Die. Respawn. Repeat.

The more I connect with the Web of Threads, the more I understand it. And the more I understand it, the more I understand what Firmament is.

Which isn't something I expected to get out of all this, I admit.

Threads and Concepts have always felt like a form of power that exists almost separate to that of Firmament. Control of them seems to grant me a level of influence over the ideas they embody—it's the primary way I've been using them. The Thread of Insight gave me what I needed to perfect my core, and the Threads of Purpose and Evolution have been essential in providing direction.

And the more I connect with the Web of Threads, the more I see where things have been connected all along. Threads and Concepts do provide a form of power distinct from that of Firmament, but maybe the more accurate term is that Firmament corrals their power into something greater.

A fragment of the Concept of Life, for instance, lies at the heart of Primordial Foray and Great Filter, my only two Submerged-level skills. The Thread of Insight was what allowed me to create those skills to begin with. There's a connection there—a way that it all ties together.

I let myself sink deeper into the Web, trying to understand what I'm sensing. In theory, what's supposed to happen here is simple: I begin the process of deepening my core, preparing it for the next phase shift.

But Fyran's explanation of core deepening hadn't included anything like what I'm experiencing.

His explanation was essentially that a practitioner of Firmament can temporarily bind their core to the Web of Threads, making that core a part of something far greater. The similarity between the Web and the fundamental nature of Firmament causes the core to mistake the Web as a part of itself; as a result, when it heals, it attempts to heal outward, causing the entirety of the core to expand.

It's why the method requires death. Death isn't the only way, but it's by far the fastest one for loopers like me and Fyran. That moment of reset between death and life reshapes our cores, allowing them expand far more in a single death than most others could over months of work.

That's why I'm here. To begin the process and bind my core to the Web of Threads. In the quiet cavern above Inveria, where Firmament flows to a single point and carries every concentrated Concept from across the city, the Web becomes something more real. It makes the smaller version within my core—the one comprised primarily of Threads I already understand—feel small and incomplete.

And yet when I reach out to connect to it, even that feels like a smaller part of a whole. Like there's an even bigger Web out there that I'm missing. The more I connect with it, the more I feel that emptiness. It's like a pull that tells me that there's something more.

Fyran hadn't mentioned anything like this. He'd described the opposite, in fact: that connecting to the Web made his core feel briefly like it was finally complete.

But my core isn't like Fyran's, is it?

I have a third-layer core. By connecting to four of the core Aspects of Firmament, I've perfected it. In sealing all its cracks and converting it into a liquid ocean of power, I've refined it.

And when I attempt to bind myself to the Web, I don't simply become a part of it.

It becomes a part of me.

Liquid Firmament soaks into the Web, soaking into its Threads and traveling along the full expanse of it. For a fraction of a second, I gain a full, clear understanding of what it is—every Concept linked together in harmony, all their constituent Threads bound in a tight pattern that describes the underlying nature of reality. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

And itself still only a part of a greater whole.

Gheraa's recounted tale comes back to me now, the memory surprisingly sharp. He'd described a secret practically drowned in metaphor: a legend of three "gods" that worked together to establish something before one of them was betrayed. At the time, we'd assumed it meant the Scions had created either the Interface or Firmament itself, but the details hadn't quite clicked.

With the context provided by the Web, though, understanding comes with surprising ease.

There was a Scion of Imagination. Hers was the power of creation: the ability to take that which existed only in the mind and make it real. Stripped of all metaphor, I realize that I've seen this in action before.

The Scion of Imagination had a Talent.

Abstraction. The ability to take a Concept and give it life, grounding it within reality. Back within the Empty City, we fought a product of exactly this Talent, and I remember the feeling I had as I stared it down.

In front of you lies the end of all things.

I remember the words the Knight used to describe it.

It is a concept made real. A hole in the universe. You cannot defeat it any more than you can defeat the rising of the sun or the coming of the tide.

Abstraction allowed the first Scion to take something imaginary—not action nor reaction but the mere substance of an idea—and turn it into a living force.

