Die. Respawn. Repeat.

The Empty City is no longer empty. It is, in fact, the closest thing to a bustling metropolis I've seen since I was ripped away from Earth—more so than even Isthanok and its busy streets. Without all the decay eating away at the city, I can see how many of these buildings are in fact skyscrapers. What I'd assumed were the roofs of individual buildings were in fact just one of many floors, the top levels having apparently been scoured away by time and broken Firmament.

It's a beautiful place, which only makes knowing what happened to it that much worse.

None of the people here seem aware of what's to come, though. I watch as they go about their lives—just like the Tear I went to earlier, it's clear that these are simulations of Firmament, but at the same time they're far more real than anything originally generated by the Tear. They feel like...

They feel like Gheraa. Like the copy of himself he'd left within me—technically alive, a snapshot of his personhood at a moment in time. I take a moment to feel for that seed of him still cradled somewhere within my core; it pulses with a surprising warmth as my Firmament brushes against it, although it's otherwise quiet.

If nothing else, this tells me that I'm probably on the right path. Even if I don't know how to feel about the dungeon generating what appears to be fully sapient life.

I watch for a moment as they go about their lives. None of them seem to notice us. They're a species of... scarab-dragonfly hybrids, as best as I can tell? Humanoid in form, bodies naturally armored in colored chitin, and wearing clothes made of layers of semitransparent, flowing cloth woven together like robes and dresses.

"Oooh," Ahkelios says. "That's smart."

I glance at him. "What is?"

"Their clothes!" He points at a passing person who, thankfully, either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore us. "I've tried wearing cloth before. It usually catches and tears on my exoskeleton."

"Huh." The way the robes and dresses are flared does avoid that, I suppose. I turn to Ahkelios and stare at him for long enough that he begins to shift uncomfortably. "You know, I never asked, but... Ahkelios, are you—"

"It is perfectly normal for my species not to wear clothes!" he huffs indignantly before I can finish my question. "Clothes are for special occasions! Because they tear! We wear armor."

"Right." I tuck that fact into the back of my mind, trying not to grin. "And you're wearing your armor right now."

"No—Sort of." Ahkelios scowls, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't want to talk about it."

"If you're uncomfortable, I could always make you something?" I suggest.

"I wasn't uncomfortable until you brought this up!"

"I didn't bring this up," I point out. Ahkelios makes an embarrassed sort of noise somewhere deep in his throat, then promptly dematerializes, presumably so he can sulk in my core instead of out here.

Guard, of course, mostly seems to be amused. "This isn't what I expected," he says, opting not to comment on the exchange. He's stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from the gateway—now that I think about it, I don't think anyone around us is actually paying attention to us, despite how out-of-place we are. "Do they not see us, or...?"

"I'm not sure," I say, taking a few steps forward as I speak. "I think the Ritual stage hasn't started yet? I probably need to—"

Sure enough, the moment I cross some invisible threshold of distance, the Interface updates and pings me with a new objective.

[Ritual Stage 2: Plant the Seed]

Prerequisites:

Protect Novi, the Archivist: 0/1

Collect the Seed: 0/1

Charge the Seed: 0/100

Plant the Seed: 0/1

Keep the Seed safe: 1/1

Now collected, the Seed must find fertile soil. Assist Isiris with delivering it to the Shadowed Laboratory, and assist the Seed in gathering the energy it needs to take root.

I frown slightly at the notification, briefly wondering how I'm supposed to find Novi. Fortunately, the dungeon solves that problem for me quickly.

"You must be Ethan and He-Who-Guards," a soft voice calls. I turn to see a small, lean version of the scarab-people bowing slightly toward me. She wears a translucent, off-white outfit with pearlescent overtones that hangs off her shoulders in long strips, and there's a quiet serenity in the way she speaks, the way she carries herself. "You are my assigned Protectors?"

"That... would be accurate, yes," I say cautiously. I'm not really sure what that term means in their culture. "I take it you're Novi?"

"I am." Novi smiles at me, then turns slightly so that she's addressing both me and Guard. "You seem confused. First days are often difficult for newly-summoned Protectors. Do not worry; I will explain everything you need to know."

Newly summoned, huh? I shift uncomfortably under Novi's gaze, not quite used to anyone being this... nice? Genuine? She reminds me a lot of Guard, actually, just with a bit more of a motherly touch.

Actually, no. Guard can also be motherly. A little too motherly, sometimes. I shake my head to dispel the thought and turn my attention to Novi once again. "What do you mean, newly summoned?"

Novi blinks. "They didn't even explain that?" She makes a disapproving clicking sort of noise in her throat. "Ah... this is difficult to explain. Come with me; I will explain as we walk."

I nod in assent and begin to follow her, with Guard trailing behind me.

"Summons," Novi says, "are a specific form of Firmament art. Sometimes they are creatures summoned from the aether, possessing no origin or purpose except that which they are given. Other times—when the summoning is performed by a truly gifted Seer—the creatures brought forth are people in their own right, with homes and families of their own. It's still widely debated whether those families are real. We have no proof, one way or another."

