Ib was ill at ease.

Contrary to what some believed - it faking good cheer because it always felt awkward, marginalised - it was genuinely happy most of the time. Even now, after the revelation and the loss.

It understood Midworld's myriad facets and more numerous possibilities, as well as those of creation beyond. The sensation of freedom that had always appealed to it; its true self, speaking to its corporeal one.

Even if it had only recently become able to hear the call, much less understand it.

Now, however, Ib felt like it was about to lose another crewmate, another member of the family it had found, the only one it had ever had.

If Ryzhan wasn't gone already.

Contrary to what it had expected, the thought didn't unsettle it, though it make it angry. Some part of it knew the mage was still somewhere out there, lost in the endless fog. The part that was most in tune with its power, to overcome anything it viewed as an obstacle.

Passively. Ib couldn't help but think it would've gone faster if it could direct the...process? Was it even a process, or something already finished, which it had only to reach out and take?

Well. Necessity was always a good, if demanding, teacher. Ib only regretted that it was being pushed to discover its abilities while Ryzhan's wellbeing, if not life, hung in the balance.

It cursed the fact they hadn't encountered anything dangerous in the past year, any threat or obstacle demanding enough to push it, make it evolve. The thought drew a dark chuckle from it, despite itself.

Wishing to be in danger for the sake of more power suited the Free Fleet, if anyone, but it was no longer what they had built it to be, if it had ever been.

Striding purposefully seemed to yield no result, so Ib stopped walking, to gather its thoughts and catch its breath - so to speak.

Maybe, if it planned enough, its power would see its inability to reach Ryzhan as an obstacle, and kick it. Ib viewed the idea with sullen disdain, lip curling just as it formed on its face, then chastised itself at the ridiculous gripe.

Its power was part of it, no different from a limb. Just because it had only possessed access to a fraction of it until last year, it didn't mean it was...betraying itself, or failing, or disappointing anyone.

Maybe the last part was a lie, but Ib would wrestle with that later. Its power was not foreign to it. Using it was what breathing was to humans. Natural. Necessary, even. Maybe, if it used it enough, such worries would disappear.

For now...it had to think.

What was the fog? It had never seen or heard of anything like it, but then, that wasn't too surprising. Midworld's very nature meant sailors could encounter dangers they would never get to tell others about, even if they survived them, merely because of distance.

At the same time, two crews could encounter identical menaces, but never know it, their lives and experiences separated by trillions of leagues...ah.

A smile dawned on Ib's face. It had thought about the fog enough its power had awakened, filling in the blanks that had prevented it from learning the truth and reaching a conclusion.

So; the fog was a natural phenomenon, inasmuch as Midworld's navigational hazards could be called natural. It was produced by the environment rather than engineered by any thinking being.

The damages wrought by such being the fog brought to the steamer notwithstanding.

As far as Ib could tell, the fog did not think for itself, nor was it even evil on instinct. If anything, it acted like an exagerrated version of the fog that always seemed to be present in ghost stories, or tales about disaster at sea.

Ib searched for a proper term and, sensing it was floundering, its power reached out, far beyond the boundaries of Midworld and the ocean of magic that surrounded it, and into a finite universe, into a small, blue world spinning around a sun. A strange concept, to be sure, but Ib persevered. And in this world of caged lightning and immaterial books, was the term Ib desired, even if it did not know until it had it.

Meme. A living story, or concept, much like...no. Not at all like itself, now that it thought more about it. An idea, but not an Idea. There was nothing of the Void Beyond Voids within it.

Ib tried to sense Ryzhan through the piece of itself it had left on him, and failed. Oh, the piece was still out there, as easy to feel as its main self's fingers. It hadn't been destroyed. Ib highly doubted any of it could be permanently damaged now, much less ended.

But it was no longer on Ryzhan. Either he had thrown it off, when his mind had come under the fog's influence, or it had simply been lost in the agitation, sent flying by his movements.

Ib frowned to itself. That's what it got for trying to be unobtrusive. Yes, the piece of itself had easy stuck to the inside of Ryz's collar, what with being the size of a grain of sand, but that only meant it also lacked stability.

It should have shapeshifted it into something heavier, since it hadn't done the job itself, but it had been too busy fighting that undead facsimile of the captain. It had thought breaking its joints and ripping off its manhood would at least give it pause, if only out of shock, but it hadn't.

