I cement and ground myself on something so I am not lost to the devouring and dissonant whispers. But it's no longer something external like an object or person or internal like a memory or phrase. I anchor myself on my sense of self. I underpin my mind on who I am.

I am Wyatt Graves. Son of the Undying and student of the Bloodhound. I will not be broken by some artifact. Some starving and voracious artifact will not devour me. I can handle anything that is thrown at me.

The hunt against the Loperd in the cellar? I won. I almost got mauled to death, but I won. It fell first.

The fight against the three Hunters in the forest that was forced by Alexos? I won. I almost bled to death multiple times, but I won. They fell first.

The struggle against the hunger of the Bloody Palm while trying to escape the forest? I won. I almost starved to death, but I won. I found food before I ran out of food for it to eat from me.

The escape from Harmony Town? I won. A few times, I almost got turned into a shell, but I won. I helped the others escape before we were caught. There was a casualty, though, Lonnie.

The fight against these bandits that left me here? I won, did I not? The whole being dead or alive is a bit unknown, but I'm still thinking, still feeling, and still fighting. As long as you can fight, you're alive. I call that a win.

I may fuck up, and others may die, but like my father before me, I am undying and unrelenting, even if I win just barely. Bruised, battered, bleeding, and possibly buried is not losing. It's winning with a lesson.

And I'll survive this one, too, likely with another lesson or scar to bear along with me for the ride. I must avenge Edmund and kill Alexos. A man as insane and brutal as him should not be alive, and maybe neither should my father. He cannot be allowed to have the Lily for too long. A weapon as powerful as that awful in his hands, I'd much rather it be back in mine.

With this goal and the emboldened sense of self-confidence and motivation, I anchor myself so that the murmurs do not take me away. So, with the last of my time before the whispers return, I shakily stand, raise my trembling arms into a brawling position, and I grit my teeth for what is to come.

Merely three or four seconds after I get into this position to fight mentally and physically for my life against the Bloody Palm's incessant whispers, the noise of annihilation returns.

Instantly, it feels as though the world's weight is upon me. Sounds and feelings I never thought I could experience bombard me as I force myself to stand despite them. The whispers and sounds eat away at my mind, but I compel myself to not even listen to a word they say. Instead, I focus on myself. I focus on how none can fell my family. I focus on the eventual bullet into Alexos' heart. This expands further until my focus lies on just me. Alive and kicking no matter what comes at me.

For what feels like hours, I stand in the dark amidst the invisible but impossible to ignore to escape the soul-eating murmurs within the tenebrous void. Pain and agony buzz along my whole self as I fight to keep myself unchanged. I don't know how much I succeed. All I know is I'm still standing when the next sudden gap of mind-crushing rapture arrives.

I drop to my knees in exhaustion when the sabbath descends. Panting and breathing heavily in the inescapable dark. I feel even physically weaker now. My body is only continuing to slim beyond what should be even humanly possible. I think even my bones are being eaten and forced to become smaller. There is only so much mental fortitude can do. It can only substitute physical strength for so long.

Before I can recover or think for long, though, the discord of madness returns. This time I've fallen to my knees before it even begins. That is not a good sign. With wide open eyes that are crying out in both blood and tears, I know because I can taste both, I fight against the madness.

S̸̺͊U̸̹̕B̶̻͘M̶͈̈I̴̪̔T̶͒͜. S̸̺͊U̸̹̕B̶̻͘M̶͈̈I̴̪̔T̶͒! S̸̺͊U̸̹̕B̶̻͘M̶͈̈I̴̪̔T̶͒͜!! S̸̺͊U̸̹̕B̶̻͘M̶͈̈I̴̪̔T̶͒͜!!!

After defending my very soul against the mania for just a few minutes, I can recognize how close I am to collapsing. I close my eyes to hold on for a little longer with tightened teeth. The breaks have helped me last much longer against the Bloody Palm but are becoming fleeting, fewer, and further between. Just before I completely break down into a pile of sobbing hysteria, I feel a small amount of strength return and a bit of mass return to my body out of nowhere.

