Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Three: ‘Ascension in body and spirit...’

It wasn’t just pain. It was existential confusion. Where he was. Who he was. What he was doing. All of that knowledge escaped his mind and danced around it like teasing little gremlins, poking and prodding him, daring him to chase them in vain as Hector stumbled around in his own head.

Oh, but it was pain, too. There was still plenty of that, to be sure. More than he’d ever felt, possibly. It was hard to judge when every fiber of his being was on fire and imaginary horrors were beginning to rear up in his mind, parting the turbulent ocean of his thoughts and terrorizing him in ways that he had never known previously.

There was no compartmentalizing his thoughts this time. No way to disassociate himself from the confusion and agony. His mind was consumed in full, and he thought he saw all manner of things which defied comprehension or even visual cohesion.

Monsters with faces. Humanoid but distorted. Distended. Burning with light or fire or energy or some other thing that he couldn’t even conceptualize. The colors, the fury, the chaos, the madness. Raw emotion made flesh. Raw flesh made emotion.

It was too much. Far, far too much. And he was naked against it. No armor to protect him. Not even a body to contain him. Just everything--everything pouring through his mind and his soul, carving through him like a million knives, until suddenly--

Suddenly.

Suddenly, it wasn’t. Suddenly, there was nothing.

No. Not nothing. It was all still there. But it felt like it was “outside,” somehow. As if he’d found shelter. Like a little cabin in a blizzard.

And then, as if the very thought manifested itself into truth, it was a little cabin in a blizzard.

It wasn’t quite right, perhaps. Still blurry and wispy and ethereal. But a cabin, nonetheless.

“Interesting choice,” came an encompassing voice. A familiar one, too.

Hector was still trying to process everything, though. He hadn’t gone insane, he was pretty sure. “W-wh... a-ah...” The words died in his fumbling mouth.

Did he even have a mouth?

He couldn’t tell.

“How are you, Young Hector?” the voice said, all full of comfort and certainty--two things that Hector very much appreciated, at the moment.

“I... I don’t... ah...”

“It is alright. You are well. You are having a difficult moment, but you are well.”

Whose voice was that? It felt so clear and familiar to him. It felt like it should have been obvious. But he was still so confused. He’d just come in from the blizzard. He needed to warm up. To center himself.

“Take as long as you need.”

He tried to focus. To find his thoughts. To hold them.

And he did. He had no idea how long it took, but he did.

“I am glad,” the voice said.

“Who...?” As soon as the word left his thoughts, Hector realized the answer. “...Rasalased.”

“Hello.”

Hector thought he felt himself smile. “...How are we speaking like this?”

“We are not. And yet perhaps we are.”

Maybe he should have seen that response coming. “...What?”

“Does the method matter?”

“...Why wouldn’t it?”

Rasalased laughed. “I am but a shadow of myself here. In your mind. The piece of me which I placed within you in order to make up for the piece I took.”

“...Hmm.”

“You are feeling better.”

It wasn’t a question, Hector realized. It was an observation. “Yeah, I guess I am...”

“That is good.”

“Rasalased, what the hell is happening, right now?”

“I am preventing you from losing yourself to insanity.”

“...Oh. Uh. Well, thank you, in that case.”

“You are welcome.”

“Why, uh...? Why was I was going insane, though?”

“Your blessings are conflicting with one another.”

“Oh. So... it’s kind of your fault that I was going insane in the first place, then...”

“That is true, yes. I might have warned you against this, but I did not think that you would ever acquire a second blessing--and certainly not so quickly.”

“Yeah, me too...”

“But there is no cause for concern. Though I am the problem, I am also the solution.”

“Ah... yeah. Thanks again, by the way. And not just for what you’re doing, now. Ivan would’ve killed everyone in Dunehall, if you hadn’t helped me the way you did.”

“That is also true, yes. But so too would they have died, if you had done nothing. If you must thank me for my help, then I must thank you for yours.”

Hector didn’t know what to say to that.

Rasalased pitched a different subject at him. “Who is it that granted you this new blessing, Young Hector?”

“Ah... you mean, you don’t already know?”

“Hmm? Perhaps I do. I would like you to tell me, nonetheless.”

“Uh. Alright. It was Malast.”

“Ah. Indeed. So it is the God of the Underworld who is holding one of my Shards, then.”

Hector might’ve blinked. That was right, wasn’t it? The Shard had been in his armor, along with the other items he’d stored there. So when his armor had been destroyed... right in front of Malast...

“...Is that gonna be a problem?” said Hector.