Then again, it had only removed a shrivelled, rotten thing. It wouldn't have felt overly dismayed in the undead's place. Not like it needed it for anything.

Ib took cold comfort in having damaged the revenant enough for Ryzhan to overpower it, before finishing the job.

But then its friend had wandered off, lost in delusion, and it was up to it to bring him back to reality.

If Ib had been in a poetic mood, it would have, perhaps, been moved. As things were, its mood was sardonic at best. At least retrieving Ryzhan would be a simpler affair than the meeting with the Free Fleet, and it had been waiting for a chance to truly pay its friend back.

The fog, though not artificial, was decidedly bizarre, compared to any weather hazard Ib had ever encountered before. Its mundane senses were, at first, baffled by the apparent endlessness of the mist. Even before its awakening, Ib's sight had been able to cover any distance, unless an obstacle happened to be in the way; which, in hindsight, should have made it think more than it had, on the days its mind had allowed it to.

Its hearing and smell had been similarly sharp. Unless obstructed by an unusually powerful noise or stench, they had reached out over endless leagues.

Now that it knew what it was, Ib had grown in all aspects. Its power sensed the immensity of the fog, saw it as a barrier, and furiously set to work, in search of a way to overcome it.

The first step consisted of broadening its senses. An instant after this came the realisation that the fog actually was infinite, which irritated Ib more than it surprised or shocked it. It wondered whether it was becoming jaded, or simply short-tempered, and if that had to do with its old, newfound power.

Perhaps the Free Fleet had been right, in its fears. Perhaps, one day, it would grow tired of indulging the petty needs of insufferable mortals, and crown itself god and king of Midworld. It liked to think it would do a better job than any past or present pretenders.

Of course, Ib thought to itself, I must be in a bloody foul mood if I'm entertaining the idea of godhood as a cure for boredom.

With a shake of its head, the grey giant pushed the thought aside. Later. It had all of eternity ahead of itself.

Ryzhan was easy enough to find, with its improved senses and reflexes: in order to search across an endless expanse in a finite amount of time, its perception, cognition and reflexes had to be infinite. And, since its body standing still from its own perspective would've been an obstacle to its peace of mind, that had, as well, been enhanced.

Which had brought some interesting, but appreciated, and not entirely unexpected side effects. After all, boundless strength to generate limitless speed, and durability to withstand it, were only logical.

Ib snorted in amusement. Very little about its creation or nature was logical. Its power was just spoiling it, really, not that it minded.

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In Midworld, you cherished every true gift with the same passion with which you loathed the poisonous ones.

His mage friend was walking the deck with surety that would've been surprising, had Ib not known he was being made to live his fantasies. It was not hard to accept that Ryzhan saw himself as being in control, at least of himself, even in his nightmares.

Ib wished it could do something, anything, to make him forget such dark things once and forever, but, alas, it was nowhere near that wise.

And altering Ryzhan's mind, while the easy way out, was not something it wanted to do. Like many easy options, it would stain its conscience forever, even if the mage would probably be grateful, after a few millennia, or eons,

Creation had always had a perverse sense of humour.

The least it could do for him would be to end this sad farce, then bring him back to safety.

Surely tinkering with the mage's mind to save it from the outside force that had already twisted it was forgivable? Even heroic, in a certain light?

You would not be having such qualms, a voice hissed into Ib's mind, if you were not so shaken by your origin. And it is only by the dint of the power you've had since birth that you've had time to ponder all this, before he could be harmed.

Ib held back a groan - was it really this annoying? It must've been insufferable, if it couldn't stand its own voice whispering into its head - and began to move towards Ryzhan. At the same time, it sought a different fraction of itself, thankfully still attached and watching over its charge.

* * *

'Sorry, boss,' the blob of grey substance told Mharra, who glared at it shrewdly. 'But I cannot let you out into the fog. I've found Ryzhan, but I shouldn't have lost him in the first place. I can't bear the thought of endangering another friend.'

Mharra's eyes softened, and he stood up from his chair, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked around his captain's desk. 'That's very kind of you, Ib,' he said honestly. 'If you have judged this mist to be too dangerous for me, I am inclined to believe you. After all, you couldn't lie or mislead me to save your life, and the possibility of you being wrong, despite your marvelous power, scared me far too much to contemplate it.'

The blob reared up, like an upset cobra, before becoming an identical copy of Ib's main self. Mharra pretended to miss the way it casually leaned against the wall next to his cabin's door.

