Die. Respawn. Repeat.

It takes us longer than I'd like to get to the Intermediary. Without full access to my skills—at least insofar as it'd be incredibly unwise to use them—I'm forced to rely on Guard and Ahkelios to get us there.

In their defense, they're still fast. Ahkelios maintains his access to my skills, but his Firmament stores aren't the same as mine; he can't cover quite the same amount of distance in a single Warpstep. Guard makes up for this, carrying us both when Ahkelios exhausts his Firmament, but his top speed while flying can't quite match what's offered by Interface skills.

Still, it's good enough that we don't need to take many breaks. None of us can explain it, but all of us can feel it—an odd sense of impending dread, like the slow descent of a guillotine on our necks. It's made worse by the fact that we can't explain why we feel it; all we know is that it's there.

It's a relief when we make it to the Intermediary. The massive door still looms in the forest near Isthanok, identical to how it looked the first time we encountered it...

...Not entirely identical. I frown, stepping closer; the door is welded shut. It's not an ordinary weld, either—there's just smooth metal where the opening should have been, like the two sides of the door were joined with Firmament.

"Someone closed it off," I mutter. It makes sense, in a way, considering how dangerous it is, but I can't help but feel that the reason it was sealed is nothing so innocent. For one thing, Guard would know about it if it were.

"I did not know of this," Guard says, confirming my fears. "I left instructions that the Intermediary was to be guarded and avoided. I do not see... give me a moment."

His optic flickers for a split second—I recognize it as him reaching out to communicate with his proxies. When he speaks again, there's a clear frown in his voice.

"The proxies I set to guard the Intermediary have vanished," he reports. "It was done in a way that would not alert me to their disappearance. That is concerning."

"You mean someone hacked your network?" Ahkelios asks, worried. Guard shakes his head.

"Not a hack. Better to call it an emulation. Someone was able to replicate the signals I use to communicate between proxies and emulate two complete, intact copies in this vicinity." Guard manages to sound mostly indifferent, but there's a hint of irritation in his voice. "I have patched the problem, but the perpetrator remains at large."

"I don't think that's our biggest worry at the moment, if the door is sealed," I say. There's something tickling at the edges of my senses—I focus on that sensation, trying to figure out what it is.

It's like there's a barely-noticeable distortion in the middle of the clearing. I take a step toward it, reaching out slightly; my fingers brush the edges of it—

—Firmament.

I'm not sure I would've sensed this had my core not been damaged. It's incredibly subtle. There's a working here etched into the natural flow of Firmament in the clearing—an imbuement that's somehow been written into the air itself. "Ahkelios," I say, stepping back. "I think there's a portal here. Could you—"

"On it," Ahkelios says. He can't sense the portal like I can, but he trusts me without question. I feel him reaching out with Firmament Control, feeding a thread of Firmament into what I perceive as the lock.

Just like that, a portal slowly pulls open. It wavers in the air like it isn't quite sure of itself, but it's there, a tear in space-time that leads directly into the Intermediary. There's a thin film preventing the dense Firmament on the other side from just pouring through—likely the reason it needed to be hidden in the first place.

"I guess that's our way in," I say, my brows furrowing as I stare at it. "Although this feels... a little too convenient, don't you think?"

"Just a little," Ahkelios says. He leans forward to examine the tear, then turns to shoot me a concerned look. "More importantly, are you sure you can withstand the pressure? You remember what happened last time we were here."

"I'm sure." It's probably more accurate to say that I have to, but saying that is only going to worry Ahkelios. Besides, I'm not lying—I'm mostly certain I can handle whatever the Intermediary tries to throw at me in terms of Firmament pressure, even with the damage in my core.

I'm more worried about the two of them, in all honesty. Ahkelios is still only a second-layer practitioner, and Guard isn't even at his first; they're both uniquely capable of surviving something like this and they've both been here before, but...

I sigh. I'm probably being a bit of a hypocrite, as far as the worry goes. The reality is that there's too much to worry about, too many things that can go wrong.

We'll have time to react. We'll adapt, as we always have. I've got a contingency or two I can try in the worst-case scenario where the portal closes behind us and the pressure is too great—my core's recovered enough that I should be able to pull off at least a Phaseslip. Combine that with an Anchor and it should be able to take us right out of the Intermediary.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Not that I want to rely on that. Just the thought of it gives me a headache. Hopefully it doesn't come to that. We don't have any protective suits, this time around—we're going to rely entirely on the strength of our Firmament.

My core is damaged, but it should be able to withstand the pressure of the Intermediary enough that I can use it to repair the base layers rather than just cracking. Ahkelios will need the pressure to push to his third shift. Guard has enough Firmament within him to counter the pressure of the Intermediary without collapsing.

