I frowned, taken aback by that statement.

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should? If I came up with a unique specialization, why wouldn’t I try to pursue that?”

“You’ve already discovered that the Affinities are upgraded not just through practice, but also understanding, yes?”

Shrugging, I nodded agreement. “Sure, that was the point of the meditation, right?”

He held up a single, giant blue finger. “One of the reasons, but yes. So the limitation on your advancement is largely created by your understanding of the Affinity in question.” His eyes twinkled as a wry smile formed. “Let me ask you a question. How would you rate your understanding of friction? How about mass? Physics, in general?”

I squirmed under his gaze, realizing the direction he was getting at. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Athena hiding a mocking smile beneath her hair. Whirling on her, I raised my eyebrows in question.

“You can’t even spell physics, dork,” I scolded jokingly.

She crossed her arms and gave me a defiant look.

“P. H. Y. S. I. C. S. Sixth grade spelling bee champ…dork.” She pursed her lips in triumph. “Oh, and I won the fifth grade science fair, so I probably know more about physics than you do.” She stuck her tongue out and wagged her shoulders in a taunting manner.

Damn, she actually probably did. But I wasn’t gonna let a ten-year-old have the final say.

“You would be a spelling bee and science fair kid. I probably would have given you a nuggie and stolen your lunch money.” I tilted my head like an idea had just occurred to me. “In fact…” Stepping forward, I moved like I was about to wrap her in a headlock and do exactly that.

She pounced backward, a snarl on her lips. Her short sword appeared in her hand with a swish of iron.

“Bring it, dummy. Been a few days since I gutted you with Betty.” She waved her sword in a fancy pattern that Kurian must have taught her.

But all I could think about was that name.

“Betty!? God, it’s bad enough you named your little toothpick. But Betty? I’d hate to see what horrendous name you give your children.” I snapped my fingers with a smile. “Hey, I know! Let’s name your first born Gertrude. We’ll call her Gerty and she totally wont be made fun of—”

“Are you two finished?” Kurian asked with a curt tone.

Athena’s face dropped instantly and I had the good grace to look abashed.

“Sorry, Master Kure.”

I held my hand up and echoed her apology.

“Sorry, Kurian. Please, go on.”

His eyes tracked between the two of us as if waiting for us to start squabbling again. When we didn’t immediately disappoint him, he nodded and continued his point.

“The limitation, then, is your individual conception of these Affinities. The System has selected your possible specializations based on what it believes you are capable of incorporating.”

“Believes?” I asked. “So you’re saying that I could choose a specialization and still stall out in my development?”

His brow arched. “Of course. Otherwise, any Cultivator could select the System specializations and take a very simple Path. There’s nothing wrong with the well-worn Path,” he added. “But the well-worn Path also has many travelers. If you recall, my battles with Conflict stemmed from that very fact. It is the nature of an Aspect. They are the singularity of their Affinity; the tip of the blade connected to a very long spear.” He shook his head. “No, that analogy doesn’t fit. Rather, the spear exists regardless of us Cultivators—even the Aspects standing atop the pinnacle. In reality, we are ants crawling up its shaft, striving to claim the blade’s edge. In order to reach the very tip, you must throw the other ants in your way off the spear’s shaft. Climb over them, if you must. That is the only Path to Aspecthood.”

Adopting a poor Scottish accent, I puffed out my chest heroically. “There can be only one!”

Silence filled the large room and I glanced between Athena and Kurian.

“Highlander? No one?”

Kurian simply stared down at me impassively. I leaned around him to lock eyes with Lex.

“Little help here?”

“Honk. Sorry, not in my Earth modules.”

Beside me, Athena whispered under her breath.

“Dorrrrrrk.”

My face flushed, but I didn’t rise to the bait. As much as I enjoyed our squabbles, Kurian didn’t appear in the mood.

“Okay,” I said. “That all makes sense. What would be your suggestion? I suppose I could find a physics textbook and brush up…” The mere thought made me shudder.

“Practical application will suffice,” he replied. Oh, thank God. “Besides, the limitation of Earth-based understanding is also a factor. Regardless of what you might believe, this world’s conceptual science is infantile. This is not meant as an insult, but a warning.” He held his hand out, palm up, at my head level. Athena craned on her tippy toes to see, but Kurian didn’t adjust for her benefit. A projection floated above his hand and I recognized it immediately. “The basic atom as taught by your people. Protons, neutrons, and electrons, yes?”