Not like he was insane enough to think he could force his way past it, nor suicidal enough to want to.

'However,' Mharra continued, testing the waters. 'I cannot help but be curious.'

'A dangerous habit, captain,' Ib quipped. 'Might I suggest being keelhauled instead?'

Mharra smiled into his beard. 'What if I were to order you to stand aside, and let me pass? Go out to face the danger.'

'With me at your side?' the giant asked.

'Obviously.'

Ib tilted its head to one side, which Mharra knew was solely for his benefit. Its thoughts were so fast, and its face so impassive, that Ib had to indicate when it was having them. 'I would have to disobey, sir. For your own safety.'

Mharra breathed a sigh of exaggerrated relief. 'Oh, goodness. For a moment there, I was worried you would simply countermand because you wanted. And could.'

Ib shifted its footing, crossing its middle and upper arms. Its lower ones extended, hands spread in a questioning gesture. 'What brought this on, Mharra? You've always been the weakest member of our crew, in terms of power. And you've never complained about it, it's...never bothered you.' It seemed to give him its equivalent of a considering look, but Ib refused to permanently have a humanlike face. Mharra sometimes wondered whether it was out of habit, or because it didn't like looking like one.

Mharra shrugged, reaching behind him without looking and grabbing his tricorn hat. 'I guess it's just the mood...we've sailed for so long, without seeing anything new. I've never been this unlucky, in decades of sailing.'

Ib nodded in agreement. 'Are you sure it's just that, though?' it asked softly, with what sounded like real worry in its voice. 'You've never brought this up before, sir. I mean, I always noticed the flashes of jealousy, but that's only human. Forgive me if I seem startled.' It tried for a conciliatory smile. 'The cabin fever is getting to me too, I think.'

Mharra arched an eyebrow at the phrasing, but did not comment. 'Quite possibly.' "Only" human, Ib? Are you calling me - us - limited, or flawed, specifically? Jealous, unlike whatever miraculous creature you are?

Mharra returned the smile. Are you even wrong, if I'm thinking like this? 'Don't let me hold you up, though!' he made himself laugh, raising a hand. 'I'm sure I'll stop brooding as soon as we find an island, or at least a ship.' If only because I'll have something to busy myself with. If I start feeling more like a figurehead, you could mount me on the steamer.

Ib now folded all its arms. 'You don't have to worry, boss. You're not distracting me. My power gave me the means to find Ryzhan while being here with you.'

* * *

I gave my chair a cold, piercing look, and Ib cringed, as if grovelling would erase its incompetence. It was swaying as if the ship was in a storm, but I knew for a damn fact the sea around as couldn't have been more still if it had been frozen.

Fhaalqi...if it couldn't even be good at the things it chose to do, why the Pit had we even helped it?

I jumped to my feet, because the chair was a hair's breadth away from leaving me flat on my arse, and gave it a good kick, toppling it. Ib whimpered, more hurt than harmed, but it was its own bloody fault.

I whirled around, ready to give Mharra an earful for allowing such incompetence on his watch, but he was still.

He hadn't merely stopped moving. Even then, he'd have continued blinking, breathing. All the little, involuntary actions that made humans human. Not even people who never fidgeted were ever completely still. Mharra, though? He looked more like a mannequin, like a character from the pages of some picture book, than a living person.

I reached out to touch him, uneasily, gently poking his forehead. Maybe he'd fallen asleep at his desk? Such slothfulness was enough to drive me up a wall, but he had been quite stressed since his lover's disappearance.

I couldn't help but sneer. Stressed. Like he had anything to do on he ship. I'd survived Midworld by myself, with no one to love and be loved by, and I'd never been a burden.

As if fretting over something he couldn't affect would help anyone, much less himself or his precious ghost. Why did the powerless always wave their weakness around like a flag? "Look at me! See how little I can do! What choice do I have, except to give up and drag down those better than me?"

I swear...

While I was ruminating, Mharaa leaned backwards from my touch, which slightly surprised me. He was a small man, but stout, and I hadn't put much strength behind that. Had he moved by himself? Why?

Just as I thought Mharra's skin had felt wrong to my touch - like wax, or leather, or wood - his chair groaned hideously under his weight, making me grit my teeth.