This little, minute amount of energy hits me like a shot of adrenaline and morphine at once. It feels like a hearty meal just before a final battle, the type of thing for a young man to eat to put strength into his arms for war. My eyes shoot open from the increased energy, forcing me to hold on longer. However, this boost of energy lasts me only a few more minutes, as nothing else comes to aid me.

So, then, I continue to slide down into the depths as my mind begins to fracture and my thoughts slow to a crawl. Even as everything else crumbles, a single frame of imagination holds in my mind. I, with a gun to Alexos' head and a crew of future friends and allies nearby who cheer me.

This final bastion of sanity lasts just a few more minutes before that shatters. And now, left with nothing to defend my mind and the slowed pace of my thoughts, the Bloody Palm wreaks havoc within me. I can feel the equivalent of a buffalo charging through a liquor store in my mind. Cracks, shatters, and pops ring out within me ominously non-stop.

But something does arrive to save me from this end. Another shot of adrenaline and morphine. This one is so much larger and more potent than before that I open my eyes and lurch forwards, almost falling over. The energy instantly gives me the power and physical mass to fight back against the whispers from the shadows. And with my now open eyes, I see something glowing and resplendent floating in the shadows just outside of my range of recognition.

I carefully rise from my knees with this renewed physical and mental power. Then, with slow, shambling steps, I walk towards the light in the distance. But as I walk, the whispers grow even louder and more penetrating than ever before. Almost like they are enhanced whenever I am as well. The murmurs are now so loud, even amongst the noiselessness of the void, that with my fingers, I can physically feel ripples along my skin each time they speak.

B̸̛͕Â̷̘S̷͎͗K̷̳͝ ̷͚͝I̸͎̊N̶̙̈́ ̷͈͛T̶̠̊H̸̰͊Ḛ̵̈́ ̸̱̈Y̴̘̍E̶̺̕Ȃ̷͉R̷̙͆N̵̦̅Į̸̂N̸̰͝Ģ̵̄ ̸̼͝F̵͙̆O̶̰͛Ṛ̴̆ ̶̭̏F̴̹̋L̶̄ͅE̸̗̔S̴̫̽H̸͔͗! D̴̤̓Ȇ̴̝V̷͈̏O̵̖̕U̶̥͋R̷̬̒ ̶͕͊M̴̦̽Ö̴̰́Ȓ̶̻E̵̹̚!̴̞͝

T̴H̸E̷Y̵ ̵T̶A̴S̷T̵E̵ ̷S̸O̷ ̸H̶A̵N̵D̷S̴O̷M̸E̵!̶ ̷T̷H̷E̸ ̸M̴I̴S̵S̷I̵N̵G̷ ̵E̵Y̶E̷ ̸I̶S̵ ̴S̴U̴C̶H̵ ̸A̵ ̷N̸I̶C̵E̵ ̸T̸O̶U̵C̸H̷.

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I have tried my best to ignore the words and phrases from the Bloody Palm, but this one catches my attention and momentarily distracts me. How can something taste handsome? Aren't only people handsome? And what about a Missing eye? What the hell is it talking about? This hand is genuinely insane. I should have tossed it out long ago and found another way to keep myself going even after mortal wounds.

After the odd distraction from the devouring noise, I continue towards the only light in this darkness. Is it the way out? Or a way to cleanse the Bloody Palm that entered me? I don't know, but it must be good, right? If it's not, I don't know what I'll do. Probably just gets turned to mental mush by the damn bloodless palm.

I take one unsteady and precarious step at a time, knowing that if I fall now, I will not stand again. I can't rely on another random shot of energy to reach me and pull me from the depths of the abyss. So, I push onwards even as I coral all my mental faculties to protect my mind from the swarm of words that eats into it.

