The first time I’d entered the Interstice, it had taken some getting used to. I’d been warned, of course, trained and told what to expect. And navigating wasn’t hard. It just took some mental adjustment to not having arms, legs or a head, while at the same time having all those things, but spatially condensed, stretched and replaced with something like mist.

I drifted a short way forwards to make sure my unexpected companion understood he needed to follow, then led us both to the Chapel loading bay. When he didn’t enter, I spent a few moments figuring out how to push him through, somehow managed it, then steeled myself for what was about to follow.

One second passed in pure, unadulterated agony before Gear Shift made it better.

I was not in good shape. My fuel wasn’t healthy and all of my panels had corroded, along with some interior systems. The damage I’d done to my eyes had carried across to the vehicle, and I couldn’t see much beyond a metre or two’s radius. I wouldn’t be transforming back for a while.

Rolling over to the centre of the bay with a concerning series of clunks, I switched off my engine and examined the person who stepped into my small radius of vision. He still wore his mechanical suit but appeared to be struggling, the large metal wings dragging heavily along the floor with a screech.

“My magic’s gone,” he said in an accusatory tone.

“That’s normal,” I replied out of one speaker. The others didn't function.

“What did you do?”

“Saved both of our lives. You weren’t winning.”

“Take me back.”

“So you can die because you ran out of magic?”

“I had it in the bag!” he protested, groaning as the weight of the wings pulled him back. With a grunt, he fumbled at the sides of the suit and opaque helmet for a buckle or latch, and failed to find any. “One of them was basically down, and the other would have been easy pickings. I just need to –” he grunted, “– regenerate.”

“And how long does that take?” I argued. “Long enough to be killed by two colossal titans with a grudge, I'm guessing.”

“Don’t you know who they were? Two of the Seven Scions, Cataclysms of the Demon Rifts! Two! I almost had them! I can still, if you take me back!” He broke off to double-check the seams in his armour, still failed to find anything, and refused to give up.

“Look, if you’re that desperate...” I could lead him as far as the right universe without having to go back in myself. “But I’m certain you’ll die. You only ever put on your suit with magic, don’t you?” I added, distracted.

“Of course. Why would I waste time –”

The sound of the staircase door opening interrupted the conversation. Footsteps traversed the floor, then halted.

“In Fate’s name,” came Imbertri’s weak voice. “What have you done?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” said the passenger. “Who are you and where are we?”

Imbertri didn’t respond. Her footsteps sped up and approached me until she entered my field of vision. “You’ve got to get him out of here. Immediately.”

“That’s also what I said,” the passenger interjected. “Please tell me you’re the one in charge.”

“Close enough. Can you do me a favour and stand by that door over there while I talk sense into my colleague?”

“Urgh,” I groaned, as he walked away to the accompaniment of more metal screeching, “must you? I’ve been through a lot.”

“Lamutri, he’s a Rein.”

I gave it a few seconds. Then: “Ah.” I supposed it explained the capacity for versal travel. It must have been the same quality that allowed their souls to arrive at the Chapel upon death.

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“Not only that, but a post-death one. A very strong one.”

“Who can’t get his clothes off. Alright, severity noted.”

“Oh, so you believe me, this time.”

I deserved that. “You were right,” I admitted. “About everything. Not that it matters, because I’m still one step away from dying. And now this.”

“We can fix it,” she replied in a low voice. “You just have to take him back to his universe before anyone notices. Problem solved.”

“Is it? Because unless I’ve misinterpreted all our training, the whole reason we exist is to protect Reins post-death. He was about to die.”

“That’s not our job,” Imbertri protested. “That’s for the second-tiers. We stick to killing. And he can’t die. Not permanently, and not until his universe is saved. Fate will intervene.”

Having just seen two other post-death Reins perish at the hands of Jadal Cai and been told otherwise by Flinq, I was starting to question the truth of this wisdom. “Maybe this is it intervening.”

“You’re saying that only because it suits you.”

I was, a bit. “There’s one other complication,” I stated. “What are the chances I would run into a Rein on my own at random? Especially one about to get themselves killed prematurely?”

She narrowed her yellow eyes. “You think it’s Near Miss.”

“I was… experimenting. Attempting to do what it wants for once. I wasn’t trying to bring a Rein here. Why else, with billions of universes to choose from, would it take me there to that exact place and time, place me in the right circumstances to rescue him, and practically throw him into my lap?”

She stared at me in silence for a moment, then turned and rested her chin thoughtfully on a fist. “That’s a good question. But the problem remains that this isn’t healthy for you, me, or our continued futures. So what do we do?”

A fresh sinking feeling wormed its way through the workings of my machinery, and it wasn’t settling fluid. “I have to make a choice,” I stated slowly. “Between my core and the Chapel. That’s what she meant.”

“Who?”

“Are you two almost done?” the Rein called from the door. “I’ll just remind you there’s a small thing like a war on I could be winning.”

“Getting there,” Imbertri called back, to the response of a groan.

“It’s an impossible decision,” I whispered in frustration. “I can’t act against the Chapel. I don’t want to. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But the alternative is acting against – well – me.”

“I thought you were used to that,” Imbertri said.

“It wasn’t working.”

“Is this?” She went quiet for another long moment. “You know,” she added eventually, “We’ve seen what Exalts can do. I bet an Arch could fool even the Chapel.”

“I’d take that bet,” I said, which of course meant the opposite. Even in vehicle form I could feel the magic in the air, even though Imbertri’s core wouldn’t work on a statement so fundamental. “And do.”

“Good.”

Everything pointed me to deliver the wayward Rein back. It was what everyone wanted, and what was best for me.

And yet, this first time I’d stopped fighting Near Miss, it had taken me to incredible things. Not obviously beneficial things, but wasn’t this the very evidence I’d asked for? Landing on a Rein with no mission guidance. When I’d seemed sure to die, I’d somehow pulled through. I supposed they didn’t call it Distant Miss.

If I wanted it to keep giving me a chance – if I wanted to let it work – I had to cooperate and do my part. No matter how insane or unintuitive it seemed.

It was asking a lot.

But Imbertri was right. A Rein away from his post was how universes fell into ruin.

I switched my engine back on, which took a few tries to get started and caused Imbertri to raise her eyebrows. “I’ll find Sajjpen,” she said. “You definitely can’t afford these repairs.”

“If only you knew.”

I sputtered back to the Rein.

“Thank you,” he said when I arrived, in a tone suggesting otherwise. He attempted once more to heft the metal wings and only succeeded in looking strained. “If we hurry, we might be in time to salvage what remains.”

“Oh, I’m not going with you,” I said. “I’m an injured party, so this is escort-only.”

“Hmph,” he replied. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Are you actually an AI?”

“No.”

“It seemed to be obvious, but then there was the whole ‘transforming’ thing. But then I thought: if you can use magic, why not an AI? And –” he laughed semi-incredulously, “– by the way, you lied to me about the other tank. There was nothing in there except dead bodies. Which there will be more of, thanks to you, since I’m not there to save them.”

If Imbertri hadn’t broached it, I felt like I would have started cottoning on to his status at about this point, or indeed earlier in the conversation.

“You’re absolutely right.” I placed emphasis on the notes of contrition. “I should have listened to you. I wasn't prepared for the bleak reality of war, allowed my fear to rule me, and made a decision that will haunt me in my coming days. Let’s go. We mustn’t delay.”

He nodded slowly, eyes sweeping the loading bay. “Apology accepted. You know, this place –” He paused. “I think I’ve been here once before. What do you know about the gods?”

“There are none,” I enlightened him, and ran him into the Interstice.