Athena and I shared a questioning look, as if to say, ‘Sounds right to me, how about you?’ When neither of us had anything to add, Kurian continued.

“More recently, your scientists identified the possibility of even smaller particles, such as the Neutrino …” The projection changed, showing even smaller particles zipping around. “Most acknowledged that their understanding was limited, but there is always the added limitations of not knowing what you don’t know. In this case, your scientists were missing a crucial factor hampering their experiments.” The projection split into layers, each stacking on top of the other, creating a multi-level image of different sized particles. The layers were relatively self contained, but appeared to have some minimal overlap with their adjacent layers. “Your science had not yet evolved to the point where you could identify other planes of existence. Some of you were anecdotally aware of overlapping planes, classifying them as ghosts, spirits, divine elements, or unknown phenomena. But you were never able to quantify or qualify those existences.”

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My eyes went wide. “Hold up. You’re saying that supernatural occurrences not only existed for real, but were indications of overlaps between the adjacent planes touching our universe?” I snorted and shook my head in disbelief. “For some reason, I buy the whole magic thing, the existence of alien races, and this Tower Apocalypse no problem. It never occurred to me that spirits were actually real.”

He nodded, indicating the projection in his hand. A single plane in the stack highlighted. “Imagine this is your universe.” The layer on top bulged downward, closing the gap between the two until that specific point overlapped with the highlighted layer. “When an overlap occurs, these phenomena you reference become more frequent. This can happen randomly, at set times, or due to external factors.”

Well, shit. Guess that explained Samhain and other spiritual holidays.

My mind spiraled with all the possible connections but I reined it in.

“I think I’m missing the trees from the forest here,” I said. “So there’s this whole new, overarching component to the physics of the universe, or multiverse, or whatever. Does that mean that I’m operating from a flawed perspective? Will this Path I’m stepping on diverge into a dead end?” Then a thought occurred to me and my brow raised. “You could just teach me, right? With your knowledge, I could solidify my understanding of physics on an Integrated Universe level!”

“You could.”

Elation filled my chest. With Kurian teaching me, I’d form the perfect foundation. Everything would fall into place and—

His next words deflated me like a popped tire.

“But I wont.”

Frowning, I didn’t immediately respond. My gut instinct was to complain and demand an explanation. But I was beginning to understand Kurian’s methods. He wasn’t one for spite and I didn’t think he was gatekeeping that knowledge to elicit something from me.

I mean, shit, what could I give someone like Kurian? The only thing I imagined he wanted was his freedom and that was not something I was equipped to offer.

He watched me—waiting for my reaction, it seemed—and when it was clear he wouldn’t offer up an explanation, I began to brainstorm possible reasons. Athena looked between us, obviously confused at the interaction, but she had the social maturity and awareness not to interject.

Now, what were some reasons Kurian would not help guide me to the best of his abilities? The immediate thought was that he was an indentured servant to Conflict. Perhaps he was just following his contract or whatever to the letter. Providing extra services or information wasn’t in his job description.

I discarded that thought immediately. He had demonstrated that he not only cared, but was willing to go above and beyond. He had very early on taken Athena under his wing and was providing her with very precise individual attention. Of course, it was possible that he just liked her and not so much me. Though he definitely had taken a shine to her, I hadn’t once received the impression that he actively disliked me.

My next thought was that he was restricted from telling me certain things. I’d seen firsthand his mental battle against Null—the new Integration Guide—and I didn’t blame him if he wasn’t interested in fighting that battle again over me.

Again, though, that didn’t feel right to me. He had shown obvious contempt for Null and I didn’t imagine he would be afraid to buck his leash if he felt it was to my benefit.

To my benefit…

That thought triggered something and I realized that I had formed my train of thought around an assumed premise. What if he was guiding me to the best of his abilities by not teaching me Integrated Universe physics? What if by giving me the full picture, he would be hampering my development?

Only a few seconds had passed, but Athena was fidgeting beside me. As fun as it would be to let her squirm, I wanted to see if my thought process was on the right track.