Just like Firmament. Specifically, it's a lot like the fundamental ability of Firmament to manifest with different aspects, each representing a different idea. Every type of Firmament I've encountered and every skill I've seen in action is the embodiment of something imaginary turned real.

Color Drain, Warpstep, Amplified Gauntlet, and so on. They're all ideas made reality.

But just Abstraction isn't enough. Abstractions don't last. They wither away on their own.

That was why the project also needed the Scion of Change.

Kauku, in other words. The Scion I share a Talent with and the one that called me his Heir. I grimace a little at the thought—it makes sense, now. The power to Anchor is the power to pit our will against that of reality; it is the power to demand a fixed, permanent change. An Abstraction on its own will wither away, but an Abstraction supported by an Anchoring...

That's the second piece of the puzzle. Two Talents working in concert was enough to create the beginnings of Firmament, but those things by themselves don't explain Firmament's ability to manifest new types and new skills, all without input from either of the two Scions.

But there weren't just two of them. They'd needed a third. And three Scions means three Talents.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

For them to create Firmament—to create something with the ability to grow and evolve and eventually become strong enough to give them the power they wanted—they needed the Scion of Expansion.

The idea of Firmament needed something more. It needed the ability to adapt and act on its own, the ability to Abstract and Anchor with no input from any of the three Scions. It needed a system that could take any new Concept it encountered and make that Concept a part of itself.

It's easy enough to guess what his Talent might have been, especially now that I can feel the extent of the Web of Threads and its connections.

Assimilation.

A Talent that allows an idea to spread and infect, to absorb and grow. His involvement made Firmament a malleable thing that could change from one form to another, each expression of its power only a small part of a greater whole. That made some of its individual constructs weaker, but in exchange, the Scions birthed a whole new form of energy.

Firmament. That which lies beneath all things. A substance of solidified intent and change that also held the ability to grow and evolve. The Scions seeded cores of Firmament throughout the galaxy, on every planet that contained life, and allowed those cores to grow into planetary Hearts.

The reason this Web of Threads feels like a small part of a greater whole?

It's because the true Web is the one that the essence of Firmament uses to expand. It's the process by which new skills are created. It's the construct that absorbs Hearts and uses their power to churn out new skills and new impossibilities.

The true Web of Threads is the Interface itself.

Proliferating. Expanding throughout the galaxy. Infecting planets and incorporating their Hearts and Concepts into new brands of Firmament, entirely new types of skills. The true Web exists throughout the galaxy, connecting every planet with a Heart, and the Trials are the process by which those Hearts contribute to the greater whole. The Integration connects them fully with the Web, populating the Interface with new skills and new types of Firmament.

And that, in turn, enriches the base power of Firmament itself.

Concepts and Threads predate the existence of Firmament, I suspect. As do Talents. Firmament is a way to bind those powers into something greater.

And now that I see this, I know what I have to do.

The aspect pillars I created within my core are the four central nodes of the greater Web. One way or another, a majority of the basic skills spiral off those nodes. Firmament skills are the "outside" category, and they form a spiraling, broken fractal that rises above the rest.

That means I've already begun creating a core that mimics the true Web. The only reason I haven't been able to deepen my core with that alone is because of a small Concept that hides within my connection to the Interface, creating a sort of barrier, but the truth of the matter is that I'm already connected with it.

So all I need to do is complete that connection.

It takes a simple expression of will and understanding to wipe that barrier away.

I steel myself for what's coming. Fyran said it would hurt, and I've experienced my fair share of pain in the search for enough power to handle what's coming; I'm ready for it.

And yet... there's no pain. It feels more like I've connected with something that's been missing from my core all this time.

It is, however, a connection that needs to be strengthened. The sheer size of the Web requires a carefully constructed link made of interwoven Threads and Firmament that allows my core to grow without being overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the Interface.

May as well get started.

Fyran had never experienced a phase shift quite like this one before.

