Fear, Gheraa had to admit, was an entirely new sensation for him.

He wasn't sure he liked it. It made his Firmament flicker with silver. Silver! It was gaudy at best, really, and it made it very, very difficult for him to properly use his skills.

Like the one he was currently using to hide.

Granted, a big part of that was because he had to control the skill manually, and that was something he hadn't done since... what, his third layer ceremony? He hadn't needed to once the Interface had properly integrated into his being; it sensed everything he needed to do and did it for him.

He probably should have planned ahead for this particular eventuality.

"Should've known, should've known," he muttered to himself. It made holding Perfect Concealment harder, but keeping quiet was even more stressful. He'd never had to keep quiet. "Should've realized they could lock me out before I started rebelling. They do it to Trialgoers that go rogue after their Trials, why not you? You don't have the protection of a Trial. Come on, Gheraa, you knew better."

...That hadn't helped as much as he hoped, the whole talking out loud thing. He ducked behind a door as another wave of Revelation Firmament washed down it; that thing would unveil him as soon as it touched him, and he couldn't afford that.

They knew what he was doing now. His little trick with the Inspiration had been discovered. Gheraa had, if nothing else, taken a small measure of satisfaction in the look of utter rage on his dear supervisor's face; the man had been far too stupid and far too easy to trick.

It was probably a good thing he'd ducked away instead of letting himself get smacked around this time. It wasn't like what he'd done was a redeemable offense.

But if he asked himself if he regretted it...

Heh. Not really. Ethan had been terribly amusing to watch, and what had begun as raw impulse and frustration had turned into a genuine desire to see the Trialgoer succeed. The man was anomalous in all the right ways. Grinding the stump of his arm into the ground to keep himself conscious? Absurd. He was pretty sure doing that would've made most other humans just black out. And then there was the ridiculous impulse to help everyone he came across—it was like Ethan just couldn't help himself.

He'd seen hundreds of other Trialgoers try their hand with this Trial, and every single one of them had just given up on others. What was the point in trying to fix things that would just reset in the next loop? And here was Ethan, finding ways to keep things going through the loops, getting himself involved with rebellions, of all things!

He couldn't just let Ethan fail after all that. He had to warn him.

Gheraa was under no illusions as to his odds of survival. Now that he'd been discovered, it was matter of time before the rest of the Integrators found him and either executed him or Reintegrated him; either one was essentially a death, though the latter was a more terrifying thought. To have all his personality and memory stripped out of him? He'd rather die. It was a violation of the highest order.

He very much wanted to run, in other words. Not that he had much of a chance if he ran, but right now, he was sort of... running in the opposite direction. Lowering his odds even more.

"You're a bad influence, Ethan," Gheraa muttered to himself. Fear fluttered within him—but so did excitement. A grin he didn't understand stole across his face. "You better appreciate this. I'm gonna be mad if you make me die for nothing."

Not that he'd let himself die that easily. Maybe Ethan would figure out his little gift and find him before he was killed? He didn't think it was very likely, but he could hope! Wasn't that what Ethan did all the time anyway?

Control room ahead.

His Interface had been locked. He couldn't warn Ethan through it. Which meant there was really only one way he'd be able to contact his Trialgoer, and that was through the master Interface controls.

Terrible name for a room built out of dead Integrators and their Interface connections, but whatever. And maybe he could sneak in a little gift, too? Something to help him through the storm that was coming.

Gheraa burst into the control room. Part of him was worried he'd be discovered immediately, but... there was no one here. Strange. Maybe they'd all assumed he would run and gone searching for him elsewhere.

Come to think of it, many Integrators did think he was a coward. But to leave the control room empty? Pfft. They'd underestimated him.

He made his way to the center Interface and began to work.

He didn't get to work for long, though. All of five minutes later, he felt Firmament so strong he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"You... doing that for fun, or something?" he managed to say. "I... I know seventh-layers are strong, but making me choke when I don't even need to breathe feels kind of unnecessary."

"That's what you're worried about?" Lhore raised an eyebrow at him. "It's involuntary, if you must know. A big enough Firmament difference makes all the latent memory in your Firmament wake up. And a lot of Firmament is produced by things that need to breathe. You don't have any lungs, so the reflex makes it feel like you're suffocating."

"Thanks... for explaining it to me." Gheraa gritted his teeth. If lungs were all he needed...

He made a small adjustment, then took another gasping breath, relieved. Lhore's power still hung heavily over him, but the sensation that made him feel like he was choking was gone.

Unpleasant. Sometimes he didn't know how Ethan could stand being human. Or other organics, for that matter.

"You've made lungs for yourself before," Lhore said. It was a statement, not a question. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Need to be able to breathe to put on a good show." Gheraa grinned. "What kind of entertainer can't even gasp in shock?"

"You've always taken the entertainment part of your job rather seriously." Lhore took a step back, examining him, and Gheraa shifted self-consciously under the weight of her gaze.

