Die. Respawn. Repeat.-Chapter 239— Book 4: A Sky Full of Stars

It takes me a moment to figure out where I am. My first impression is that there's something wrong with the Tear—it's not like that would be a surprise. Maybe it just doesn't have enough energy to be able to simulate whatever past event is trapped in here.

Then I realize that my eyes just haven't adjusted to the darkness yet. When it does...

Well, the sight is beautiful, but I can't deny that it's also deeply concerning.

I think I might be in space.

The good news is that I can breathe normally, though that might be more because of the weakness of the Tear than anything else; the stale air of the Sewers continues to filter through to me. Whatever the Tear is trying to simulate, it's not a complete simulation.

The bad news is that I'm not going to be able to move much without an exertion of Firmament, because I'm not standing on anything.

That and I'm struggling to understand why I'd be in space. The sight of the countless stars and nebulae is beautiful, certainly; there'd always been too much light pollution on Earth for me to be able to see much, and even on Hestia, the concentration of Firmament around the planet dulled the night sky.

But the Tears are supposed to represent events on Hestia, for the most part. Why would I be in space? I glance around, puzzled; the only things I can really see are massive asteroids drifting through the area. There are distortions around me that might be rifts left behind by powerful waves of Firmament, but they might also just be weaknesses within the Tear—

One of Isthanok's massive crystal cathedrals float past me, the light of the sun refracting through it and casting prismatic rays across my arm. I freeze, sudden realization striking me.

This is Hestia after the planet explodes. What I'm seeing are the remnant chunks of the planet scattered about in the void.

Something about the sight is chilling. It's a sobering reminder of what awaits if we fail to stop the explosion at the end of the loops.

"I have made a miscalculation, it seems." A voice rings out through the emptiness of space. The tone is dispassionate, almost dull, but it startles me anyway, and I whirl around to face it. A Trialgoer here means a Trialgoer that managed to survive the detonation of the planet. Why? How?

What I see makes me do a double take.

Not only is the Trialgoer a robot—which I suppose explains how he's able to survive in space—he looks remarkably like He-Who-Guards.

They aren't exactly the same, of course. This new robot is bulkier, with layered panels for durability and defense where Guard's design opts for agility. He has two optics instead of Guard's singular one, along with a number of flaps around his head that open and close erratically, doing a remarkable job of conveying his panic.

Last but not least, his Firmament core is a muted green, and the lines of his power curve through his plating in smooth, swooping lines.

The similarities are undeniable, though. It's like they're the same species. If not for the fact that I know that Guard's current body was built by Whisper, I might have thought they were; as it stands, I wonder instead if this is where she got the inspiration for his robotic form.

A core transplant has to be a complicated process. Most of the technology Whisper used wasn't Hestian in origin—she needed the Trials to acquire the power and information that would help her "heal" Guard. No doubt she would have encountered this particular Trialgoer when his Trials began and seen his ability to sustain himself through Firmament alone.

Maybe that was what set her down her path.

I shake off the thought. That's not important at the moment. What's important is the fact that I'm looking at another former Trialgoer. There might not be much emotion in his tone, but I recognize despair when I see it.

More than that, with all the time I've spent with Guard, I've learned to read many of the little quirks of his body language. Despite all the differences in their construction, this isn't that difference.

"Hey," I say, keeping my tone gentle.

It's an awkward greeting, but in all honesty, I'm not quite expecting it to work. Tears are rarely very interactive when it comes to the people inside them. Carusath's Tear required me to Anchor the mother before she could speak—

—but to my surprise, the Trialgoer turns to look at me, his optics glowing with an equal amount of shock. We stare at one another for a long moment.

"You are an organic," he says. His head-flaps flutter in confusion. "You survived the explosion? That should not be possible. How are you here?"

"It's complicated." I have no idea how to explain it, in all honesty. Part of me really hopes this isn't going to be another Fyran situation. "My name is Ethan."

"I am GRO-R7," the Trialgoer says, still staring at me. "How are you able to speak? How can I hear you?"

