"Are you his accomplice?"
Whisper's first question is blunt. It stuns , too—not because of how direct it is, but because of how utterly wrong that assumption is. She stares at with her arms folded behind her back, her stance regal; if this had been my first ti eting her, I might have assud that all was well.
Except this isn't how she acts. Whisper doesn't use pomp and ceremony. She's condescending and sarcastic. Her words belittle everyone she speaks to. Regality is not her.
She's afraid.
Whisper's control of her Firmant is far more precise than Vahrkos's, and so it's no surprise that it takes an activation of Firmant Sight for to be able to identify what she's feeling. But the mont I do, I see the absolute chaos within her.
There's no single ruling emotion I can pinpoint. There are layers and layers of fear, exactly as I suspected. There is rage, white-hot and boiling in the very center of her soul. There are streaks of grief, anxiety, loss. There is pain, rippling all around the edges, as her helplessness chafes against the ruination of her city.
And there's much, much more. What I'm seeing is nothing less than an obsession falling apart. She's spent so long trying to make Isthanok her perfect city, and now it's being destroyed in front of her.
I feel for the people of Isthanok, but I can't bring myself to feel sympathy for Whisper herself. That died along with Tarin. I don't even know exactly how it happened—I'll have to ask him when I start the next subloop—but right now, no matter what I see from her, I have to fight back my own burning rage at the thought of Tarin's death.
Because I can feel him. He might be dead, but there are remnants of his Firmant still left scattered in the laboratory above us. I can tell he fought. I can tell his death wasn't pleasant. If I wanted to, I could use Guardian of Fate, and it would tell every last, grueso detail.
That isn't going to help stay calm, though.
"Does it matter?" I ask. My voice cos out a little colder than I intend. "Your city is falling apart. Aren't you supposed to protect it?"
All the chaos of Whisper's emotions snap to rage, all at once. "Ask that again if you wish to die."
I take a step forward. "Your city is dying. Why are you staying up here, protected?"
I'm antagonizing her. I'm angrier than I should be. Ahkelios tightens his grip on my shoulder, as if telling to calm down, and I...
I try. I take a deep breath. Whisper trembles as she stares down at , her Firmant flickering wildly as she considers whether or not she should attack.
"Kill , and your city dies with ," I say.
Her eyes narrow. "Explain."
I don't feel inclined to go into the details. "I can reverse what's been done to your city," I say instead.
"You know where the Trialgoer is." Whisper half-breathes out the words; I have to resist the urge to sigh with relief. I don't know how she's managed to misunderstand the situation this badly, but she clearly has. Maybe it has sothing to do with sothing Tarin said to her before he died. "Why would you have any control?"
Before I answer, I feel her skill wrap around . "And tell the truth."
"Because I can kill him, and the Trial will reset," I say. I feel Ahkelios's grip tighten a little on my shoulders, and I can't help the slight grin that steals across my face; there's no lie quite as good as the truth.
"That won't be enough." Whisper's words are dismissive, bitter. "This is a raid. All consequences will hold."
"True enough." I keep my voice light and unconcerned, though internally, my mind is racing. She knows that this is a raid, which explains the severity of her reaction— but she doesn't know that I'm the Trialgoer. I'm not going to question my luck there. I'll have to play a different card. "In most cases."
"Most?" Whisper doesn't have eyes to narrow, but she steps forward, and I feel a sharp spike in interest.
"Most," I say agreeably. "What do you think changes if one of our Trialgoers is able to capture this new one?"
"What are you talking abo—" She-Who-Whispers freezes mid-sentence as she makes the connection. I see her entire body shudder, a physical reaction to the re thought. "Teluwat."
"Quite." I have to keep the satisfaction out of my voice.
What are you doing? Ahkelios's panicked voice echoes down my link. What are you talking about?
I have no idea, I admit cheerfully. But it's working, isn't it?
How?! Ahkelios demands, sounding painfully exasperated. I can practically feel it radiating off of him, in fact.
I'm guessing Tarin said sothing to her, I answer. Whisper stands before us, her hands clenching and unclenching; sothing's going through her mind, although I don't know what. Watch. All I need to do is plant the seed.
You aren't even using the Firmant sink, Ahkelios grumbles. What was the point in making that?
I'm sure I'll need to use it later. I shrug. I haven't had to lie so far.
But how'd you know she'd even think about Teluwat? Ahkelios asks.
She's obsessed with everything that happens in Isthanok, I say. I doubt there's anything here that happens that she doesn't know about. If Teluwat has enough of a presence here to send assassins after , then she's going to at least have an inkling that he's around. And he's the only one that has enough power that he might be able to reverse sothing like this even without a loop. That I know of.