I say nothing. I know what I am, but what she's telling me... it sounds eerily like she might be describing herself. Maybe these summonings really did exist back in the day, and maybe her people really did summon people from other worlds—or simulations of them—to aid them in their everyday tasks. Maybe it's all just a dungeon-conceived excuse to give me a place in the history it wants me to recreate.

But it is, I suspect, at least true. The situation is just reversed, as far as the dungeon goes. Novi and her people are the summons, not me. It doesn't seem like a great time to tell her, though, so I remain silent.

"You have no questions?" Novi prompts, surprised. I laugh.

"I suppose I guessed something along those lines," I admit. It's a partial lie, but not enough of one that I feel guilty about it.

"Some summons have been known to have... breakdowns, when their origin is explained to them," Novi says after a moment. "I disagree with the practice. It feels unethical to create a being that may despair at its existence, and certainly unethical to do so to help with menial tasks. Fortunately the process only picks those who are amenable to it, but that is a small comfort, I fear."

"How would you feel?" I ask. "If you learned you were a summon?"

Novi pauses briefly in her steps. "I do not know," she admits after a moment. "I do not think I would enjoy the knowledge, but it would be of little point to fight it. I think I would mostly be worried about my children. If those memories were false, and they did not exist..."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

She trails off and shakes her head. "I do not enjoy that thought."

"Can't blame you there," I mutter. That much, at least, she doesn't have to worry about: if she's the person I think she is, then her children are—or were—real.

Though given the way their story ended... I grimace a bit. Maybe I shouldn't reveal to her the nature of the dungeon and what's about to happen. Not yet, anyway.

"Tell me about them?" I ask instead. Novi brightens at the words.

"You are an excellent Protector," she says. "You are curious! Very few of our summons exhibit curiosity. Perhaps there is something special about you?"

I laugh awkwardly. "Maybe?" I say. "I like to think I'm just interested in the world around me. You clearly care about your children, so I'd like to know more about them."

"I am happy to talk about them." Novi smiles brightly. "They are Juri and Yarun, my sons. My bright ones. Juri is the elder of them—he is old enough now that he pretends he does not still love his toy sword and shield. Yarun keeps many dolls and figures and has detailed stories for each one. You should hear the tales he tells! Even Juri loves them, though I suspect that is because Yarun often has him playing the role of hero..."

The names confirm my suspicions—Novi is the woman who wrote the record I read, the woman who detailed the end of the Empty City. There's an honest, earnest love in her voice as she tells us everything about her children. Their favorite foods, their bad habits, the embarrassing moments they've had.

A long time ago, I might've found something like this exhausting. Now, though? I find myself just... relaxing and enjoying the conversation. Novi doesn't get the opportunity to talk about her children much, it seems, but everything about her is so truly genuine. She doesn't exaggerate how well they're doing, doesn't present her children as perfect, but the love she has is evident in every word she speaks.

Juri and Yarun have their flaws, but they are her children, and they are always trying. She encourages them through their failures and celebrates their successes. She teaches them to be good—to care about the people around them, to be curious about the world, to question and study and learn. She does it alone, too; her partner, she says, was lost a long time ago, during the early days of the Awakening.

A small part of me wonders what it might have been like to have a mother like this, but it's a small part. I've moved on from what happened with my family.

Guard and I are both content with listening. We interject with questions every once in a while, and slowly, through the lens of her children, we build a picture of the people that live here, of what the Empty City was before it became... well, empty.

Their people are named the scirix, and the city we're in is named First Sky. It's the capital of the scirix empire, which is largely led by a circle of Elders. Those Elders are in turn advised by Seers, who Novi explains are individuals that have made enough progress with their Firmament for their guidance to quite literally shape civilisation.

"Almost everyone aspires to become a Seer. I did, too, once," Novi confides in me. "I am pleased with my role as Archivist now, but there was a time where my desire to become a Seer was everything to me."

"What changed?" I ask, though I think I know the answer. Novi smiles at me.

"Juri was born," she says. I chuckle; that's more or less what I've come to expect from her. Her life was shaped by her children, it seems. "And I would change nothing. Seers are often... isolated. The time, dedication and resources required to become one are exorbitant. I would not have had the time to spend with my children, and I would not trade that time for anything—not even to become Seer."

"You said they're all at the third phase shift, at minimum?" I ask. Novi nods.

"We have only five of them," she says. "Five Seers, each specializing in an Aspect. Force, Body, Mind, Energy, and Spirit."

"What are these Aspects?" I ask, curious. Novi gives me a strange look.

"You know of phase shifts, but not of Aspects?" she asks. "Have you not done a phase shift yourself? Most Protectors are at least at the first layer, if not at the second."

"I have," I say. "But humor me. Maybe our understanding of phase shifts are a little different."

"Hmm." Novi hums. "Yes. Well. The first layer demands that you tell the Firmament which of the five Aspects you are. Our Seers are the most developed along their respective, chosen paths."