"That's... even more complicated," I say. Explaining a Tear is one thing. Explaining that the Tear is weak, that the air from a dungeon is filtering through into the pseudo-reality it simulates? I don't even know where to begin.

"You should not be here. You are an anomaly," GHO-R7 says.

I snort. "That's more true than you think, GHO-R7."

The robot's flaps flutter briefly. He looks simultaneously relieved to not be alone and worried about my presence. "You may call me Ghost. I have learned that the designation is easier for organics."

That's certainly less awkward. I raise an eyebrow. "Why Ghost?"

He shrugs. "It was better than Ghort."

"You're not wrong, but considering the Interface is acting as a universal translator for us both, I have no idea how that works in our respective languages," I say dryly. The slight distraction seems to have helped him calm down, at least—his flaps flare with amusement, and he tilts his head in acknowledgement.

Something about his name is giving me pause, though. I frown, running through what I remember of Hestia's former Trialgoers. The name in particular strikes me as remarkably familiar, I just don't remember how.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

And then it hits me. Not just the name, but the situation. I've seen this described before. I bring up the Interface and navigate to the anomaly log, picking out the changelog for Anomaly 006—Hestia's destruction.

Sure enough, GHO-R7's entries are some of the earliest.

—

Anomaly log has been formatted and language has been formalized, with the exception of the changelog.

Cause of anomaly appears to be related to the temporal Firmament that runs the loop. Theory unconfirmed. Usage of opposing Firmament can delay death, but without a planet to subsist on, even I cannot survive for long. — GHO-R7.

—

It is possible to temporally displace the exit past the point at which Anomaly 006 occurs. This is a problem. Do not do what I did. — GHO-R7.

—

"I am glad I am not alone," Ghost says quietly. I look up from the Interface and find that he's turned away from me and back toward the remnants of Hestia. A few smaller pieces of the planet drift past us, and he lets them go without a word; one piece, however, he reaches out to grab.

I look at what he's holding. It's small—not a piece of the planet at all, but a fragment of something that rings strangely in my Firmament sense. When he turns back to me, I can see that it's a blue-gold stone, shaped like the corner of a doorway and made of solid Firmament.

Easy enough to identify from sight alone, even if I didn't have my Firmament sense. Even if I couldn't feel faint remnants of spatial Firmament echoing from the piece he holds, the kind that might have been able to transport someone off-planet and out of their Trial.

"That's the exit, isn't it?" I ask gently.

Ghost looks up at me, hesitating for a moment before nodding. His shoulders sag. "It is."

"What happened?"

I know what he wrote in the changelog, of course, but the details are vague. More importantly, Ghost looks like he might need someone to talk to.

It still takes him a minute to find the words and the will to respond. I wait.

"Temporal displacement," he says eventually. His tone is as dispassionate as ever, but his Firmament flickers when he speaks; I see disappointment, fear, and regret in his drooping posture, in the way he can't quite meet my gaze. "I was able to determine that the Trial's exit exists not only at a specific point in space but also at a specific point in time. I had hoped that by manipulating it past the point of Anomaly 006, I would be able to find it."

I glance at the shattered remnant of the exit. "It was a good plan."

"It failed," Ghost says, and now his despair is raw enough to bleed into his voice. "The anomaly destroyed the exit, and the loops do not repair it. It seems that I will not be able to pass my Trial. I had hoped..."

He lapses into silence again, staring at the piece of the exit he holds. Then he shakes his head, letting it go and turning to me.

"You are new," he says. "I have lived through 8,136 loops. I have not encountered anyone of your species, nor anyone capable of surviving the Anomaly. How are you here?"

There's a spark of curiosity in his voice. A flicker of interest that wasn't there before. It takes effort for him to summon, certainly, but it's there. The presence of it draws a stark contrast to how he was speaking only a moment ago.

I wonder, for a moment, how close this is to his final loop—how close he was to giving up—but I suspect I've answered my own question.

"It's hard to explain," I say. "But here."

I haven't deactivated Temporal Link yet, so all I need to do is reach out with the skill, just as I did with Fyran. Our differing temporal energies flare as they make contact, and in an instant, he understands.

