The Empty City is no longer empty. It is, in fact, the closest thing to a bustling tropolis I've seen since I was ripped away from Earth—more so than even Isthanok and its busy streets. Without all the decay eating away at the city, I can see how many of these buildings are in fact skyscrapers. What I'd assud were the roofs of individual buildings were in fact just one of many floors, the top levels having apparently been scoured away by ti and broken Firmant.
It's a beautiful place, which only makes knowing what happened to it that much worse.
None of the people here seem aware of what's to co, though. I watch as they go about their lives—just like the Tear I went to earlier, it's clear that these are simulations of Firmant, but at the sa ti they're far more real than anything originally generated by the Tear. They feel like...
They feel like Gheraa. Like the copy of himself he'd left within —technically alive, a snapshot of his personhood at a mont in ti. I take a mont to feel for that seed of him still cradled sowhere within my core; it pulses with a surprising warmth as my Firmant brushes against it, although it's otherwise quiet.
If nothing else, this tells that I'm probably on the right path. Even if I don't know how to feel about the dungeon generating what appears to be fully sapient life.
I watch for a mont as they go about their lives. None of them seem to notice us. They're a species of... scarab-dragonfly hybrids, as best as I can tell? Humanoid in form, bodies naturally armored in colored chitin, and wearing clothes made of layers of semitransparent, flowing cloth woven together like robes and dresses.
"Oooh," Ahkelios says. "That's smart."
I glance at him. "What is?"
"Their clothes!" He points at a passing person who, thankfully, either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore us. "I've tried wearing cloth before. It usually catches and tears on my exoskeleton."
"Huh." The way the robes and dresses are flared does avoid that, I suppose. I turn to Ahkelios and stare at him for long enough that he begins to shift uncomfortably. "You know, I never asked, but... Ahkelios, are you—"
"It is perfectly normal for my species not to wear clothes!" he huffs indignantly before I can finish my question. "Clothes are for special occasions! Because they tear! We wear armor."
"Right." I tuck that fact into the back of my mind, trying not to grin. "And you're wearing your armor right now."
"No—Sort of." Ahkelios scowls, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't want to talk about it."
"If you're uncomfortable, I could always make you sothing?" I suggest.
"I wasn't uncomfortable until you brought this up!"
"I didn't bring this up," I point out. Ahkelios makes an embarrassed sort of noise sowhere deep in his throat, then promptly dematerializes, presumably so he can sulk in my core instead of out here.
Guard, of course, mostly seems to be amused. "This isn't what I expected," he says, opting not to comnt on the exchange. He's stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from the gateway—now that I think about it, I don't think anyone around us is actually paying attention to us, despite how out-of-place we are. "Do they not see us, or...?"
"I'm not sure," I say, taking a few steps forward as I speak. "I think the Ritual stage hasn't started yet? I probably need to—"
Sure enough, the mont I cross so invisible threshold of distance, the Interface updates and pings with a new objective.
[Ritual Stage 2: Plant the Seed]
Prerequisites:
Protect Novi, the Archivist: 0/1
Collect the Seed: 0/1
Charge the Seed: 0/100
Plant the Seed: 0/1
Keep the Seed safe: 1/1
Now collected, the Seed must find fertile soil. Assist Isiris with delivering it to the Shadowed Laboratory, and assist the Seed in gathering the energy it needs to take root.
I frown slightly at the notification, briefly wondering how I'm supposed to find Novi. Fortunately, the dungeon solves that problem for quickly.
"You must be Ethan and He-Who-Guards," a soft voice calls. I turn to see a small, lean version of the scarab-people bowing slightly toward . She wears a translucent, off-white outfit with pearlescent overtones that hangs off her shoulders in long strips, and there's a quiet serenity in the way she speaks, the way she carries herself. "You are my assigned Protectors?"
"That... would be accurate, yes," I say cautiously. I'm not really sure what that term ans in their culture. "I take it you're Novi?"
"I am." Novi smiles at , then turns slightly so that she's addressing both and Guard. "You seem confused. First days are often difficult for newly-summoned Protectors. Do not worry; I will explain everything you need to know."
Newly summoned, huh? I shift uncomfortably under Novi's gaze, not quite used to anyone being this... nice? Genuine? She reminds a lot of Guard, actually, just with a bit more of a motherly touch.
Actually, no. Guard can also be motherly. A little too motherly, sotis. I shake my head to dispel the thought and turn my attention to Novi once again. "What do you an, newly summoned?"
Novi blinks. "They didn't even explain that?" She makes a disapproving clicking sort of noise in her throat. "Ah... this is difficult to explain. Co with ; I will explain as we walk."
I nod in assent and begin to follow her, with Guard trailing behind .
"Summons," Novi says, "are a specific form of Firmant art. Sotis they are creatures summoned from the aether, possessing no origin or purpose except that which they are given. Other tis—when the summoning is perford by a truly gifted Seer—the creatures brought forth are people in their own right, with hos and families of their own. It's still widely debated whether those families are real. We have no proof, one way or another."