Just one step at a time towards the light in the distance. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Each step is soundless and featureless, like a ghost. I feel my body begin to numb from the constant vibration and physical noise from the Bloody Palm. I can't even sense the bottom of my feet as I walk. The only way I know I am still walking is because the perspective on the light is constant, growing slightly larger per step but never higher.

And yet, despite the loss of feeling from the tremors, I continue to walk. Slowly, ever so slightly, approaching the light. I feel myself slim once more as I near it and slow even more. My body is struggling to take even a single step. My mind is struggling to order a single step. My soul is buckling under the weight of the noise.

But eventually, I reach the object floating in the sunless void. Only when I get incredibly close do I notice what it is. And it's so familiar.

It's a Sigil. Not my current, the Striving Philosopher's Sigil that currently rests within me, but my original one from before my Absolution.

It's the deep and unfathomable depths of mystery that lie within the Sigil. Whereas mine is an intricate eye that is fathomless and chained. Quite different, but it has the same base.

After I realize what it was, I recognize what it could do for me. I could rise to a 2nd Sigil! I don't know how this is happening, but it's saving me, so I'll go along with it. With the last of my energy and mental faculties, I push against it with my right hand.

The darkness rapidly fades, and the world around me is replaced by a dimly lit, familiar cabin. One that I've been in twice before and that strikes away all fatigue, leaving one in their prime state. The Cabin. I still know very little about this place because I didn't get the chance to ask Edmund about it, and I haven't yet asked Earl. I figured Earl wouldn't know anything about it since he isn't yet a Sigiled and decided to wait and ask another Sigiled or influential person in a town.

I look down at myself in this dark cabin and realize that while I have thinned, it's not as bad as it seemed within the inky blackness of wherever I was. That, and I have my left hand back. It doesn't look entirely the same. A little paler than the rest of my body, and it seems like it's been stitched back on, a large white zigzagging scar runs around my whole left forearm before my wrist.

This confuses me even further. I lost my left hand in the fight, so how did it return? Was it somehow stitched back on? That couldn't be the case; the sand devoured and took it deep into the earth, probably because of the Nain Rouge. So then, whose hand is this? It's not mine. And it doesn't look too unfamiliar at the same time…

Oh fuck. No fucking way. Fuck this.

The fucking Bloody Palm is my new left hand! That's why it's trying to kill me! WHO THE FUCK WOULD CONNECT AN ARTIFACT TO SOMEONE! Isn't that like rule number one with artifacts and similarly powerful Sigiled items?

Fuck.

This is bad. Really bad. I can't imagine how hungry I will be with the whole fucking hand attached to me and not just holding it. How will I live my life if I'm constantly under assault by the voices?! Ugh. What the fuck to do now.

Maybe with a higher Sigil, things will be a bit better. Perhaps I'll be able to resist its dissonant whispers with a higher limit to Ether. To try and hurry up this transition to the next Sigil, I look forward despite my awful situation and look to the tome in front of me, the book that gives me information on my Sigils.

I look at its closed front for a brief pause before I reach out to it in an attempt to open the book. The mysterious book obliges and turns its pages. It doesn't stop at the first page this time, though. It flips past it so that I can, just for a fleeting moment, discern all the information from before when I performed my Act of Absolution.

But the new page it turns to asks me a question like the first time.

Wyatt, what do you dream the most about?

Dream? Why does it want to know what I dream about? How does this have any correlation to a

Philosopher? It doesn't make any sense at all. Despite this, I do ponder the question it gives me. It wouldn't propose it if it weren't serious, I suppose.

What do I dream about the most….? Is it avenging my teacher? No, I can't honestly say that encompasses most of my dreams. Edmund is a large part of my waking and sleeping dreams, but not the largest. It's not about protecting people or saving them either. I enjoy doing that, but I never dream of it.

What about growing stronger? No. That's a bit closer, but that's not what I dream the most about. It's just a component of it. Is it hunting down prey and killing them? No, not that either, but it's again closer.