“I do not think so. It seems as though he does not sense my presence. I am still dormant within the Shards, after all. Only here, in your mind, am I awake.”

“...Hmm.” Hector wasn’t sure he understood, but that was nothing new when it came to Rasalased, he supposed.

“It is a pity,” said the Dry God. “I might have enjoyed speaking to him. He is far older than me.”

That, Hector had a hard time believing. “Really? He’s older?”

“Very much so.”

“But, uh... I mean, compared to you, he struck me as kinda... childish, in some ways.”

“Indeed? How curious. Now I would like to speak to him even more.”

Hector couldn’t even imagine what that encounter would be like. He didn’t entirely want to imagine it, either. “...Are you sure that wouldn’t, like, bring about the end of the world or something?”

Rasalased laughed again. “I am quite certain that it would not.”

“Hmm.” That brought another question to mind, something that he’d wanted to ask Malast about but hadn’t gotten the chance to. “Do you, uh... do you know anything about Ettol?”

“The God of Impulse?”

“Yeah.”

“I am afraid I do not. Why? Do you?”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Hector wasn’t expecting a reversal like that. “Uh... no, it’s just. I’ve been hearing his name a lot, lately.”

“Curious,” said Rasalased. “The God of Impulse was said to have been consumed by the Void in the earliest days of humanity. Even in my time, the name Ettol was all but forgotten.”

That information was surprisingly coherent for Rasalased, Hector thought. He almost wanted to make a crack about time not being time, but he felt like it might ruin his chances of learning anything else here. “...Do you know more about Malast?”

“No. Only stories. That is why I would quite like to meet him.”

“Right...” The more he thought about it, the more questions came to mind. “How many... beings who can grant blessings are there? Do you know?”

“I do not.”

“Can you tell me anything about Sermung? Or Dozer? Or any of the servant emperors, really?”

“Only that they are very powerful. Perhaps if I were to meet them, I could learn more.”

“Hmm. What about Cocora? Do you know if she exists?”

“No.”

“What about Avar? Or Lhutwë?”

“Lhutwë?! Of course he never existed! Only a fool would believe in such nonsense!”

“W-whoa... okay.”

Oh, right. Rasalased was a Sandlord--and probably from a time when they hated the Rainlords. The Dry God had been nice enough to Emiliana, as Hector recalled, but he supposed it wasn’t so surprising that there was still lingering animosity there.

He tried to think of more things to ask, but after that string of failures, his enthusiasm had waned somewhat, and the most pressing question that he could think of was, “How much time do I have here with you?”

“Time is not time.”

Well, he walked right into that one, Hector supposed. He decided to rephrase and try again. “...Am I stuck in here?”

“No.”

“So... how do I get out, then?”

“When your blizzard is calmed, you will return.”

Right, the blizzard. It was still raging “outside” of the “cabin” that they were currently taking shelter in. “Do, uh... do you know how long that’s going to take?”

“As long as it must.”

Hector wanted to sigh and laugh at the same time. “...I’ve missed you, Rasalased.”

“Is that so?”

“Mostly.”

“Then I thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

“I have a question for you, Young Hector.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

“What do you intend to do with these blessings?”

“Uh...” That was one hell of a question. “I... I think I’d have to know more about them before I could figure out what to do with them. Which, uh--which reminds me. Malast said that the blessing you gave me was called Focus.”

“Did he now?”

“...Yeah. I heard him myself.”

“Interesting.”

“...Could you maybe tell me a little more about what Focus actually does?”

“I do not think so, no.”

“Figures.”

“I did not think my blessing would have a name. Hmm.”

This conversation wasn’t going how Hector hoped. That seemed to be a running trend, of late.

Given who he was talking to, he’d thought that he would be able to learn something important, but if anything, it seemed like Rasalased was the one acquiring new information here, not him.

Pretty weird, Hector felt. The notion that he could tell a “god” anything that they didn’t already know.

Malast had been the same way, though, now that he was thinking about it. He supposed that supported Garovel’s belief that they were not truly “gods”--at least not in the sense of being all-powerful or all-knowing.

“I suppose that means you can’t tell me anything about what Domain does, either,” said Hector.

“Ah, is that what he called your second blessing?”

“Yeah.”

“Fascinating.” And that was all Rasalased had for him, apparently.

Yeah, alright, fine. What was something that the Dry God might actually be able to tell him?

Hmm. Maybe something about the Sandlords? Or maybe just--oh yeah.

“...Do you know where Asad is, right now?”