“You wont teach me because doing so would color my perception of my Affinities?” I phrased it like a question, studying his face to see if I was warm. “Because improving Affinities isn’t about being right in the empirical sense, but about increasing the connection between you and your specific cores…”

As I spoke, a smile spread across his face, and a feeling of pride filled me.

“Not quite,” he replied, and my face fell. He held out a finger. “But close enough.” I squinted, waiting for him to explain. “You’re correct in your reasoning for why I wont hand you the secrets of the Integrated Universe. It would affect your understanding in ways that would be impossible to undo or correct if you reached a faulty or hasty conclusion. However, while perspective is a factor, there are wrong answers as well.” He waved his hand and the projection disappeared. Pulling out his chair from thin air, he eased back into it, bringing his face almost level with mine. “I wont hand you the answers, because I want you to reach your potential. I wont hand you the answers, because some revelations need to be self-realized.” He leaned in, his face half a foot from mine. “By not handing you the answers, I’m giving you the greatest chance to realize your own potential.” Leaning back, he looked up at the ceiling—no, he looked past the ceiling. “Struggle, strife, conflict, experimentation—” He looked back and rotated his gaze between Athena and I. “—those are the hallmarks of a successful Ascent. Never in all my years did I hear of a prodigy rising through the Stages by being shepherded on the easy Path.” A wry smile touched his lips. “I’ve never heard of it…because it’s never happened.”

When he was finished, I let out a heavy breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. As he spoke, it was almost as if I was feeling the weight of his struggles—the weight of centuries, millennia, scrabbling and fighting and clawing his way up his Path.

And still, he had faltered. Still, he had been subjugated and swept off the blade’s edge. To work so hard and for so long, only to find at the end that someone stronger, smarter, and with a greater destiny stood in your way. The thought was sobering.

“Reaching the pinnacle requires a singular mind,” he continued, echoing my thoughts. “Only the mad and the incredibly driven ever even come close. And in the end…” He spread his hands wide as if to say, ‘what can you do.’ “In the end, sometimes, no matter how determined or powerful you are, it doesn’t really matter.”

I chewed on his words for a minute, really trying to digest them. Did I have what it took to reach the top? All my life, I considered myself exactly what Kurian described—driven in a singular pursuit almost to the point of madness. I’d seen how successful that could make a person.

I’d also seen how lonely and unbalanced it could make a person.

Ten years of my life in a concrete box had sapped that drive from me. I’d come to terms with the fact that I was a has-been, a growth on the ass of proper society that they couldn’t excise. It had taken the end of the world as we knew it to spur me out of my melancholy and self-hate. A new goal, a new path to climb.

The Tower.

And now…? Now, I had shades of the old Dirk—only better. It felt like the fate of Earth hung on my shoulders and I was willing to bear that burden. The Tower threatened our existence. The Jree threatened our existence. Even the Co’xatl were allies of convenience. But what came next? What if I beat back the Jree threat? What if I conquered the Tower?

What if I saved Earth?

Did I have the drive to continue upward? Was there any feasible reason to continue on my Path if humanity was saved? Reaching the top just to reach the top wasn’t enough—this wasn’t Everest, where the end was in sight, where the climber knew that others had done it before and they could, too. Even those first pioneers had seen the peak from the ground below and knew it was attainable. Hell, even the first European explorers of North America had the indigenous people to prove that life could exist and thrive across the continent.

My struggle wasn’t that I doubted that I could Climb the Tower’s heights. It wasn’t even worry that I would stumble and fall along the way. My fear, large and looming in this very moment, was that I would stop at that checkpoint. That I’d declare victory and throw my hands up in final celebration.

Because I knew—deep down in my bones, I knew—that if I decided here and now that the top of my Tower was the end goal, that I’d call myself satisfied with conquering the Tower, then I’d never do it.

That was the difference between a sprint and a marathon. The sprinter always knows the end is only a few seconds away—they can give their all in that exact moment and deal with the pain and exhaustion after.

The marathoner knows that you can’t visualize the end in your mind or the burden of that distance will eat you up. The marathoner dissociates from that goal, taking the race in bite-sized chunks. One step in front of the other, one mile at a time.

One Floor at a time.

I didn’t have the answers I needed—not at this moment. But I had the question and that was the first step.

One step at a time. That was how you completed a race that most humans considered impossible.

One step at a time…