I frown, casting my mind back to my first phase shift. That's not what I remember. I was asked a question, but I wasn't presented with a choice.

Who am I?

That was the question. But if what Novi is saying is correct, then either I was asked a different question, or their answers were... what, artificially constrained? By themselves and their understanding of Firmament, or by something else?

"You did not choose one?" Novi asks curiously.

"I can't say I was even aware of the Aspects," I answer. "I just answered with what I was feeling at the time."

Which was "I'm whoever the fuck I want to be", but saying it out loud feels... a great deal more embarrassing than it was in context. Novi tilts her head, watching me, curiosity evident in her eyes.

"I have never considered that one might align their Firmament with something outside the Aspects," she says slowly. "The Aspects govern our very selves. It is known that one of the five paths must be chosen, lest your Firmament begin to wither; it was a commandment given to us by the gods themselves."

That sounds remarkably like an artificial cultural constraint, specifically of the type the Integrators might try to use to control a population. But it's baffling to me that not a single person would have thought to test it. Then again, they've only had Firmament for something like ten years, and it takes a long time to reach even the first phase shift for most...

Hm. No, given the timeframe, it's entirely possible that no one's tested it yet. Who knows how long ago all this happened?

"You have given me much to think about," Novi says. There's a contemplative note in her voice, like she's processing a realization she doesn't quite want to put to words yet. "Thank you for your knowledge—Ah! We have arrived."

The building we're at is initially unremarkable to me. It's nondescript, unmarked warehouse tucked away in between the alleys and streets. It doesn't take me long to notice that there's something strange about it, though. I frown, stepping closer.

It's shielded, somehow. Specifically, whatever material it's made of renders the interior almost opaque to my Firmament sense—I can sense something through it, but only barely, I rap a knuckle on the wall, noting that it feels like nothing more than ordinary brick. How is it blocking me?

"What are you doing?" Novi asks curiously.

"Just wondering why I can't feel any Firmament through the walls," I say absently. If the rebels had had this back in Isthanok, they would've been able to stay entirely shielded from Whisper. Not that it matters now, with her out of commission.

Novi brightens at my words. "You can sense Firmament!" she says. "That is a unique talent! It will be useful in the journey to come. These walls are made of blessed brick; it's said that the gods themselves treated it. Personally, I think it's one of the Seers."

There's that mention of gods again. I eye the brick curiously—part of me is itching to get a hold of the material and attempt something like an imbuement, just to see what would happen. Now's probably not the best time for it, though. "I don't suppose I could get my hands on some blessed brick?"

Novi laughs. "Goodness, if only it were that easy. I will put in a good word for you when we are done with our mission, yes?"

"I'd appreciate that."

She grins at me, humming under her breath as she fishes around in her pockets for the keys. It's still striking to me how much First Sky reminds me of Earth—everything from construction materials to the architecture of the buildings is close enough that if I squint, I can almost make myself believe I'm home.

There are subtle differences, of course. The scirix don't seem to like corners, for some reason? Every roof of every building has corners that are sanded off into a taper. I couldn't begin to guess why.

I'm shaken from my thoughts as Novi suddenly sways. Her keys fall to the ground and she catches herself on the nearby wall; one hand clutches at her head, her entire body folded into a grimace. "Novi? Are you okay?" I ask, hurrying to her side and steadying her.

Protect Novi, the Archivist. I haven't forgotten that I'm in the middle of a Ritual stage, tame as this one seems to be. But then, it hasn't even begun yet, has it?

"Yes," Novi whispers faintly. She blinks and shakes her head. "Yes. I am fine, it was just... a momentary lapse. Nothing to worry about."

"If you say so," I say doubtfully. There was nothing fine about that, but I'm hardly an expert on scirix physiology.

"Here," she says. She leans down and picks her keys back up, fumbling to unlock the door. "I am sure you know the mission already, but to brief you again: The Archivists have recently uncovered an old Firmament artifact buried just outside First Sky. The Elders have commanded that we transport it to the Shadowed Laboratory. You should be aware that the artifact tends to draw in hostile Firmament—it's the reason we have to keep it in this warehouse."

"Right," I say. She opens the door, stepping through, and blinks in surprise.

Right behind her, I freeze. There's another scirix standing in the room, sitting on top of the box containing the Seed. He wears a steady, easy smile, looking for all the world like he belongs in this room. Like he's here to take care of the box.

But he doesn't, and he isn't.

"Ethan, that's..." Ahkelios speaks up from within me. Even without being manifested, I can feel his shock.

"Yeah, I know," I respond. What I don't know is what to do about it. Judging by the look on her face, Novi recognizes him. I, on the other hand, don't. His appearance is entirely unfamiliar to me.

But his Firmament isn't, and now that the warehouse's walls aren't in the way, I can read it perfectly.

He might be twisted into the shape of a scirix and forced to play a role in this dungeon, but that's a Remnant.

Specifically, Ahkelios's Remnant.