Die. Respawn. Repeat.

When I get closer to the Cliffside, I stop using Triplestep and pull in my Firmament again. I still have no idea if that actually does anything — clearly it didn't stop that thing from tracking me down back in the Fracture — but doing something feels better than doing nothing. I'm no forest survivalist, either, so while I make some attempt to cover up my tracks, I doubt I do a very good job.

Ahkelios seems to approve, though. That, or he's just fascinated by the close look at the planet's flora.

Enough time has passed that the adrenaline has begun to wear down, and I let my racing heart slowly settle. At this point, there's little more I can do to keep that robot away from me; either my attempts have succeeded or failed, and I'll deal with the consequences when they come.

The village comes back into sight, along with the burble of the nearby river and the smell of wet feathers. I hear loud caws in the distance, the shrieks of children as they play.

Everything's still intact. The last part of me relaxes, and I let out a breath.

Now to find Mari and check up on Tarin.

It doesn't take me long to reach the village. "Hey," I say to the first crow I see. Her face is oddly familiar to me, though I don't know why. "Do you know where Mari is?"

"In hut!" the crow waves in the general direction of Tarin's hut, and I set off. That's another point of relief for me; I'd been worried Mari would go against what we'd agreed on and head into the Hotspot. I suppose this iteration of her doesn't know exactly where it is, though.

Halfway to the hut, I stumble slightly as a memory returns. I do know where I've seen her before. In one of the early raid-loops, torn apart and bloody on the ground, having fought in defense of her village...

"Ethan?" Ahkelios asks me, worried. His voice brings me back into the present, and I give him a half-hearted smile.

"I'm okay," I say.

I'm probably not entirely okay. But it's not like I have access to a therapist here, so the best I can do is monitor myself and make sure I don't spiral. Having Ahkelios helps, I think; in fact, I think he's been helping, even unintentionally. There's something about the bright way he approaches things, the simple joy he gets from studying (and eating) plantlife.

Part of me is a little worried about what might happen when we restore more of him. He's clearly been pushed to the edge in his own Trial.

Hopefully, I can be there for him the way he's been here for me when that time comes.

Still lost in my thoughts, I knock briefly on the outer wall of Tarin's hut, and wait for Mari's squawk of inquiry before I push the flaps of the doorway apart and poke my head in. Mari's sitting by Tarin's side, pressing what appears to be a wet leaf to his head. Whatever liquid she's using soaks his feathers and soaks down onto the ground.

"It Firmament water," she says when she looks up to see me. "It help him. I think."

"Is he doing better?" I almost ask if he's doing worse, but this seems like a better way to phrase the question.

"Not better. Not worse." Mari hesitates. "Maybe. You check. You sense Firmament."

I nod and step forward, leaving the translation stone I'm carrying on a side table; Mari's gaze is drawn towards it, but she doesn't comment. Instead, she watches me intently as I approach Tarin.

The closer I am, the clearer the picture of his Firmament. I place a hand on his chest, feeling the thumping of his heart against his feathers. It's a strong, powerful heartbeat.

The picture underneath, though... I wince. It's worse. Noticeably worse, even, which is worrying because it implies that the Interface Firmament has been speeding up. Mari seems to recognize my expression, because she slumps slightly.

"Firmament water not help," she says.

"I don't know," I hedge. "Maybe it stopped him from getting even worse. But he's... definitely not getting better."

We're not even guaranteed that the Phantom Roots will cure him. I quash my own feelings of fear and give Mari what I hope is a reassuring smile. "We've got this, though."

"Stupid Integrators," Mari mutters, folding her wings, and I get the distinct impression that she's redirecting her grief into something more productive. I chuckle slightly.

"Stupid Integrators," I agree.

"You bring back stone?" Mari changes the subject rather abruptly, looking over at the translation stone I'd placed. I nod and get up from my seat, retrieving it.

"I don't really know what to make of it," I admit. "There's a lot of Firmament inside it, and it's coded in a specific way. I also found this." I dig around in my pockets to bring up what I'm calling a skill shard for now. "It feels a lot like when I imbue a stone with a skill."

"Hmm." Mari frowns first at the translation stone, and then at the skill shard I've brought her. She touches the tip of a wing to the translation stone first, and narrows her eyes. "Big. Complicated imbuing."

"Too complicated?" I ask, although I feel like I know the answer.

Mari grins at me. "Not for crows. Crows better."

For all her claims, Mari tells me it'll likely take the better part of a day to figure out how the translation stone is meant to work. From what she tells me, there's a specific way of threading Firmament through it — and while she can't sense Firmament the way I can, she apparently can gently flood an imbued item with her own Firmament, mapping out its pathways.

She all but shoos me out when I suggest I do it instead. Apparently, someone inexperienced doing that can irreversibly damage an imbuement. I am told, in order, that I should get to know some of the other crows, eat some food, and get some sleep.

Sleep is tempting.

I don't know that I want to get closer to anyone else at the moment. Every person I get to know is another person I lose when time loops around; another person that has to get to know me all over again, even though I know them. I'm already dreading the next loop, where Mari will forget who I am all over again.