He still needs time to process, of course. When he does, the words he speaks are hesitant.

"We... are the same," he says. I nod, but before I can say anything more, he continues. "That means that I was not able to pass my Trial."

A pause, and then a mechanical sound that's suspiciously close to a snort. "I suppose I am not surprised. This was to be my final attempt."

There's that confirmation. He looks back at me. "I do not know how you are here, but there is fortune to be found in it. I feared that my death would come with the end of my people. We have not been particularly successful in these Trials. Nine of us have passed. All others have failed. I am all that remains between my people and their end, and yet I have failed."

He laughs, but it's a bitter laugh. "I hope things have not gone as poorly for you. But since you are here, perhaps you can aid me. Preserve a piece of my people where I cannot."

"They're lying, you know," I say. He blinks, optics shuttering for a moment as he processes my words.

"Lying?" he asks, as if he hadn't even considered it.

"They don't destroy planets. They say they will, but they just turn those planets into grounds for another Trial. The Integration is about bringing more planets under the influence of the Interface. Destroying a planet for them means giving up power."

Ghost's optics narrow. "You are... telling the truth."

"I don't have any reason to lie." I give him a humorless smile. "The exit has nothing to do with passing the Trial, either. It's just a red herring to make you give up."

Come to think of it, I wonder if that's one of Rhoran's tricks. The Integrators as a whole should want the Trials to be completed... but Rhoran? From what Gheraa told me, he enjoyed being in charge of a dead-end planet. A Trial that would never be completed, with minimum oversight and requirements.

"I see." Ghost's Firmament brightens a little, the muted green moving through his circuits becoming a little more vibrant. "Then it is not too late for my people. But what of your presence? Surely your intervention here must mean I failed."

"I don't know one way or another," I admit. "You aren't the first past Trialgoer I've met. It's starting to become a pattern. I just don't know why."

"You think there is a purpose to your presence here?"

I glance down at myself. The Thread of Purpose certainly thinks so—it winds around me, glowing brighter than ever. It doesn't give me any direction or insight as to why I'm here, but the implication is clear. "I think so."

GHO-R7 looks at me. His expression softens slightly. A small thread of blue joins the brighter green of his Firmament, and he nods.

"Then perhaps you have served it, in giving me hope," he says. "Perhaps not all is lost. Perhaps there is more I can do. When time rewinds, I will investigate."

He bows his head toward me. "Thank you, Ethan," he says. "I will remember your name, and I hope you will remember mine."

I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, the Tear dissolves around me. I blink in surprise as the valve chamber fully reasserts itself. There's no evidence of Temporal Firmament now—nothing except my memory of what happened.

"Ethan?" Ahkelios says, noticing my expression. "What happened in there?"

"It's... complicated." I shake my head, moving to the center of the chamber and turning the valve; there's a sound of rushing water, followed by an update from the Interface.

[Align the Sewers: 1/3

Firmament saturation: 92%]

"Looks like we had it about right, though," I say, frowning at the saturation. I used Firmament Control to crush Teluwat's bug and prevent more of the Tear from leaking, then a single cast of Temporal Link. Everything else is from the leakage of the Tear, but just to make sure... "Did anyone use any skills, by chance?"

Everyone shakes their head, and I sigh. One more thing to watch out for.

"Well, that's that, then. Hopefully the number drops a bit while we get to the next chamber," I say. "Everyone ready?"

When they nod, Adeya and I once more take point, making our way through the tunnels. As we walk, though, my mind lingers on what we saw in that Tear. Something about it struck me as odd. Not the situation itself, nor the way the Tear sealed itself, but...

Why that moment? That seemed to be when Ghost gave up on his Trial, but that was the type of scene I would normally see when using Temporal Link with a Remnant. And then there was the fact that I could interact with him, just like with Fyran.

That was oddly personal and oddly specific, for a Tear. Almost like it was chosen with intention.

I'm still frowning in thought when the first wave of Root Acolytes start pouring into the tunnels.

Damn. And I was hoping I'd get to start banking my points.

Maybe after this wave.