Die. Respawn. Repeat.

It takes only a few minutes for Gheraa to go through the magnitude of what he'd learned. Ahkelios, Guard and I all exchange glances as he describes the legend of the Sunken King and everything he was supposedly involved in. The more he speaks, the more things click into place.

A startling number of things, actually. I was hoping for some answers, but even painted as vaguely as it is, this single missing piece holds the answer to a dozen possible connections. Maybe more.

Ahkelios is first to speak, voicing what I'm pretty sure we're all thinking. "So we all agree that that's obviously Kauku, right?" he asks. "I mean, he showed up out of nowhere to ask Ethan for a favor, he can clearly do whatever he wants with the Interface, and he keeps calling Ethan his Heir."

"He keeps doing what?" Gheraa asks.

"It fits," I admit. I'm not sure how that thought makes me feel. "I've got the same Truth, and the whole Anchoring thing kind of fits with the legend. I'm not sure if that's what we should be focusing on, though."

"Yeah, I'm more worried about everything else this implies," Ahkelios says, getting up and beginning to pace. "Doesn't this mean he created the Interface?"

"It sounded to me as though he may have been responsible for the creation of Firmament itself," Guard says. "Though the tale is imprecise. It is possible he only created the Interface, as you say."

"That's even worse!" Ahkelios complains. "We're supposed to fight something that created Firmament? We use the stuff!"

"Excuse me," Gheraa says. "What was that about being his Heir?"

"We use it, but so does he," I point out. "If Guard's right, the whole reason they made Firmament is because it's a more robust system of power and growth than... whatever they had before. We're not at an inherent disadvantage just because we use it."

"Yeah, we're just at a disadvantage because of everything else," Ahkelios grumbles. He glances between me and Guard. "At least pretend this is shocking or something. I feel like I'm the only one here that's surprised."

I laugh a little at this. Ahkelios is wearing the sort of petulant expression that works when he's a couple inches tall but looks strange on him when he's taller than I am. It works to lighten the mood—even Guard seems amused.

"I'm just trying not to get caught up in how bad it sounds," I say. "I'm worried too, don't get me wrong, but... we need to focus on countermeasures, on what we can do, and on what changed. Kauku was at least pretending to be an ally before now. It doesn't make sense that he's changing his mind before even getting what he wants. Why do all this, and why do all this now?"

"Maybe he figured out a way to get what he wants faster," Ahkelios suggests. "Or maybe whatever we fought just now was someone else."

I frown slightly, considering the thought. "Like Gheraa said, there shouldn't be anyone else around capable of messing with the dungeon like this," I say slowly. I glance at the Integrator in question, though he's looking more than a little put out. "What do you think?"

"At this point I feel like you're messing with me," Gheraa says, folding his arms across his chest.

I can't deny that I was doing it a little. "We'll get you caught up after this, I promise," I say. "And in my defense, you messed with me a lot worse when I first joined the Trials."

Gheraa pauses, then smirks. "A fair point," he concedes. "You were far less impressive back then."

I raise an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"You decide!" He gives me what I assume is supposed to be a winning smile, then ruins it by leaning on his cane and nearly falling over; he scowls at the dirt that shifted beneath his cane. "Are you sure you don't have a spare palace?"

"I don't keep spare palaces in my back pocket, Gheraa," I say with a snort. "Now, the question?"

Gheraa sighs dramatically, but straightens a moment later, his expression settling so abruptly it's like a switch was flipped. "It would be quite irregular for any other presence on Hestia to be able to interfere with a dungeon," he says. "If the Integrators are cut off from the planet as they appear to be, then I would not expect anyone other than this Sunken King to be able to interfere with the soulrot produced from my death." ɌÃꞐỌВĚŞ

"Soulrot?" The word makes me frown.

"A term for the decay of a practitioner's soul," Gheraa explains. "Where their life and experiences leak into the world around them."

"...Should I be concerned that yours was a maze?"

"It was incomplete!" Gheraa says defensively. "And my soul is mine to judge, thank you very much. Let's get back on topic here."

Well, he's right about that, at least. I think back through my experiences in the recent loop, wondering if there's something I'm missing. To my surprise, it's He-Who-Guards who speaks up first.

"There was interference within First Sky," he says. "This is not the first instance of dungeon interference we have encountered, even if this was more... direct."

"Was that Kauku too?" Ahkelios asks.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"No," I say slowly. "I had to trigger an Inspiration mid-fight and he helped us fight the Abstraction. Not that I'm taking anything he says at face value, but I get the feeling the change in behavior came after. Something must've happened."

"The warning you received," Guard surmises, and I nod.

"Don't let it reach Kauku," I recite. "I don't think I was going to be able to stop it anyway, considering how Paradox Warning works, but we still don't have any idea what it is. All we know is that it apparently reached Kauku sometime after that last meeting."

I hesitate for a moment. "There was that last message I got from him," I say. "Back when the Hand showed up. He said..." I pull the notification out from the Interface to check. "This may be the last time you hear from me. Know that I wish you the best, despite our differences. Good luck, O Heir Mine."

Ahkelios blinks. "Did he seriously send you that while you were fighting that thing he sent? Can he not decide what side he's on?"