But I'm determined not to distance myself from everyone just because of that. That sounds like the beginning of a dark path.

...And I suppose I've just argued myself into a corner.

I sigh to myself. As a compromise, I position myself next to a group of crows that are sitting next to a campfire, eating and chatting amongst themselves; the sky is dark enough now that the heat of the sun has faded, leaving the glimmer of the stars to take up the night sky.

Even the night sky here is unfamiliar. There are two moons, for one thing, each casting a pale blue down onto the forest. I see only a half-sliver of each of them, lit up by the Hestian sun. The stars here form different patterns than the ones I'm familiar with. I examine them for a while, Ahkelios on my shoulder, and I wonder for a moment if the golem that sacrificed itself had ever looked up at the same night sky. Ahkelios seems a bit wistful, too — he doesn't say a word, but he seems to sense what I'm thinking.

And then there's everything else.

I don't hear the chirping of crickets or the croaking of frogs. Instead, I hear the warbling cry of some nocturnal creature, a meaningless, surprisingly musical tune. There's something that sounds almost like a rattle, filling the trees. There are flickers of light between the leaves, matching each rattle; they flicker between orange and red and blue, a strangely beautiful dance in the night.

"I suppose I should appreciate what I've got," I mutter, half to Ahkelios, who perks up a little to listen to me. "How many humans get to personally see another planet?"

"Three thousand," Ahkelios answers, and I chuckle. He's not wrong.

It's unfamiliar, and that unfamiliarity leaves me a little homesick — but that doesn't mean what's here isn't beautiful in its own right. I've met some amazing people in my time here, too.

Things could be worse, I tell myself. But it's hard to forget about the stakes. I can't forget about the stakes.

I take a glance at the Chat function, just to make sure no one new has died. It doesn't seem like anyone has, but the five lingering names are still a reminder that my time isn't as free as I'd like it to be. If it were all a true time loop...

I should train.

Mari's gifts are still in my pocket — the stones that are particularly good for imbuing. I feel a little guilty about destroying one of them, but it had been my only idea at the time—

I feel a tugging on my shirt, and realize that one of the littler crows has wandered over to me.

"Are you gonna imbue?" she asks excitedly. "I wanna watch! I watch?"

I chuckle. "There's not much to see," I say. It's not like Firmament Manipulation is a particularly visible skill.

"I wanna watch!" she insists, and she starts pulling me over towards the campfire, where the other crows are looking at me encouragingly. Ahkelios is perched on my head, but no one comments on his presence — or tries to eat him, although he looks a little nervous at first.

When he stops being nervous, though, he joins in. "You should show 'em!" Ahkelios agrees. "Put me in it!"

"Ahkelios, I'm not putting you into a rock."

"Yeah, you're right, I've changed my mind. I don't want to be put into a rock."

I snort as Ahkelios backtracks, clearly having spoken before he thought. I glance up at the crows — they all seem eager enough.

"Alright, alright," I say. I'm not sure what they'll get out of watching me, but I might as well try. It does count as training, anyway, since imbuing is something new to me. Maybe I can get some Firmament credits out of it — the last Rank D creature I fought gave me eight Firmament credits, and the golem in the Fracture gave me ten. It's possible the other two came from imbuing.

I pull a stone out of my pocket and focus, bringing Second Wind to bear. If there's any skill I need a backup of, it's that one. The crows gather around to watch in fascination, though I don't think any of them can even sense what I'm doing.

I take a breath.

Second Wind.

The skill is even harder to manipulate than the others I've already tried. Part of that, I think, is because Second Wind is a Rank B skill — it's the strongest skill I have by far. I feel the skill surge to life within me, Firmament attempting to saturate my body; a blue-gold glow begins to rise from my skin, drawing awed cries from the adult crows watching me and excited squawks from the little ones.

Slowly but surely, I force it back down, gritting my teeth. It takes sheer force of will and effort to go against what the skill wants to do. Using the skill normally is as easy as breathing, but trying to force it to move the way I want is like trying to force myself to breathe underwater. My every instinct rebels against it.

And yet — slowly, but surely — I manage it. Inch by inch the Firmament gathers into one spot in my body instead of saturating it, and for a brief moment I lose control. That brief moment causes my arm to shine brightly with Firmament, flecks of gold shining a good few feet away from the main manifestation.

For a split second, it looks like we're surrounded by stars.

And then I wrestle my Firmament under control again, and force it into the rock. I try to tie it up, to anchor the skill, but every time I try it slips back out of my control and tries to slide back into me; eventually, I give up, panting. The rock shines with flecks of gold that weren't there before, the occasional flicker of blue appearing between its cracks.

"Whoa," one of the crows says. I don't recognize her, but she's young — a child. She reaches out. "Can I have it?"

Her mother smacks her on the head. "You not take Trialgoer's stone!" she scolds. I laugh, letting myself fall back onto the dirt as the crows chatter around me.

I don't know why, but it feels like I've accomplished something. A milestone. Pushing my Firmament like that, forcing it to move — it's done something to my Firmament.

I'm just operating off of feel, of course. I could be entirely wrong. But for now, I'm satisfied with what I've done.