I say nothing. I know what I am, but what she's telling ... it sounds eerily like she might be describing herself. Maybe these summonings really did exist back in the day, and maybe her people really did summon people from other worlds—or simulations of them—to aid them in their everyday tasks. Maybe it's all just a dungeon-conceived excuse to give a place in the history it wants to recreate.
But it is, I suspect, at least true. The situation is just reversed, as far as the dungeon goes. Novi and her people are the summons, not . It doesn't seem like a great ti to tell her, though, so I remain silent.
"You have no questions?" Novi prompts, surprised. I laugh.
"I suppose I guessed sothing along those lines," I admit. It's a partial lie, but not enough of one that I feel guilty about it.
"So summons have been known to have... breakdowns, when their origin is explained to them," Novi says after a mont. "I disagree with the practice. It feels unethical to create a being that may despair at its existence, and certainly unethical to do so to help with nial tasks. Fortunately the process only picks those who are anable to it, but that is a small comfort, I fear."
"How would you feel?" I ask. "If you learned you were a summon?"
Novi pauses briefly in her steps. "I do not know," she admits after a mont. "I do not think I would enjoy the knowledge, but it would be of little point to fight it. I think I would mostly be worried about my children. If those mories were false, and they did not exist..."
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She trails off and shakes her head. "I do not enjoy that thought."
"Can't bla you there," I mutter. That much, at least, she doesn't have to worry about: if she's the person I think she is, then her children are—or were—real.
Though given the way their story ended... I grimace a bit. Maybe I shouldn't reveal to her the nature of the dungeon and what's about to happen. Not yet, anyway.
"Tell about them?" I ask instead. Novi brightens at the words.
"You are an excellent Protector," she says. "You are curious! Very few of our summons exhibit curiosity. Perhaps there is sothing special about you?"
I laugh awkwardly. "Maybe?" I say. "I like to think I'm just interested in the world around . You clearly care about your children, so I'd like to know more about them."
"I am happy to talk about them." Novi smiles brightly. "They are Juri and Yarun, my sons. My bright ones. Juri is the elder of them—he is old enough now that he pretends he does not still love his toy sword and shield. Yarun keeps many dolls and figures and has detailed stories for each one. You should hear the tales he tells! Even Juri loves them, though I suspect that is because Yarun often has him playing the role of hero..."
The nas confirm my suspicions—Novi is the woman who wrote the record I read, the woman who detailed the end of the Empty City. There's an honest, earnest love in her voice as she tells us everything about her children. Their favorite foods, their bad habits, the embarrassing monts they've had.
A long ti ago, I might've found sothing like this exhausting. Now, though? I find myself just... relaxing and enjoying the conversation. Novi doesn't get the opportunity to talk about her children much, it seems, but everything about her is so truly genuine. She doesn't exaggerate how well they're doing, doesn't present her children as perfect, but the love she has is evident in every word she speaks.
Juri and Yarun have their flaws, but they are her children, and they are always trying. She encourages them through their failures and celebrates their successes. She teaches them to be good—to care about the people around them, to be curious about the world, to question and study and learn. She does it alone, too; her partner, she says, was lost a long ti ago, during the early days of the Awakening.
A small part of wonders what it might have been like to have a mother like this, but it's a small part. I've moved on from what happened with my family.
Guard and I are both content with listening. We interject with questions every once in a while, and slowly, through the lens of her children, we build a picture of the people that live here, of what the Empty City was before it beca... well, empty.
Their people are nad the scirix, and the city we're in is nad First Sky. It's the capital of the scirix empire, which is largely led by a circle of Elders. Those Elders are in turn advised by Seers, who Novi explains are individuals that have made enough progress with their Firmant for their guidance to quite literally shape civilisation.
"Almost everyone aspires to beco a Seer. I did, too, once," Novi confides in . "I am pleased with my role as Archivist now, but there was a ti where my desire to beco a Seer was everything to ."
"What changed?" I ask, though I think I know the answer. Novi smiles at .
"Juri was born," she says. I chuckle; that's more or less what I've co to expect from her. Her life was shaped by her children, it seems. "And I would change nothing. Seers are often... isolated. The ti, dedication and resources required to beco one are exorbitant. I would not have had the ti to spend with my children, and I would not trade that ti for anything—not even to beco Seer."
"You said they're all at the third phase shift, at minimum?" I ask. Novi nods.
"We have only five of them," she says. "Five Seers, each specializing in an Aspect. Force, Body, Mind, Energy, and Spirit."
"What are these Aspects?" I ask, curious. Novi gives a strange look.
"You know of phase shifts, but not of Aspects?" she asks. "Have you not done a phase shift yourself? Most Protectors are at least at the first layer, if not at the second."
"I have," I say. "But humor . Maybe our understanding of phase shifts are a little different."
"Hmm." Novi hums. "Yes. Well. The first layer demands that you tell the Firmant which of the five Aspects you are. Our Seers are the most developed along their respective, chosen paths."
