd like to be able to fly, I dismiss that almost immediately out of hand. There aren't enough practical uses for it when I can freely teleport and direct my acceleration, and while I'm sure the application of the Form will give me entirely new options in combat, my current battle is about to take place in a tunnel. Airborne options are not what I need right now.
The second pedestal is a little harder to figure out. I catch a glimpse of perpetuity, of motion and creation. If I had to find a word for it...
And then there was Ethan. The human that had gotten stuck in that very same loop, who knew nothing mattered, and... didn't care. Made it a point not to let it change him, to treat everyone he met like a person even when the next loop would just turn it all back.
It was that determination that helped Ahkelios remember what he'd once loved. Every act of kindness, every time he cared, every time he paid attention to something Ahkelios ignored—they made new discoveries, met new people, learned more and more about Hestia and its inhabitants—
Ahkelios remembered the beauty of Isthanok. The shards of crystal in the sky, reflecting and refracting the light from the sun.
His world held crystals like that. They were crystalline mountains, not towers and cathedrals, but the way the light shone through them was the same. He remembered visiting them for the first time with his friends. Remembered carving little sculptures of themselves out of some of the rocks and leaving that behind.
He'd forgotten.
It was a cultural thing for them. Ahkelios's people lived in moving cities—in great monuments built in ancient times, each with dozens or hundreds of mechanical legs that could take them through the hazards of the planet unscathed. Most of their planet was uninhabited and unexplored, and most of their people weren't connected. It was difficult, given the conditions of their planet.
But every so often, their moving cities would encounter an island amid the chaos. A landmark of some kind. Mountains of crystal, valleys of gold, forests that burned and froze in equal measure.
Ahkelios loved the forests most. They were proof that life could survive outside of their monuments and cities; proof that it would always find a way. He'd dreamed of finding a way to give his people whatever traits those plants had so they could live outside of their cities, outside their safe havens...
Point was, they lived in moving cities, and without a way to speak to one another directly?
They resorted to stories.
Tales told through art. Small things left behind at every habitable location. Nothing that would ruin it permanently, but a little piece of them, a little piece of their city. Little pieces of history and art and culture left behind for others to find so their people could still speak to one another, still share with one another.
His home had been named Ar'kur. The Winding Wanderer. Whatever ancient systems controlled their city was a little bit broken, and every so often they'd end up spiraling in circles.
All this Ethan helped him remember just from his exploration, from his open love of the world. In a way, his approach through the loops reminded Ahkelios of that same cultural practice—each loop was an island in time, and Ethan tried always to leave behind something that mattered.
And so when it came down to it—when it came down to the essence of who they were—
Ahkelios remembered to care. Remembered what had mattered the most to his people.
And Zhir didn't.
"It's all set up," Zhir told him. "All up to you and your friend, now."
Ahkelios hesitated. "Are you just going to be... gone?" he asked. He felt oddly guilty about it. Zhir seemed to sense that, and Ahkelios could feel his counterpart rolling his eyes.
"You've adopted too much of that human's sentimentality," Zhir said. "Put it this way. He betrays you? I'll be back. Otherwise... I'll just be part of you."
Ahkelios could live with that. He and Zhir had once been the same, after all.
"Thank you," he said. He meant it.
"Egh," Zhir responded. "Your sentimentality is gross. Go kill the big bug or whatever it is you're going to do."
Ahkelios snorted—
—and then he was himself again. Whole. Different, in many ways—the new body was going to take some getting used to. But more important than that...
He felt the Firmament pouring through him.
His own Firmament. Not Ethan's. The link between them wasn't gone, but he was his own person now; the fog of the Interface no longer had an influence on him. It was like taking a breath of fresh air for the first time.
He couldn't wait to hang out with Ethan. Properly. As equals, as friends.
"Bring it," he said out loud to Phylus.
The Concept-Bound—who was currently tangled in a half-dozen ropes that had emerged from the traps of Novi's household, and fighting to get free—just stared at him. "Are you a different person now?" he asked. He turned to Guard. "Is he a different person now? How many of you are there?"
He-Who-Guards slid his optic over to Ahkelios, and Ahkelios caught a ghost of a smile. "Welcome back, Ahkelios," he said.
"Glad to be back," Ahkelios said. He felt his Firmament surging, felt his own Concept bind to his Firmament.
He might be a full layer behind Ethan, but that didn't mean he didn't have his own tricks up his sleeve. The Sword made every part of him sharp as a blade, and when the Concept-Bound shot a spike at him, it bounced off his arm.
It still cracked his carapace, but he could do this. He could fight.
In no small part thanks to the power Zhir had gained in his time as a Remnant.
"Thanks," he said again, even though he knew Zhir could no longer hear him. "I'll make good use of this."