Die. Respawn. Repeat. - Chapter 58: New Journey

“You reckless,” Mari says. She stares at me, wings folded across her chest. I’m sitting meekly on Tarin’s bed, the straw beneath poking uncomfortably into my skin, which I have to believe is intentional, considering how comfortable it normally is.

Also, Tarin is sitting on her head. Why the heck is Tarin sitting on her head?

“Why is Tarin sitting on your head?”

“That not the point!” Tarin points at me dramatically. I try very hard to take him seriously, I do, but… again, he’s sitting on Mari’s head.

I mean, her shoulders, technically, but that’s not the point.

“He want to be tall.” Mari looks both exasperated and amused. “I tell you it distract him.”

“It not the point,” Tarin insists. “You need be more careful.”

I mean, they’re not wrong, but also… does death really matter to me? All it means while I’m here is that I’ll be sent back in time. It won’t be without loss — I’ll lose this version of Mari and Tarin —

It’s around then that I realize that I do not, in fact, want to die.

Not that I wanted to die to begin with. But the next death will cost me. It will happen, there’s no way it won’t, but as long as I can delay it…

“Sorry,” I say, as contritely as I can manage. “I didn’t do it on purpose. The skill just drained a lot more Firmament than I was expecting, and I figured it was better that I test it while I was safe.”

That logic, at least, I still believe is correct. Tarin looks a bit mollified by this, and climbs off of Mari’s shoulders. “I scared you just training yourself to death,” the crow mutters. “You careful. Loop is… dangerous. For your mind.”

That I’m well aware of already. “What did you find out about the skill shard?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

Mari eyes me, as if trying to figure out if she wants to let me change the topic, and then sighs. “It interesting,” she admits, almost begrudgingly. “But incomplete. I think it is… blueprint. But not for skill.”

“Not for a skill?” I frown. I’ve been calling it a skill shard because that’s what I thought it was — a crystallized portion of an Interface skill. It feels like a skill. “What’s it for, then?”

“Blueprint for skill… foundation.” Mari seems to struggle to find the work. “Basic blueprint. Like forest floor. Can grow skills on it.”

My eyes widen a little. The Void responds, swirling up in eager reaction to the twinge of greed I feel. “It lets you make skills?”

“Maybe.” Mari frowns at me, probably because she can hear that bit of excitement in my voice. I don’t know why. She should be excited, too; making a skill is going to benefit people without the Interface more than it will benefit me. It’s a start to having something that will let the people of Hestia fight against the Integrators…

Or maybe I’m thinking too big too fast. “I’ll find more shards first,” I say.

“You keep this one.” Mari presses the shard back into my hands. “Bring back to me. I remember, I not remember, it not matter. I help.”

I’m touched. “I will,” I say. She didn’t really need to say it out loud, even. The crows have always been more trusting than they perhaps should be.

…It makes me think about how Naru turned out so different. He’s a product of his environment, to a degree — although his choices are still his own — and I worry a little about how much the Trial might change me.

But there’s no point worrying, is there? Like the crows, I just have to trust. In myself, and probably in them and Ahkelios to pull me back from the brink if I start going weirdly power-hungry.

The fact that the Void stirs within me at the thought is not entirely encouraging.

“Hey, Ahkelios,” I whisper. “You’ll stop me if I start becoming power-hungry, right?”

“You’re not already?” The mantis gives me a blank look, poking his head down over my hair so that he’s staring at me while upside-down. “I mean, if you start becoming evil, I’ll try to stop you. But I’m not exactly…”

He gestures to his ethereal self. I shrug. “We’ll fix that,” I say, with a confidence I don’t entirely feel. Ahkelios doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he does look appreciative.

Okay, well, now to store that skill shard in a way that will let me keep it across loops. “You said the Empty City should remain the same between loops, right?”

“Yes?” The way Ahkelios responds turns it into a question.

I feel for the mental button that lets me open the up the dungeon.

[ Would you like to open The Empty City (Rank S)? ]

“Nothing’s going to jump out at me from the portal, right?”

“The starting area of a dungeon is always safe, but—”

“Good!” I interrupt cheerfully.

Yes.

I feel the Firmament before I see its effects. A massive flood of Interface Firmament, somehow twisting the space in front of me and doing something that’s nearly invisible to my senses — it’s a complex knot of complicated interactions that somehow connects the space in front of me with a deeper, underlying plane. For a moment, I sense a sheer, staggering depth of consolidated reality, stacked on top of each other like plates.

But as soon as I sense it, it vanishes. The portal ripples open in front of me without so much as a crackle of power, the edges vanishing smoothly into the space of Tarin’s hut.

“What this?” Tarin asks. He goes to peck at the edge of the portal, and I ward him off with a hand.

“Tarin! No!” I protest. I toss the skill shard inside — well, I do it a little more carefully than toss — and then command the Interface to close the portal again.

It ripples out of existence. Tarin looks affronted. “It not hurt me.”

“I didn’t want to risk it,” I say. I don’t know for sure, but I feel like the edge of a portal should be unbelievably, infinitely sharp. Maybe that’s something I should test. I could use this dungeon as a weapon, and not just as an inventory.

…Thoughts for later.

“But,” Ahkelios continues, glaring at me. “You can’t stay in there and stay safe. There’s some sort of timer — it stops being safe after about an hour. After that, it’ll be safe again only after you die.”