I frown, casting my mind back to my first phase shift. That's not what I rember. I was asked a question, but I wasn't presented with a choice.
Who am I?
That was the question. But if what Novi is saying is correct, then either I was asked a different question, or their answers were... what, artificially constrained? By themselves and their understanding of Firmant, or by sothing else?
"You did not choose one?" Novi asks curiously.
"I can't say I was even aware of the Aspects," I answer. "I just answered with what I was feeling at the ti."
Which was "I'm whoever the fuck I want to be", but saying it out loud feels... a great deal more embarrassing than it was in context. Novi tilts her head, watching , curiosity evident in her eyes.
"I have never considered that one might align their Firmant with sothing outside the Aspects," she says slowly. "The Aspects govern our very selves. It is known that one of the five paths must be chosen, lest your Firmant begin to wither; it was a commandnt given to us by the gods themselves."
That sounds remarkably like an artificial cultural constraint, specifically of the type the Integrators might try to use to control a population. But it's baffling to that not a single person would have thought to test it. Then again, they've only had Firmant for sothing like ten years, and it takes a long ti to reach even the first phase shift for most...
Hm. No, given the tifra, it's entirely possible that no one's tested it yet. Who knows how long ago all this happened?
"You have given much to think about," Novi says. There's a contemplative note in her voice, like she's processing a realization she doesn't quite want to put to words yet. "Thank you for your knowledge—Ah! We have arrived."
The building we're at is initially unremarkable to . It's nondescript, unmarked warehouse tucked away in between the alleys and streets. It doesn't take long to notice that there's sothing strange about it, though. I frown, stepping closer.
It's shielded, sohow. Specifically, whatever material it's made of renders the interior almost opaque to my Firmant sense—I can sense sothing through it, but only barely, I rap a knuckle on the wall, noting that it feels like nothing more than ordinary brick. How is it blocking ?
"What are you doing?" Novi asks curiously.
"Just wondering why I can't feel any Firmant through the walls," I say absently. If the rebels had had this back in Isthanok, they would've been able to stay entirely shielded from Whisper. Not that it matters now, with her out of commission.
Novi brightens at my words. "You can sense Firmant!" she says. "That is a unique talent! It will be useful in the journey to co. These walls are made of blessed brick; it's said that the gods themselves treated it. Personally, I think it's one of the Seers."
There's that ntion of gods again. I eye the brick curiously—part of is itching to get a hold of the material and attempt sothing like an imbuent, just to see what would happen. Now's probably not the best ti for it, though. "I don't suppose I could get my hands on so blessed brick?"
Novi laughs. "Goodness, if only it were that easy. I will put in a good word for you when we are done with our mission, yes?"
"I'd appreciate that."
She grins at , humming under her breath as she fishes around in her pockets for the keys. It's still striking to how much First Sky reminds of Earth—everything from construction materials to the architecture of the buildings is close enough that if I squint, I can almost make myself believe I'm ho.
There are subtle differences, of course. The scirix don't seem to like corners, for so reason? Every roof of every building has corners that are sanded off into a taper. I couldn't begin to guess why.
I'm shaken from my thoughts as Novi suddenly sways. Her keys fall to the ground and she catches herself on the nearby wall; one hand clutches at her head, her entire body folded into a grimace. "Novi? Are you okay?" I ask, hurrying to her side and steadying her.
Protect Novi, the Archivist. I haven't forgotten that I'm in the middle of a Ritual stage, ta as this one seems to be. But then, it hasn't even begun yet, has it?
"Yes," Novi whispers faintly. She blinks and shakes her head. "Yes. I am fine, it was just... a montary lapse. Nothing to worry about."
"If you say so," I say doubtfully. There was nothing fine about that, but I'm hardly an expert on scirix physiology.
"Here," she says. She leans down and picks her keys back up, fumbling to unlock the door. "I am sure you know the mission already, but to brief you again: The Archivists have recently uncovered an old Firmant artifact buried just outside First Sky. The Elders have commanded that we transport it to the Shadowed Laboratory. You should be aware that the artifact tends to draw in hostile Firmant—it's the reason we have to keep it in this warehouse."
"Right," I say. She opens the door, stepping through, and blinks in surprise.
Right behind her, I freeze. There's another scirix standing in the room, sitting on top of the box containing the Seed. He wears a steady, easy smile, looking for all the world like he belongs in this room. Like he's here to take care of the box.
But he doesn't, and he isn't.
"Ethan, that's..." Ahkelios speaks up from within . Even without being manifested, I can feel his shock.
"Yeah, I know," I respond. What I don't know is what to do about it. Judging by the look on her face, Novi recognizes him. I, on the other hand, don't. His appearance is entirely unfamiliar to .
But his Firmant isn't, and now that the warehouse's walls aren't in the way, I can read it perfectly.
He might be twisted into the shape of a scirix and forced to play a role in this dungeon, but that's a Remnant.
Specifically, Ahkelios's Remnant.
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