He didn't care what she thought. He didn't.

Lhore sighed. "I always did like your broadcasts," she admitted. "I thought you'd go far. Pity you decided to turn against us."

"Maybe Rhoran's primary method of discipline shouldn't be beating us up, then."

"Is that what he does?" Lhore considered this, then shrugged. "I suppose it's his right. I disapprove, for the record. If you had come to me, I might have had you reassigned."

"Because that solves the problem."

Lhore didn't comment. "I'm impressed you managed to hide from me for so long," she said. "Most Integrators can't fight very well if their Interface gets locked down. Still stronger than any Trialgoer, but forget about using skills. Let alone ones like Perfect Concealment."

"Is this a praise-Gheraa session, or are you going to do what you came here to do?" Gheraa asked. He slowly forced himself to his feet, the back of his palms pressing against the console.

One more button. He only needed to press one more button.

"I suppose I'm curious enough to talk, first," Lhore said. "Why rebel at all? And if you were going to rebel, why go out of your way to help this particular human? I might've let you go, if you just ran instead of coming here."

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Gheraa snorted. "We both know that isn't true," he said, then went silent; Lhore waited as he tried to compose a response. Truth be told, he didn't have a good, rational reason behind choosing to stay behind and warn Ethan. Sure, Ethan had promised to save him—but what were the odds of that? It was an empty promise at best, even if it had been a comforting lie at the time. There wasn't a chance some new Trialgoer would get strong enough during their Trial to not only infiltrate the Integrated City, bypass every single guard and Integrator to fetch him, then somehow escape intact.

Not a chance. The odds were beyond impossible, even with what he'd done to help. All logic dictated that Ethan would die in the attempt, most likely permanently, and they would move on to the next Trialgoer.

"It's weird," Gheraa admits. "But you know, he saw what was going on with me. What Rhoran was doing."

"And that was enough to earn your loyalty?" There was a hint of derision in Lhore's voice.

In spite of himself, Gheraa smiled. "No," he said. "It's the fact that when he told me he'd save me, I believed him."

Lhore scoffs. "No human would be able to get into this space, let alone escape. They would die just from the pressure."

"I know!" Gheraa laughed. "I know. It should be impossible. And I believed him anyway, against all reason, against all common sense. Isn't that strange?"

"You are describing yourself as a fool. And he will not be able to survive what's coming, let alone find a way to save you."

"I know that too." Gheraa grinned, though the grin fell away after a moment; his expression settled, and he looked at Lhore, his gaze as placid and calm as a lake. "Y'know what's weird?"

"...What?"

"Despite all that," Gheraa said. "I still believe him. It's not about me being a fool, Lhore. There's something about that human."

Lhore shook her head, disgusted. "You will not live long enough for him to save you."

"Yeah," Gheraa said. "I know that, too."

His fingers had found the button on the console behind him. Lhore's eyes widened.

"I still believe him," he continued. "Funny how that works."

"Gheraa—" Lhore started forward, a gleaming scythe of pure, deadly Firmament forming in her hand. Gheraa laughed. In any other situation, she could have killed him instantly, but his guess had been right: he was too close to the console, and she was afraid of damaging it. It made her slower. Any force too strong would be liable to knock the delicate balance of the control system for the Interface apart. The stupid thing was hacked together enough as it was.

He pressed the button, and found it in himself to give Lhore one final smirk, even as the scythe descended on him.

----------------------------------------

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding. There's a spate of notifications in front of me, but at least for the moment, I'm more focused internally. There had been a split second of something, right at the end, an echo of an echo I caught in the moment just before I woke up.

Gheraa's personality construct. There was something there, as he sacrificed his Firmament and poured the rest of himself into making that conversion core for me. Something similar to what I'd noticed before when the Void Inspiration reacted to the Hunger Firmament—something hiding underneath, once all the layers of Firmament were stripped bare.

Intent. But not just intent. There was memory there, like everything Gheraa had imprinted onto the Firmament had been left behind as a loose clump of ideas and concepts. The memory of our conversation, too, lingering between it all. A spiderweb of thoughts and memories.

It's entirely instinct that makes me reach out for it. I remember a loose thought before, about wanting to find a way to preserve this version of Gheraa. At the time, it had been a passing fancy; I didn't want a fully sapient construct to die, and I felt a little uncomfortable with the idea that Gheraa's main self wouldn't be aware of the vulnerability his construct had shown to me.

The moment I notice that echo, that passing fancy turns into a reaction, and I wrap that collection of thoughts and memories in a sphere of pure Firmament. I have to work quickly—I don't have much Firmament that's pure, which means I have to pump Firmament through the new core Gheraa created for me and fashion it into something large enough to hold everything.