His first had been chaos, amid a dozen monsters that threatened to tear him apart. Something within him had snapped into place, and then he was fighting not a dozen monsters but just a single one: a reflection of his own Firmament, ablaze with anger, regret, and desperation. At the time, he'd wanted only to find a way to return to his daughter before the end of the Integration. He needed to be one of the survivors, one of the ten passing Trialgoers.

He thought he was lucky at first. He was placed in a Trial where he couldn't die.

Then four months had passed. Four months of repeated time—first the same day over and over, then the same week, and then finally he'd managed to live for a full month.

Except it had been four months outside his Trial. There was no one he could talk to that understood the position he was in. And the whole time, he saw in the list of Trialgoers his people slowly dying.

Five thousand initial Trialgoers. Then four. Then more than half of the names in the list were dull and gray, with not a single one marked as passed.

Only at that point had Fyran really understood what the Integration had forced upon his home.

He didn't know why he'd done it, but that was the first time he'd thrown himself into what the Interface called the Snake Pit. He'd always avoided it before—it was an obvious trap if he'd ever seen one—but now he just needed something to fight. He tore them apart by the dozens, going deeper and deeper until the sinuous monsters within were larger than he by an order of magnitude, with mouths large enough to swallow him whole.

Fyran burned through them all, and something within him clicked. When he opened his eyes again, he faced a version of himself that burned a pure white. It asked him who he was.

He'd torn it apart for asking. There was no place in the Trial to be who he was.

He was a father, but here on Hestia, to survive long enough to get back home, he needed to be a warrior.

The second shift came to him when he was surrounded by Hestia's Trialgoers, each one using the sheer strength of their Firmament to pin him down. He remembered his desperation, his need to escape, the way that intensity of Firmament bore down into his core and the way something snapped within.

Once more, he was brought into the void of his soul. Once more, he was asked a question, though this time there was no guardian to ask it. All there was was an impulse, an impetus. A demand.

Who do you want to be?

That time, his answer had been honest. Afraid, alone, and despairing, he gave the only answer he could.

I just want to be a father again.

Something about him had changed that way. He grew stronger, and to his surprise, so did his skills. He found himself with the ability to nurture them until they became something stronger.

That shift had given him hope that he might beat the loops. It was what led to his days within the Fracture, searching for anything that might help him grow stronger as he hid from Hestia's Trialgoers. When he found the trick to deepening his core, he thought he'd finally found what he needed to beat his Trial.

Surely none of the Hestians would dare fight him now. Surely he had the strength to push back.

It had given him such hope, when Soul of Trade told him she could find a way back for him.

And then she'd ripped that same hope away, just like that.

Fyran knew what he would have become if Ethan hadn't interfered in that moment. He'd felt the shift going through him, demanding a Truth that defined him, and if he'd been allowed to answer he knew what he would have become.

A monster that thrived on pain.

Even then, it felt wrong. He could feel the way the beginnings of that Truth twisted his core. He saw the way Soul of Trade looked at him, and in her eyes there was something like regret amidst the cruelty. He wondered what drove her.

He didn't know how to put into words how grateful he was that he'd been stopped. He glanced over at Ethan again. The human was reaching out to the Web of Threads, and Fyran saw the way the entire Web seemed to bend toward him. He'd never seen the Web reacting like that to... well, anyone. Anything.

But he had his own phase shift to worry about. Ethan had bought him a second chance. A second try to get his Truth right.

Fyran glanced out over the underground ocean once more.

The plasma seas of his home had tides that lasted for months, shifting with the seasons. His daughter—little Embri—loved the beach, and always mourned when the oceans receded.

"Are you sure it'll be back, papa?" Embri asked, turning big, soulful eyes onto him. Fyran chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"The oceans will always return," he said.

"Like you!" Embri said, making the connection and beaming up at him. "When..." she scrunched her face up. "When work!"

Fyran laughed. "Yes, Embri," he said. "I'm always going to come back. Just like the oceans."

In the right place, at the right time, and with the right friend, it was easy enough to grasp his Truth.

Fyran reached within himself, and a rising tide of power answered.