Ahkelios falls silent. I can feel him still gripping at my shoulder, but he's lost in thought, and whatever he's thinking about, he isn't sharing. I reach up to scratch gently under his chin.
...I'm not a pet, you know, he grumbles, after a solid ten seconds of scratching. I stop, and Ahkelios imdiately protests. I didn't say stop.
I snort and continue.
"Teluwat can rewrite the fundantal truth of the Firmant he influences," She-Who-Whispers mutters. She isn't even paying attention to either of us; instead, she's pacing about on the floor. Firmant lashes out of her in strips of agitated red, and I pretend not to be concerned by the way they crack the ground beneath her. "If he gains access to the current Trialgoer... You're telling he can rewrite the Interface?"
"I'm not telling you anything about anything he may or may not be able to do," I say, which is true. She-Who-Whispers lets out a snarl in response, but continues pacing; she still isn't attacking .
"He can't. It shouldn't be possible," she mutters. "There are failsafes. They're only disabled for graduated Trialgoers. You can't interfere with the Interface of an active Trialgoer. Even if you could, the Interface is too complex to directly interfere with like that. But... if it's just a single variable..."
Disabled for graduated Trialgoers? Ahkelios picks up on the phrasing the sa ti I do, and we glance at one another. Interesting.
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Nothing I can do with that information right now, but it's useful to know.
"One variable," I agree. "The number of tis a raid can be retried, for instance."
Whisper snaps.
She moves like liquid. It's fast enough that it stuns —I've never seen her move like this, even the last ti we fought. It's like she lts, turning into a blaze of pure-white Firmant that shoots toward ; when she reforms, there's a razor-sharp blade of Firmant in place of her hand, and it's pointed directly at my neck.
"I hope, for your sake, that you aren't lying."
Her voice is trembling. There's no semblance of regal composure. I may not be familiar with silverwisp physiology, but with the way pieces of her form drip from her face to the ground, it looks almost like she's crying.
"You couldn't care less about ," I say. "You just want it to be true for yourself."
She-Who-Whispers doesn't react, and neither does the Whisper she's planted within .
"What do we need to do?" she asks.
"As soon as the next loop begins, you need to join in the efforts to fend off the raid," I say. "And you cannot kill Tarin."
Whisper laughs, the sound a little bit broken. "The bird?" she asks. "And how am I supposed to stop myself? I don't get to keep my mories across loops."
"You can leave yourself ssages, can't you?"
"I need to know to check for it." She-Who-Whispers scowls. "The Integrators do not favor their graduates. They are interested in the success of their Trialgoers."
I have to refrain from scoffing. From everything I've seen during my Trial, the Integrators very much favor the Hestian Trialgoers, and they aren't that interested in making sure I succeed. From what Gheraa's told , She-Who-Whispers is probably right, but if they care that I succeed...
Well, they've got a funny way of showing it.
"Then I will make sure you check," I say. "If you give a way to make you check."
"Just..." Whisper takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Just tell : two rings. I'll know I sent you."
I keep my expression impassive. "Write your note," I say. "The tiline will reset soon."
Whisper goes silent. I see her Firmant flaring up around her as she wills her thoughts into her Interface. I walk past her.
"What are you doing?" Whisper stops for a mont, glaring at .
"Going to see the bird you killed," I reply. Anger bleeds through my Firmant, and it's heavy enough that Whisper actually flinches. I don't bother holding it back.
That is more of a lie than anything else I've said. I let Whisper's Firmant bleed into the completed Firmant sink, dissipating harmlessly as a mixture of heat and faint tingles along my leg.
It's not Tarin that I want to see.
Guard's body lies on the table in the center of Whisper's lab. His Firmant pulses faintly within the body that's been constructed for him—he's still alive, to my relief. I don't know the exact chanisms by which the Interface resets ti, nor do I know why so forms of Firmant damage and exhaustion carry over and others don't, but I do know that Guard's particular form of it won't be reversed along with the rest of the tiline.
It's pretty clear from how weak his Firmant is. He isn't going to recover naturally.
"Why are we here?" Ahkelios whispers to . I glance over at him, then sigh.
"Tarin was talking to him before he died," I say. I walk over to Guard, taking a closer look at the chanical body and the Firmant glowing within. "I need to know what they talked about."
"Talked?" Ahkelios stares at Guard. "Um."
"Yeah, I'm wondering how he did it, too," I mutter. I don't have any skills that would help talk to soone that's unconscious. The closest thing I have to that is the link I share with Ahkelios through Temporal Link, and that's not sothing I know how to replicate with a stranger.
Although...
"Ahkelios," I say. "You've fused with one of my skills before, haven't you?"
"What?" Ahkelios blinks. "I an, yes, but what does that have to do with..."
He trails off, and there's a long beat before he continues. "You want to try to fuse with him?"
"You can do it, can't you?"