“My successor.”

“Yeah.”

“He is in the town of Capaporo.”

Wow, a straight answer. And exactly the one he had been hoping for, too. That was a relief.

“You should hurry to him,” added Rasalased. “He is a prisoner.”

That was much less of a relief. “Prisoner?! But--wha--how?! Who’s holding him prisoner?!”

“Hmm. A good question. A lost sheep, it seems to me.”

“...Say what?”

“That is who is holding him prisoner.”

“A sheep.”

“Yes.”

“...Like a literal sheep, or...?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not.”

“Ugh... could you give me a name, maybe?”

“No.”

“...Fair enough, I guess.”

“He is much confused and struggling to find himself. Full of regret. His mind is in such disorder that he does not even notice when I probe for his emotions.”

“...Are we talking about Asad or the sheep now?”

“The sheep. This is why I believe he is lost.”

“Right...”

“I hope you will help my successor one more time.”

“I’d love to, but, uh, h-how do I do that, exactly?”

“I do not know.”

“Agh...”

“Good luck to you, Young Hector.”

“Thanks...”

“And goodbye.”

“Wait, what?! I still have more questions!”

“As do I. I hope we will be able to speak again.”

“Aw--!”

He felt the world shift. The cabin disintegrated, and a vast calmness enveloped him. It felt simultaneously like a gentle wind, a warm sea, and a familiar set of clothes.

Hector awoke, wincing. His throat felt hoarse; his body felt like rubber; and he was so dizzy that it took him a minute to realize that he was face down on the ground.

Slowly, he picked himself up.

‘Hector!’ came Garovel’s soundless and private, but nonetheless very loud, voice. ‘You okay, buddy?!’

‘...Yeah,’ he finally managed to say. He could feel the undead vigor coursing through his body again. No pain anymore, either. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘A good ten minutes or so,’ said Garovel.

Hector tried to pick himself up and found it difficult.

Oh, right. He couldn’t feel pain at the moment, but he didn’t have his cooling armor on, so the heat of the Undercrust was trying to melt his body again, competing with his regeneration and sapping the strength from his muscles.

He focused and remade the armor. It materialized quickly and easily, requiring less concentration than he recalled.

Right. Emergence.

Someone else was saying something. They’d been saying something, he realized.

“--Iron One?”

Ah. Must’ve been Malast.

Sure enough, when Hector looked up, there the Idle God was. Along with the Hun’Kui man, Eleyo.

Eleyo looked normal enough. But the jar that had been in Malast’s hands before was now in his, instead.

And it was open.

“Feeling better, Senmurai?” said Eleyo.

The man had two voices, Hector noticed, like that of a servant in a hyper-state.

Hector finally stood up fully. “Did you already...?” He didn’t know how to end that sentence.

“Yes,” said Malast. “It is done. Secho is reborn.”

Hector looked over the others. Diego, Yangéra, Carver, Elise, Manuel, Lorios, Mr. Sheridan, and the three other Hun’Kui, one of whom was unconscious and had been so all along.

They looked okay, all things considered--a bit awestruck and frightened, perhaps, but unharmed at least. Zeff and Axiolis were still in the viewing window above Malast’s head as well, though they did not look nearly as calm. If Hector hadn’t been so certain that he’d finished off that worm, then the silent mayhem in the viewing window might’ve made him worried that Zeff was fighting it now.

“We were waiting for you to awaken,” said Eleyo. Or was it Secho, now?

Hector was almost reluctant to ask, but he did so anyway. “...Why?”

“Before that,” said Eleyo, “I feel I should confess something. My name is not Eleyo. And I do not mean that it is no longer Eleyo. I mean it never was. I deceived you. And I wish to apologize.”

Hector had no response.

“My name is Royo Raju. Remember it well, for it will soon belong to a king.”

A chorus of unsettlement rose up from the two other conscious Hun’Kui in the room. They recognized the name, Hector figured.

“But there is more I should tell you,” Royo went on. “And perhaps you have realized this already, or perhaps you would have in the future, but I would like to say it now, regardless. It was I who caused your train to derail. It was I who brought those worms down upon us.”

Now it wasn’t just the Hun’Kui who were unsettled.

Hector thought back. Through all the chaos, the question of why the worms had first attacked had never really occurred to him. He hadn’t thought it was anyone’s fault.

But apparently, it was.

Royo Raju wasn’t done. “I have wronged you. I know this. I did what I had to do to escape a fate as wretched as any I can imagine, and you were all caught up in the dire consequences that followed.”