Then, as if he had been balancing on the chair, Mharra leaned forwards, placing both hands flat against the desk. His eyes were dark pits that seemed to draw light into themselves, which widened with every moment, and his grin was fanged. I was instantly reminded of the dead man I'd crushed, and whether this was him returned or another alternate, I neither knew nor wanted to learn.

A heavy grey hand wrapped around my wrist before my fist could smash through the freak's skull, and I almost thought Ib had stopped being useless just to be actively detrimental, but the chair was gone, smashed into a shapeless mess by the giant's foot. Faster than I could see, another of its hands had caved the ugly bastard's head in, reducing him to a headless torso, cracked in two like rotten fruit, black blood spurting from the stump of its neck.

I looked around the room, then up at Ib, demanding an answer.

Its face formed a smile for my sake. 'It's the weather, Ryz. It's bringing out the worst in you.'

I struggled in its grip. 'What's that supposed to mean? What happened to Mharra? Is...was that even him?'

'It was the worst of the mental images of Mharra you had built up: feckless, spineless, good for nothing but complaining. Yet all the while, a monster hiding in plain sight. Luring you in with false sympathy or weakness, perhaps, then striking you down while you were at your most vulnerable. Working with your pursuers, or maybe just angered by your secrecy when you joined the crew.'

It let me go, and I rubbed my wrist, looking for bruises, even though its grasp hadn't hurt. 'How do you know all of that? What's this?'

Ib raised a clenched fist, and something like a sourceless grey light washed over and through the cabin, which rippled like oil on water, before being washed away like blood by a wave. Or burned like rotten flesh in a fire.

We were now standing in a corridor...no, a tunnel. There were bookshelves behind me, seemingly endless, but I knew where they began, and why they had. In front of me, a swirling vortex of light and meaningless vistas that made me wish for darkness.

I huffed upon noticing the chains linking me to each bookshelf full of sealed volumes. Very subtle, my mind. Held back by closed-off memories, and scared of an unsure future.

Ib stood at my side, the light now radiating from it. 'I am sorry, Ryz.'

'Don't be,' I snapped, not wanting to appear vulnerable after my earlier thoughts. 'It's the life I've made for myself. So...' I stuck my hands in my coat's pockets, but I still had to ball them into fists to stop them from trembling. 'The...fog, right? I really need to work more on my mind's defences.' I looked at the dismal place with weary contempt. Nothing I hadn't been disgusted yet already. 'Take me out of here.'

'I cannot, Ryz,' Ib replied, making me round on it.

'You mean you won't!' It was unmoved by the venom in my voice. 'Didn't you tell me your power removes whatever keeps you down? You made it sound like you're on the path to being all-powerful!'

'That is, by definition, a never-ending journey, friend,' it said, posture dripping dismay. At its alleged limitations? Or me? 'Were I to do everything for you, I would rob you of agency. And that would be a worthless existence, which you'd hate me for trapping you in, unless I forced you to think otherwise.'

I didn't press the point. 'So...the fog trapped me in a cage made of my worst expectations.' Or, I should've said, most of them. 'But you broke that, right? This is me, thinking naturally.' Ib nodded. 'Then why are we in my mindscape?'

'It seems you have been upset for quite a while, Ryzhan,' the giant answered. 'About things you never voiced, maybe even to yourself. This...resentment...' It sounded less ignorant of the concept, and more heartbroken I could feel such things about our crew. 'Has clearly been festering for a while. The mist just made you confront them, though in a rather dramatic, not to mention unhealthy, manner.'

I considered this. 'What would've happened if you hadn't saved me, Ib?'

Its silence was enough of an answer. I swallowed drily. 'Alright, then. What must I do to return to the real world?'

Ib pointed behind me, and I turned, seeing a chain that, unlike the others, was not made of heavy black iron. But, unlike the one reading to the memories of my parents, which was dripping with still-fresh blood, this one was as silver as the moon it descended from.

I took in my mind, and noticed that the tunnel's ceiling was still there. Yet, at the same time, I was under the open sky. Or was it just a part of my mind?

But...no. "Part" was definitely the wrong word. The sky, the moon, they felt more like a gap than anything, and the chain like a rope dangling over an abyss. I almost entertained the thought that, maybe, the moon represented something I'd forgotten, but such things did not appear in my mindscape. They weren't tears in its fabric, just...absent.

This nonexistent sky, though, dominated by a full moon I had never seen like this, was, however, very much here.