“That feels like a stupid rule,” I complain.

Ahkelios just shrugs. “I didn’t make them,” he says.

“What that.” Mari’s voice is flat. Not upset, just stunned. “You open portal?”

“It’s an Interface thing. I figured I can use it to store things I need to bring with me to the next loop.” I pause. Now that I think about it… “I guess I could use it to try to bring people with me to the next loop? Maybe?”

“They will die,” Ahkelios cautions. “It’s an S-Rank dungeon.”

“But the starting area is safe.”

“For an hour.” Ahkelios folds his arms. “Are you going to die immediately after sticking them in there? Can you guarantee they’ll stay put? How much time do you waste waking up at the start of a loop?”

“None?” I try. And then, more firmly: “None. The loop timer starts at 00:00 when I wake up. I’d know if I woke up late.”

“Fine.” Ahkelios concedes.

“The rest of the points are good, though, and I don’t know if the Interface will even let me.” I frown. “Did you ever try bringing anyone into a dungeon with you?”

“No.” Ahkelios’ reply is short. He hesitates for a second before he continues. “…I never really had any allies during my loops. It probably would have been better if I had.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“Portal feel wrong.” Mari frowns, saving me from the trouble if finding a response. “It dangerous. You careful.”

“I will,” I promise.

She continues staring at the spot the portal was in, a slight, contemplative frown on her beak and a furrow in her brows. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong, but I’m interrupted by a frantic knocking on the side of the hut — Rotar pokes his head in, looking frantic and holding a compass-like device with his wing.

“Danger,” he says. “Danger!”

The needle on it is spinning wildly. I don’t know what that means. I exchange glances with Mari and Tarin — I don’t sense any strange Firmament as far as I can see, and Mari and Tarin don’t seem to think anything is wrong, either. There aren’t any new notifications on my Interface…

Maybe it’s about time I leave and see what these Great Cities are all about. I’ve done about everything I can here, anyway.

“Let’s go, Rotar,” I say, in as calming a voice as I can. “It’s probably just malfunctioning. We’ll get you to the Great Cities and get it fixed.”

“But what if something’s coming,” Rotar insists. “I-I don’t want to leave people here behind if they’re in danger. We should all leave! That’ll keep things safe for everyone—”

“Rotar.” Mari’s voice is kind but exasperated. “We not move entire village for Great City device. Travel not easy. Travel dangerous. We move, crows die. We stay, crows maybe die, maybe safe. You understand? Even if you right… It risky.”

“I—But—” Rotar fidgets with his wings in a way that strikes me as adorable. “But if I’m right—”

“I strong, right?” Mari says. “Tarin strong?”

“Yes,” Rotar says, though with a bit of hesitation and uncertainty.

“You think we beat danger?” she asks. Her voice is calm, patient. I’m impressed, actually. Rotar is visibly wilting, the panic not gone but suppressed.

“I don’t know,” Rotar says. “But I think you have a better chance than most. Even if Naru comes back… You’ll be able to calm him down, right?”

Tarin huffs. “Mari kick him in nuts!” he proclaims loudly. “He too embarrassed to come back!”

Well, that didn’t happen this loop. But Tarin’s chest is puffed out in pride, Mari isn’t correcting him, and Rotar looks… somehow comforted? Weird.

“Is time to go, I think,” Mari says. “Trialgoer. Ethan. You help Rotar? Go to Great Cities?”

“Of course.” I don’t actually intend to look for the exit yet. I need so much more strength before I’m ready to fight the Integrators…

But the Interface is there, and the chat is there, too, reminding me exactly how much is at stake. I have to grow, and I have to grow fast. Maybe something in the Great Cities can help. If not? Well, I know exactly where I need to go, anyway.

Deep, deep into the Fracture.

Mari insists on preparing me far too much food before we’re actually ready to leave. I protest, because I don’t know how we’re going to carry all this food, but she just points out I can shove all of it into my portal.

Which I guess… isn’t wrong. I’m basically using the thing as a personal inventory, anyway. Why not.

It’s too bad it doesn’t also preserve food. Probably.

Rotar is waiting for me at the edge of the village, bouncing anxiously on his talons. “Are you ready to go?” he asks. “I’m ready to go. I’d like to go, please.”

“I don’t even know where the Great Cities are,” I say dryly. “But yes, I’m ready.”

“This way.” Rotar takes off before I can stop him. Keeping up with him is easy, thanks to Triplestep — I don’t need to use a more powerful skill at the speed he’s going at — but even Triplestep feels… faster. More efficient.

Benefits of a phase-shift, I suppose.

“You’re very worried about this,” I observe. He’s not as panicked as before, but there’s a sort of determination in his strides, a glint in his eyes that tell me this is not just important, but Important. I wonder how he felt during the harpy raid, and what his divination device told him.

“That village took me in when my own clan abandoned me,” Rotar tells me. His voice is surprisingly controlled and matter-of-fact, for all that he’s speaking between heavy breaths. “I can’t let them down. Not again.”

That catches my attention. “Again?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Rotar looks down, away. “Sorry, I just… I don’t know you that well yet. Another time?”

“Of course.” I don’t push it. I see the weight of guilt in his shoulders.

I guess we all have our stories.

Now to write a new one.