Everyone just listened, and Hector wondered where this was going. Despite what Royo had just admitted to--or perhaps even because of it--Hector didn’t get the sense that Royo was going to attack them.

“I am indebted to you all,” said Royo. Then he pointed at Manuel Delaguna. “Especially to you. And I do not take my debts lightly. Know that they will be repaid, in time. And know that I do not think of you as my enemies or wish harm upon any of you.”

And there was silence again.

Everyone, presumably, was trying to process everything that they had just heard.

Malast broke the quietude with a yawn. “Oh. Hey.” He walked over to Hector and handed the items he’d dropped earlier back to him. “Here.”

It was quite a collection, Hector realized as he started taking them. The Scarf of Amordiin, the Shifting Spear of Logante, that weird orb on a tuning fork, and the Shard.

Wait, where was the Egg of Prosperity? Where was his one million troa? It hadn’t gotten destroyed in the fight with the worm, had it?

Or, hold on. Did he even pick the Egg up in the first place?

...Had he really forgotten to grab it? Even after Garovel pointed it out to him?

Well, fuck.

He wondered if this was how Asad felt all the time.

When it came around to returning the Shard, Hector’s hand grabbed it, but Malast didn’t let go.

“What is this thing, by the way?” said Malast. “It seems a little different to the others.”

And Hector locked gazes with the God of the Underworld. Silently, he again considered telling Malast that the item he was holding contained the very same Rasalased that he had expressed an interest in earlier.

He considered it. And then, he decided to actually do it. “This is a Shard of the Dry God,” said Hector. “Rasalased is inside it.”

‘Hector, what the fuck?!’ said Garovel privately.

Malast’s eyes widened. The perpetually glazed look on his face went away.

Hector didn’t let go of his end of the Shard, though. “...Actually, I just talked to him again. He said he wouldn’t mind meeting you, but he didn’t seem to know how to make contact.”

“...Huh,” said Malast. “Interesting.”

And to Hector’s surprise, Malast let go of the Shard.

“I guess I’ll have to look into that later,” said the Idle God. Then that glazed look returned. “Agh. That’s gonna suck. I hate having to learn new things.”

Hector returned the Shard to its previous place inside his armor.

‘Did you really just talk to Rasalased?’ said Garovel, still privately.

‘Yep.’ A beat passed, and then he added, ‘I think. I guess I could’ve been dreaming or something.’

‘Hector--!’

Royo’s words cut him off. “Perhaps I can do something for you, right now.” He held up something in his hand. Some kind of orb? “I do not think this will make up for my debt, but as I understand it, you are all trying to return to the surface, no?”

When did he learn that, Hector wondered? Did someone tell him?

Royo looked around again, perhaps waiting for someone to answer him, but when no one did, he kept talking. “Allow me to expedite your journey for you.” He turned to Malast, who was going back to his seat. “Might I borrow the Staff of Unso for a moment?”

Malast had rested the Staff against his chair earlier. After he sat down again, he shrugged, grabbed it, and flung it over to Royo.

Royo caught it with one hand. “Much appreciated, old friend.”

And it was fleeting, but for a moment, Hector thought he saw Malast actually smile.

“Now.” The pendant around Royo’s neck began to glow along with the tip of the Staff. “Should you ever decide to return to the Higher West Layer, seek me out. I will give you a hero’s welcome.”

Arcing sparks jumped from the Staff to the four corners of the chamber, as they had done previously, and Hector’s vision started to distort familiarly as well.

“Ah, but if possible, I would prefer you not bring your Dragon next time. Farewell.”

Everything blurred and smeared into itself, and Hector lost all sense of direction and space.

The floating sensation lasted noticeably longer this time, however. It was disorienting, to be sure, but Hector was almost able to regain his bearings before it finished. And when it did, he wasn’t nearly so confused as he might have otherwise been.

He saw sky.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he could see stars, twinkling in the night, and a full, lustrous moon.

“What in the--?” someone said. Elise Garza, Hector recognized after a moment.

“Where the hell are we now?” said Diego. “Oh, hey, I can talk again.”

‘Hector?’ said Yangéra. ‘Do you know?’

He wasn’t sure why she had singled him out to ask, but in fact, he did know. While the Scarf of Amordiin wasn’t revealing their exact location in a GPS-like sense, it was revealing the shape of a familiar, two-pronged monument that was standing behind everyone’s back. Hector might not have remembered it so clearly if Garovel hadn’t reminded him of it only a couple days ago.

“...We’re in Atreya,” said Hector.