Rhoran snarled, slamming his fist into his desk. "Soone tell how a human is moving two layers in a single shift!"
"Seems Gheraa was telling the truth about your temper." Lhore didn't seem particularly bothered by the situation. She leaned back in her chair, observing the events on the screen in front of her with a mixture of interest and detachnt. "Careful. You're starting to sound like one of our Trialgoers."
Rhoran growled, but didn't dare contradict her. "Double layer shifts are theoretical," he said instead, getting up and pacing around his desk. "They shouldn't be possible. You need the second layer to get the third. Otherwise the shift rejects you."
"Then he'll just die, won't he?" Lhore shrugged. "That's hardly a problem."
"I don't want him to die." Rhoran glared up at the screen. "He needs to suffer."
"Sadism is not one of your more endearing traits," Lhore noted.
"It's not sadism." Rhoran narrowed his eyes at the screen. A small part of him found so satisfaction in the way Ethan was struggling, but a much larger part of him hated that the human had even been able to pull this off. How many years had it taken him just to get to his third layer? "I don't enjoy his suffering. I just think he deserves it."
"You seed to quite enjoy his reaction to your raid."
"Gheraa ruined it." Rhoran scowled. "I can't believe he managed to get a skill to Ethan under yourwa—"
He couldn't breathe.
Rhoran's eyes widened. He clawed at his throat in a panicked, desperate desire for air, collapsing to his knees. He needed air. Why wasn't there any air?!
Lhore sighed. "You should be careful what you imply," she said, her words reproachful. The sudden impulse disappeared, and Rhoran rembered abruptly that he didn't need to breathe. His Firmant darkened in embarassed irritation. "I almost wish I'd promoted Gheraa instead of you. He had a far more interesting reaction to that effect."
"He was a traitor," Rhoran muttered, rubbing his throat. He glared up at the screen again. "...Whatever. The human's going to die. I'm going to get my lunch break."
"Hmm." Lhore glanced toward him. "Very well. I suppose I should join you."
They left the monitoring room. On the screen behind them, Ethan collapsed to his knees. The readings on the Interface screen nearby fluctuated, flickered, and then a small ssage appeared, just for a fraction of a second, before it was subsud by sothing foreign.
[ WARNING: MULTIPLE PHASE ANOMALIES DETECTED. ]
—
I need to survive.
It's the primary thought ringing in my head. Dying here doesn't just an my own death—it ans the end of Isthanok and likely of the Great Cities as a whole, along with most life on the continent. It ans leaving Earth and my fellow Trialgoers to fend for themselves.
It ans Gheraa's death ans nothing.
But it doesn't feel like there's anything I can do. My power is collapsing in on itself—using it only accelerates the process. Trying to use Firmant Control for this feels like trying to control the ocean's waves with just my hands. It's a futile, pointless effort.
That isn't going to stop from trying.
Barrier. Second Wind.
The skills flicker to life within my core. I feel them responding to my will just like they always have, eager, willing; barriers form around , and the blue-gold Firmant of Second Wind glows just underneath the surface of my skin.
The barriers fizzle. Second Wind dies, like a candle being snuffed out. The pressure around continues unabated, both without and within; my core cracks a little further.
Barrier. Second Wind.
I try again. The barriers fizzle once more, barely forming before dissipating, and Second Wind just seems to send a ripple through my body instead of reinforcing the whole thing like before.
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BARRIER. SECOND WIND.
Barriers protect. Second Wind reinforces everything that I am. I'm not just using random skills—these are the skills I've been relying on, the skills that answer that second-layer question. They're who I want to be.
I am not going to die here!
And
sothing
changes.
It's that sa sothing I touched on when I spoke to the Void and told it to stop. I feel a part of myself reach out and tap into a power I'm not supposed to be able to reach. I don't entirely understand what it is—not yet—but it feels like whatever it was that I sensed between Void and Hunger.
It feels like [authority/speak/command].
And Barrier and Second Wind... respond.
Barrier rises within —not the literal plane of Firmant created by the skill, but the skill itself. It wraps around my core, outlining the edges so clearly defined earlier by the raw power of the Interdiary. It reminds exactly what shape my soul is supposed to be in.