"I think it might be a little more complicated than that," I say, frowning at the window. "If he had the time to send messages, then I'm assuming whatever changed wasn't immediate. Obviously I'm taking a lot on faith at the moment, but—"

I stop mid-sentence as I realize that Gheraa has gone entirely still, and the grip he has on his cane is suddenly so hard that I sense tiny cracks forming in its Firmament. "Gheraa? Are you... alright?"

"Can't be," he mutters. I'm not sure he even heard what I said. "Can't be. We don't do that anymore. And he wouldn't agree to that. Would it even work?"

"Gheraa—"

"He wouldn't," Gheraa half-snarls the word, rounding on me; the golden lines of Firmament on his body flare briefly as he does, midway toward forming a defensive matrix before the makeshift shield makes contact with my wrist and suddenly collapses. I eye him carefully, my hand halfway toward his shoulder.

Both Guard and Ahkelios flinch, then take a step forward. I shake my head slightly, tapping on the bond we share as a makeshift signal, and they glance at one another before relaxing.

Gheraa sags. "I thought I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore," he says quietly. He doesn't move away, so I move my hand the rest of the way to his shoulder, feeling the erratic flickering of his Firmament.

"You know something," I say, and he nods slightly.

"I thought something about the... you called it the Hand?" Gheraa asks. I nod.

"Hand of an Empty Throne, Corrupted. Or so the Interface claimed." I watch Gheraa carefully as I speak; he flinches slightly the moment I say the word "corrupted."

"What an original name," he snarks, although his heart doesn't seem in it. "Yes. I thought something about it seemed familiar at the time. I was unwilling to consider the possibility, but given all the details you've shared, I have little cause to doubt this now."

"And what is it, exactly?" I ask. Gheraa glances up at me, then to the hand resting on his shoulder; I make to pull away, but he shakes his head. He seems... grateful, for some reason.

"You will recall that I said that Integrators, as creatures of Firmament, are particularly vulnerable to certain Concepts," he says. "Material beings like humans have physical forms to anchor them. We do not. We are our cores, our souls, or whatever word you choose to use to describe the essence of Firmament. You could say we are a Concept unto ourselves—one that shapes our form and Firmament.

"In some ways, this is a strength. When an Integrator wields a Concept, it is the purest expression of that Concept's power. We can make it a part of us in a way that few others can. In other ways, it is a weakness: we can be corrupted, altered, or turned against ourselves if infected by a Concept that runs counter to our beings.

"There is a third possibility. An old, forbidden practice." Gheraa hesitates. "We can invert the relationship between Concept and Firmament. That is, in our conventional state, we are beings of Firmament that embody a personal Concept; if we invert that relationship, we become a Concept with a will of its own—one that corrupts and consumes Firmament.

"A parasite of Firmament, in other words. A thing that barely resembles the Integrator it originally was. A lot is usually lost in the process—we have to give up our cores, channel everything we are into a single idea. But the resulting entity is nearly impossible to kill, no longer hampered by physical boundaries, and capable of infecting and corrupting nearly anything that relies on Firmament."

There's a long silence that stretches out as Gheraa finishes his explanation. He doesn't look any of us in the eye. It's easy enough to guess exactly who he thinks did this, considering what the Hand was shouting the entire time we were trying to kill it.

"You had a supervisor," I say. "You think this is them."

Gheraa nods, still not looking up. "His name is—was—Rhoran. If he's managed to infect this Kauku, the Concept he chose probably lines up closely with Kauku's goals. Hatred or Revenge, or... or something."

I take my hand off Gheraa's shoulder and push myself to my feet. "I'm kind of relieved, honestly," I remark.

Gheraa does look up, then, his expression somewhere between befuddled and outraged. "How can you say that?"

I hold a hand out toward him. "Well," I say. "For one thing? I don't have any idea how to deal with Kauku's goals and the revenge he wants. All that stuff with the gods of Imagination and Expansion are way outside my wheelhouse." I pause, then amend the statement slightly. "For now. But some petty tyrant that's just mad that you're better than him? That I can deal with."

Gheraa blinks, the outrage falling away. He looks at my proffered hand, hesitating. "More importantly," I continue, smirking slightly at him. "To be honest, with everything that's happened with the Integrators? I was getting kind of worried I wouldn't get a chance to kick this Rhoran's ass."

The Integrator—or former Integrator, I suppose—blinks again. Then he slowly takes my hand, allowing me to pull him to his feet. "Thank you," he says quietly. For once, there's no trace of the showmanship he wears as a cloak. This is as genuine as he gets.

I nod at him, then turn back to the others. "Alright!" I announce. "We have a few more things to figure out, but we'll do it on the way. I know where we're going next."

"To kick Rhoran's ass?" Ahkelios supplies eagerly. I laugh.

"No. Dungeon's still closed, and we don't even know how to get to him," I say. "But he'll find us, and we can't slack off in the meantime."

"It will take time for us to learn how to fight together more effectively, as well," He-Who-Guards adds. "We have grown, which means we will need time to adjust."

"Not to mention we've got a fourth fighting with us now," I muse. That's a whole other angle to the problem I'll have to consider—a way for us to make time.

"Oh," Gheraa says. I blink at him.

"Oh?"

"I just remembered." He looks a little awkward. "The Heart gave me a message to pass on. She said you should head to the Quiet Grove. She left a gift for you there."

Huh. I suppose that changes things.

"To the Quiet Grove it is," I say.