The only complicating factor is Gheraa's death. His corpse is still in there, rotting away, bleeding into reality and creating a dungeon around it.

The thought alone makes a low thrum of familiar anger coil within me—for the Integrators to do this to one of their own...

But the anger is more than that, I realize. The anger comes from the fact that I considered Gheraa a friend.

I didn't trust him at first. I didn't have many reasons to. But he's proven himself time and time again, and he's done it more than once. Without prompting. Without really being given a reason to.

He's under my protection as much as Ahkelios and Guard are, and if there's even a shred of a chance that I can bring him back and undo what the Integrators did to him—even a shred of a chance I can give him the friendship and trust he might never have experienced, from what he's told me—

I can feel the shape of my soul burning within me, eager for growth. Eager for the strength to prevent anything like this from happening ever again.

No more waiting. I walk forward without stopping, feeling my ears pop as I pass through the portal. Ahkelios and Guard follow close behind.

Even with that shield of emotion wrapped around me, I'm not fully prepared for the sheer weight that crushes down on me.

I stagger moments after stepping through, my vision swimming. It's only Guard reaching out to catch me that prevents me from collapsing entirely into the ground. The pressure manifests as an ache in my teeth and a throbbing in my skull, burning straight into my bones; I take a slow, steadying breath, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to focus.

This Firmament will hurt me only if I allow it. I'm strong enough now to assert my own will over it—to coax it into place, guide it into the miniscule cracks within the first, foundational layer of my core.

It hurts. It feels like I'm performing surgery on myself, probably because that's what this is, in literal terms. It feels like I have to hold my own soul open and carefully layer strips of Firmament into the raw flesh within. I'm hypersensitive to every shift in Firmament, every small change.

It's how I can feel Gheraa's Firmament here. It's dead and twisted and wrong, forced to turn into something it's not. The thought sends a fresh wave of anger through me.

Never again.

Thick, syrupy layers of visibly red Firmament boils up off my skin, more like a liquid than the usual wispy form of its power. I use my anger like a shield against the pain. It's been a long time since I've let myself feel that rage.

I know now not to be dominated by it, not to let it control me. Out of control, my anger drives me to recklessness, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't feel it.

I should. I've seen how many lives this has ruined. I've been exploring a planet trapped in a tortured loop of its own past. I've watched its people torn apart by the games of the powerful.

I couldn't save everyone in Isthanok. I couldn't save Miktik. I could still save Gheraa, but not as I am.

The heat of my anger seals the cracks. Fresh Firmament builds within that foundational layer, drawn in by my rage and shaped by the first truth I ever spoke:

I'm whoever the fuck I want to be.

And right now I want to be the person that ends this once and for all.

I force myself to my feet. Every second Firmament pours into previously unseen cracks in that first layer of Firmament; every second those cracks seal shut, reforging that layer in adamantine will.

Every second of it hurts more than anything I've experienced before, even in my time across the loops. It hurts worse than dragging the stump of my arm across the dirt. Worse than getting crushed, getting stabbed, getting torn apart.

But not worse than the thought of failing. Not worse than the idea that I might not be strong enough.

I keep going, sealing crack after crack.

And as I do this, I push myself back upright. Force myself to take a slow, steadying breath.

"Ethan?" Ahkelios asks. His voice is uncertain—probably because I'm quite literally dripping with Firmament. "Are you alright?"

"Will be." My voice is ragged but sure. "Where are we headed?"

"I sense a signal from the north. It is likely the part Miktik was suggesting we need," He-Who-Guards offers. He looks as concerned as Ahkelios is. "Ethan. Are you certain you can accompany us?"

"Have to." I grit my teeth. There's an argument for me to stay here, to focus on rebuilding those layers without moving, but this is a dungeon. It's too dangerous a place for us to split up, and this one in particular has already been known to kill people even through the loop. "Can't split

This was where Miktik died, after all.

"We could wait here together," Guard says. "Until you finish—"

I shake my head. "Dungeon," I say tersely. It's hard to get the words out with half my mind focused on layering and sealing. "Dangerous to stay still, dangerous to move. Might as well move."

To his credit, Guard doesn't waste any more time. He gives me a sharp nod. "Then I will lead the way."

As if to prove my point, a dozen hands burst out of the ground—each blue flecked with gold, the same Firmament stoneskin I remember Gheraa being made out of. Whatever remnant of him was controlling the place the last time we were here is gone now, it seems. The hands undulate, weaving across each other, charging straight toward us.

"Those are clearly claws, Ethan!" Ahkelios yelps as he dives out of the way, dragging me with him. He's listening in on my thoughts, apparently.

"Same difference," I say. I ready myself.

My core is damaged. Half my mind is occupied trying to keep my foundational layer stable as I feed Firmament into it and repair its cracks. I can't use a single skill while I do this.

But none of that means I'm weak.