Hmm…. What about…. I think I found it.

My most common dreams, both awake and unconscious, are of surviving. So often, I come close to death, yet my sleep is filled with many of those times. Focused on how I escape Death. And when I daydream, I dream of improving so I don't have to escape Death like that. My dreams are filled with hopes of surviving and thriving.

I think that's my answer, and the moment that I decide it is my final answer, the words shift in an incomprehensible pattern until the information is thrown into my mind from the page.

The reader of this page now plants their feet firmly onto their second step of the stair, and for that, I congratulate you.

Your second Sigil toward Release, toward Freedom, and toward Limitlessness.

The Forward Daydreamer

The dreamer of what could be. Able to perceive what is. Able to dream of what it could be. Your will has been intensely fortified to accommodate your dreams. Ether will be easier to manipulate, feel, and distinguish. Your limit of channeled Ether has increased even further, far surpassing others of similar Sigils as you dream of Release.

Your Absolution grants one more boon alongside your gasp of power as you take a step upwards. One must always move forward. The Forward Daydreamer knows this and never backs down. They dream of what will happen if they do, and they abhor it. So, instead, ever forward, they move, never looking back.

May your journey, while certainly filled with loss, be glorious, long, and worthy of my aid.

I stare at the unreadable but still understandable text for a long time, trying to understand its meaning. So much of it is cryptic and hard for me to grasp. Only the bits about Ether being easier to use, feel, and distinguish alongside my channeled limit of Ether make any concrete sense. They are simple and about what I'd expect from my next Sigil.

But being able to perceive what is and to dream for what it could be? What the fuck could that even possibly mean? Is it some enhancement of my Chain Eyes? I don't know. And Forward Daydreamer? What kind of Sigil name is that?

People get badass names like Bloodtaker, and I get that? It's pretty demoralizing. I was internally wishing that this one was Struggler, as the Absolution hinted. But I guess it might be the next one.

Those aren't my only gripes, either. The boon from my Absolution is fucking ridiculous. What does it mean to move forward and never back? Will I have some speed boost for walking forwards? It's all so cryptic. If only it had given me more transparent information. I'll have to ask Earl what the fuck is up with this place and its almost useless information.

I noticed that the farewell at the bottom of the left page differs. It mentions loss instead of thorns. I hate how ominous and foreboding that is. After reading that last section, I turn to the right page with the Sigil and the question below.

The Sigil is fairly similar to before its evolution. But the eye has slowly grown and appears to be nearing the limit of its chains, and it grows an even deeper sense of fathomlessness. Like it's building up to a breakthrough. I wonder what Sigil that breakthrough will be. 3rd? Probably not. The eye isn't quite that close to the fringes of the chains. Maybe 4th or 5th. At least I got something to look forward to as I read the bit below the Sigil.

A Daydreamer can see the true reality of their world and dream for a better one. But for a Daydreamer to grow further, they must experience a nightmare to struggle through. And to be prepared to do so, they must find an answer to the Daydreamer's Metaphor.

If dreams and hopes are not real, then what is to be done with them?

To continue, my Forward Daydreamer, place your mind within the Sigil and return to whence you came.

This bit gives me a little more context and understanding of my new Sigil, but even more questions arise. Why is it the Daydreamer's Metaphor and not the Forward Daydreamer's Metaphor? Is there a difference? Or are all the Metaphors the same for the same Sigils, even if they have different prefixes?

That and the question is beyond me. Of course, dreams are real. And hopes aren't technically real, either. What to do with them, though? I don't know. I've always just left them alone. Alone to fade or simmer underneath.

I shake my head and push the questions out of my mind. I need to continue as it says. What is occurring is utterly unknown to me. I just hope everyone and everything is alright.

And so, I reach forward and place my mind within my recently grown Sigil, seeking to continue as the book says and find out if I'm still alive and if this is all a dream upon Death's Detached Door.