It feels... alive. For just a mont, I can feel the skill as if it were a living, breathing thing, responding to my will. It tells this: It is glad I used it to protect.
Then it flickers and dies.
For a mont, I struggle to process what happened. There's a gaping hole in my soul where Barrier used to be—an emptiness I'm not used to feeling. A raw, aching nothing.
But it has had an effect. It's given back the edges of my will, given definition and shape and a boundary between my power and that of the Interdiary. With it, the third layer no longer feels like it's burning straight through , turning into nothing more than a raw spark of power.
With it, I live for another second.
Second Wind is next. I know what's about to happen before it happens, now—the skill floods my core, doing what it's supposed to do, reinforcing everything that I am. It seals the cracks ford in the first layer in my Firmant, and its power pushes back against the third layer's assault.
It connects with for a mont. It does not speak as Barrier does, but it gives a series of impressions.
It is glad it had the chance to protect . To be . Second Wind is a skill that gives a person a second chance, and to do that, it must embody that person. It has been a million different things, aningless and aningful and everything in between. It has been cruel and selfish, it has been compassionate and kind.
But it has never embodied a will like mine. It has never embodied a will strong enough that it developed its own. With , Second Wind understood what it ant to be alive.
Then it, too, dies. I grasp at it before it can, try to feed it with the Aspect of Regrowth, but the Inspiration slips through and fails to find purchase.
The skill falls apart, and I'm left a little more empty, but a little bit stronger.
The other skills don't need calling. They act on their own, reacting to what's happening, to what I suppose is their ho falling apart around them. Triplestep and Flashstep thank for letting them see more of the world. Crystallized Strength claims it had a good ti punching things that 'deserved to be punched'. Compounded Mind tells my brain is fascinating.
Not all my skills respond. The others know they're needed, that they still have work to do. But the ones that do, they just... sacrifice themselves for , reinforcing my core, using themselves to give the third layer the answer it so desperately wants.
I've used my skills to beco the kind of person it expects to be, and even if those mories aren't in the second layer of my Firmant, they are in my skills.
Define your truth, the third layer demands again, and this ti, I sense sothing different. It's no longer trying to kill . Whatever its requirents are, I've passed, and while the cost was heavy.
I'm alive. I'm stronger.
I understand what a truth is.
The first two layers require an understanding of the self. They define the trajectory of your growth. The third requires an understanding of the world around you, and of how your presence within that world alters it.
My truth is that of Change.
Just like that, the strain on disappears. The phase-shift stabilizes. The entirety of the Interdiary seems to pulse, reacting to the sudden presence of a third-layer Trialgoer within it. The ground trembles and cracks as my core fights off the force of the Firmant pressing down on it.
I barely feel it. Instead, I turn my gaze to the Interface.
[ For performing a phase-shift within a treacherous out-of-phase environnt, you have been granted 100 Firmant credits. ]
[ Mastery of Phaseslip has improved. ]
"Ethan?" Ahkelios's voice is quiet. He looks at , worried, and I'm struck by a sudden relief that he's alive—that Temporal Link wasn't one of the skills that sacrificed itself to help live and grow. I bend down and give him a hug, and he squeaks, surprised.
"I have an idea," I say, standing back up and letting him climb onto my shoulders. New power and new knowledge brims within .
There's no way to destroy that raid boss without still incurring a massive amount of damage across all of Isthanok. It's a clever choice: as far as the Integrators are concerned, I never had a way to win.
So I'll just have to make my own.
"Co on," I tell him. I glance back toward the Interdiary just before I leave, my gaze softening just slightly. Gheraa's Firmant is still there, staining it with the color of his death, but I can feel sothing from it. Sothing that feels almost like pride. "And... thank you, Gheraa."
I don't say it out loud, but this won't be my last ti visiting the Interdiary. Gheraa's death weighs on , but I have suspicions about it—suspicions that have only grown now that I know what the third phase-shift involves and what it feels like. He is dead, but... maybe he won't have to stay that way.
For now, though, I have a city to save.
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