It takes me one minute. Sixty seconds exactly. Time is impossibly precise as I'm doing this. For whatever reason, I'm perfectly aware of how much time has passed, and a small part of myself marks that as strange. Something's changed.

Then it's done. The new construct—not alive, but a sort of holding pattern, similar to the way skills are built—sits in between the rest of my Inspirations, hiding somewhere within me. Holding a copy of Gheraa's... what, his soul? Or at least an echo of him. A vestige.

"Uh, Ethan?" Ahkelios pokes me hard, and I make an indignant noise. He sighs in relief and gives me a tiny hug, though he's large enough now that this means he's wrapping himself around my chest like insectoid body armor. I pry him off, laughing.

"Relax, Ahkelios, I'm fine," I say. "Just had something I had to take care of, uh, internally. I see you've gotten bigger."

"And I got some memories back!" Ahkelios says, injecting a note of false cheer in his voice. "It's not as bad as I worried, but I still wanna talk about them. Later, I mean. After you deal with... this."

"You see them too, huh?" I say. Ahkelios is staring at the same notifications I am. I've sort of been avoiding looking at them, because there's a bad feeling boiling within me.

They're not normal Interface messages. They're messages from Gheraa.

[ Ethan. It's Gheraa. I don't have much time. They figured out what I was doing. I might be dead by the time you read this. Don't worry! Or do worry. I'm not eager to die or anything. I'd appreciate it if you could save me. ]

[ I don't know if you've unlocked my little gift yet. If you haven't, you're going to need to trigger the Interface's Mind Vault. Any strong enough existential threat should do it. Can't explain more, sorry. ]

[ The Integrators are trying to shut you down. We can't interfere with an ongoing Trial, not really, but we can start events. Raids, for example. If you're reading this message, one's probably already started, and they're probably going to have it on the worst possible setting to try to make you give up. One try, all persistent deaths. ]

[ I snuck to the control room. I'm giving you two temporary skills to help. You can't get permanent ones without credits. Be careful—the first is going to break apart quickly once you start using it; it's still pretty half-formed since no one's completed your Trial yet. I'm estimating this might give you four tries in the best case scenario. ]

[ Good luck, Ethan. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. ]

A raid. My heart begins to hammer in my chest. I remember the last one all too clearly, and how badly the first loop in it; they're calling one down on Isthanok? That's Whisper's city! Whisper's on their side! There are so many people in here that a raid would turn into an absolute slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people—

I'm trembling, but not in fear. Ahkelios's fists are balled tight as he stands on my shoulder and silently reads. Bimar seems to have noticed the change in atmosphere, because she approaches warily.

"Tell me he gave you something to help," Ahkelios says quietly. Despite the volume, there's a layer of rage in it that's heavily reminiscent of my own.

I glance down at the next notifications. "He did," I say.

Four tries in the best case scenario, even though I'm only supposed to have one.

[ You have been credited with a Firmament skill. Once More Into the Fray (Rank SS) obtained! ]

[ You have been credited with a Reflex skill. Guardian of Fate (Rank S) obtained! ]

The rest of my Interface notifications are about the upcoming raid. I scowl and swipe them away, then turn my focus back toward the skills.

One skill to try again. One skill to see what I need to do. I feel them both within me, pulsing with strange, foreign power, not quite settled into me the way the rest of my skills are. It doesn't matter. They're gifts, and I intend to use them.

Guardian of Fate.

Information pours into me, and through me into Ahkelios. We both stiffen.

Tarin, connecting to Guard through his Firmament. Whisper's fury is palpable behind them, and I can see the suspicion forming, the thought that he can't be allowed to live. I feel her preparing to strike as soon as he disconnects.

He-Who-Wanders, speaking with some sort of merchant-lord. He's managed to trick his way in, but there are whispers in the back of the room—people looking into his background and discovering his lie. They won't let him leave alive.

Vahrkos, about to engage in battle. He'll win. He'll win the first fight, and the next, and the next. He'll hold strong until the general arrives, but he'll be too battered by then to win that last, crucial battle. His dead body will be puppeted by a Void Suit.

Thys and Thaht... safe. They're in their workshop. Nothing in the near future, but I'll have to keep an eye out.

Miktik. Missing. Guardian of Fate is powerful, and it should be able to latch on to anyone and everyone I care about. But there's an absence where she should be. A void. She isn't dead, but something's wrong.

"Change of plans," I say to Bimar, my voice grim. "Integrators are interfering. Everyone's in danger. I need you to stay here."

"Your plan didn't work, huh?" Bimar looks like she's about to scoff, but she sees the look in my eyes, and something in her shifts. She shakes her head. "I can't just do nothing."

"...Look for Miktik." I don't have time to search for her, and Guardian of Fate can latch on to Bimar just fine. "I don't know where she is. I can see everyone else, but not her. Find her. And stay hidden. The city's under attack."

"It's under what?" Bimar begins, but I'm gone before she can finish her sentence.