"I think so." Ahkelios shifts a little on my shoulder, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. "I don't think I'd be able to do it with most people, but Guard is... he doesn't have the protective layer of Firmant most people do. It's just his core. So I could."
"You don't want to," I say. To my surprise, Ahkelios shakes his head, staring at Guard's body.
"I want to help him," Ahkelios says. He sounds a little like he surprises even himself with the words. "But as he is, he can't defend himself."
"Don't force it," I suggest. "Just... offer. See if he accepts."
Ahkelios nods slowly. "I can do that," he says. He steps forward, standing on Guard's chest, and reaches a hand out to make contact with the automaton's Firmant core.
Guard's acceptance is so quick it surprises the both of us. Temporal Link fills out the taphorical space between our minds, allowing us to talk to one another with a freedom we've never actually had before. In an instant, he learns who I am, the situation we're in, and what I've been trying to do.
And I learn about him. Who he was, who he is, and who he's still trying to be.
You don't need to save . That's the first thing Guard tells . I can hear the sheer exhaustion in his voice. I've lived for far longer than I should have.
To be fair, I'm not sure most of that could be called living, I say dryly. It's a little snarkier than I intend for what's technically our first proper interaction, but to my surprise, Guard actually chuckles. There's a bitter tinge to his amusent.
I cannot disagree with you, he admits. I suppose it's hardly important at the mont. Isthanok is in crisis.
I have to admit, I'm impressed that Guard's first thought is still the safety of Isthanok and its people. If I'd been trapped in my own body, puppeted around as a guard for an entire city, I doubt I'd be feeling nearly so charitable.
Tarin spoke to you, I say.
He said you wanted to save . Guard says the words, and I feel a warmth flow through the connection we share, along with a series of impressions. He's... letting in? Letting see who and what he is.
Guard is incomplete. He's half a soul, held together by Firmant and by Miktik's artifiical core operating like makeshift neurons for an epheral consciousness.
But he's no less of a person. He feels, and he feels strongly. I can feel his exhaustion, his willingness to let go—and I can also feel the fire within him, the part of him that wants to live.
Perhaps more surprising is the fact that that fire appears to have been stoked by eting . It's not a conscious mory anymore, but I sense the subconscious impressions. Fleeting images and thoughts of a Trialgoer being shaped by his Trials, surprise at my resilience, an odd fondness as he catches on to what I've been doing through the loops.
An imprint written into his Firmant. He's so weak, lacking even the most basic of protection, that the events of the loops stay written into his Firmant. He rembers. Not so long ago, it was a lucid mory—when Whisper still controlled him, he could rember everything, even when ti rewound. But as he lost more and more of himself, he rembered less and less.
But the impressions remain. The feelings, if not the mories themselves. Fragnts. Observation, then admiration.
A Trialgoer willing to defy the Integrators. A Trialgoer clinging to morality.
He doesn't want what happened to Whisper to happen again. He wants to live. He wants to help.
I do want to save you, I answer quietly, and then equally quiet, I add, but I don't know how. I would wait until after this raid to figure it out, but...
Guard knows it just as well as I do. Whisper set him up to be able to control multiple bodies; even now, Guard's proxies are scattered all over the city of Isthanok. Whisper's been straining herself loop after loop, even if she isn't consciously aware of the fact that she's doing so—she can't push herself to keep control of every one of those bodies to protect the city.
But Guard can. He's my best answer on how to minimize the casualties here. If I can figure this out within the few loops I have, Isthanok might be able to erge from this... well, not unscathed, but less scathed than it otherwise would have been.
I take a breath. What condition do you have, exactly?
My Firmant is unstable, Guard replies. Your friend told you'd be able to figure out more. Maybe even fix it.
Fix it? I frown at the thought. It implies this is sothing I know how to do already, but it's not like I've spent any of my loops practicing with the dical applications of Firmant—
—but I have been practicing with Firmant. Quite a lot. More than would be reasonable for most Trialgoers. The thought strikes and I reach out with my Firmant sense, almost unwilling to believe it could be so easy, but for once, things go my way.
I'm right.
It's the layers. Guard's foundational Firmant is so strong that the outermost layers of it have peeled off, leaving it raw and exposed; it's no longer able to keep itself together.
But I've practiced with almost exactly this. The process of finding a way to keep power locked within layers of Firmant without leaking through is exactly the process I've been working with when it cos to imbuent.
This is going to take a while, I say. And you're going to need to trust .
I do, Guard says. Sincerity echoes through the link—he ans it.
"Ahkelios?" I speak out loud. "Make sure Whisper doesn't ss up."
"What?" Ahkelios protests. "How am I supposed to stop her?"
"Tell her that Guard will die if I get interrupted," I say dryly. "That should make her rethink doing anything stupid."
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