The thought intrudes on my mind, foreign and not my own. There's a distant part of me that appreciates that Gheraa makes it clear that these thoughts are his way of communicating with me. He could have disguised them, I assume—made me entirely unaware of his intrusion—but he's instead left me aware. Presumably, though, there are limits. Otherwise he'd just be speaking with me directly. The fact that he can't is just another reminder that despite his presence here, he's dead. What remains of him still acts to show me exactly how out of my depth I am. I can feel my senses being guided, for lack of a better term. They pierce through the veil of the Intermediary's door, a hint of Phaseslip's power allowing me to cross that threshold, and... I sense it. The raid boss. There's an asteroid coming. It's enormous—probably the size of Isthanok all on its own. If it were just an ordinary piece of rock, I'd be confident in Whisper and Guard's ability to stop it, but it's not. That thing is full of enough Firmament to incinerate all of Isthanok on its own, and something about that Firmament is... wrong. It's twisted the same way Gheraa's Firmament is twisted. Someone's death is fueling it, and at the core of that death is something entirely unlike Gheraa's more protective bent. It's raw, unstoppable hatred. Anger. It burns so brightly that it scalds my mind just to sense it, and I withdraw almost immediately; Gheraa's presence wraps protectively around me in the same instant, preventing further backlash. "Not yet," Ahkelios supplies quietly. He forces himself into being. It's clearly a struggle for him. The Firmament of the Intermediary is intense, and manifesting for him is like forcing himself through a layer of thick, sticky tar. I can feel the strain of it through our shared bond, but he's forcing himself out anyway, just so he can be here for me. I reach out for him, and he climbs into my hand. "Not yet," I echo. I still have one option, and I've never been anywhere more perfect for it. A second-layer phase-shift is best performed in an area of heavy, dense Firmament. The storm outside of Whisper's castle would have been almost perfect for it, but that storm is gone now, and Whisper isn't really in a position to provide it again: but that's fine, because I have a source of something even stronger. So strong it's going to be dangerous to attempt my phase-shift here. So strong it might be safer to just hide here, beyond the threshold, where Gheraa can bend his remaining power to protect me. I recognize those thoughts as Gheraa's vestige reaching out to me again, making me an offer. Hide, it's saying. It can make sure I stay safe, away from the impact, no matter what happens to Isthanok. It even presents an argument: if I stay within the Intermediary, if I live through the impact, then anyone who remains alive after the asteroid impact will stay alive. If I lose the raid, even those survivors will be gone. But how many people are going to survive an impact like that? Guard and Whisper, maybe. One or two of the Arena's combatants, the ones with strong enough defenses to survive an impact of this magnitude. But even those are stretches—I doubt this impact is going to leave any survivors within the Great Cities, let alone within Isthanok. No. The choice the vestige is trying to give me isn't a choice at all, and it knows that as well as I do. I need to try to grow now. Even a phase-shift isn't necessarily going to be enough, but the conditions here are optimal, and Gheraa can bend his death to my benefit. He can twist the corridors of time here, stretch things out so that I have all the time I need. My core is strong enough to withstand a level of pressure that Miktik and Bimar can't. But in order to really benefit from this environment—in order to push this shift as far as it can go... I can't wear this armor. I need to expose myself to the full force of the Firmament here. I need to let it tear away at my core, to force me to confront the core of my power. My hands reach for the latches on my suit. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ahkelios asks. He doesn't stop me—instead, he hops from my hands onto the ground, watching. There's undeniable worry in his voice, but also... faith. Hope? "No." My answer is pretty simple. I thumb the latch, hesitating for a moment. "But I have to try." I flick the latch. There's a series of clicks, a hiss as the armor pops open like a shell—it's designed to be easy to move in and out of, I'll give it that. Then there's a fraction of a second where nothing happens. A fraction of a second where I let myself believe that it's not going to be as bad as everyone has led me to believe. That I'll be able to push through this shift with no further complications. That fraction of a second, it turns out, is just the world holding its breath. The ground beneath me cracks, a physical manifestation of the metaphysical clash that's suddenly emerged between my soul and the full force of the Intermediary's Firmament. I stumble, partially collapsing, barely noticing Ahkelios's arms slipping around me as he tries to Visit NovelHub for more amazing novels and chapters. There's a tang of metal in my mouth. A thick, crushing power surrounds me, washing away complexity of thought with the sheer weight of its presence. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears. For a long moment, it's the only thing in my mind—the only thing I can process. My vision blurs with red. That same red splashes onto the ground beneath me, soaking into the dirt in a puddle that seems... alarmingly large. Ahkelios's grip around me tightens—I feel him shaking me. I hear him shouting, saying words I don't have enough capacity to process. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. But the fear and urgency in them? I understand that all too well, and the part of me that struggles to hold on latches on to that piece of understanding, reminding me of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. Just the process of thinking feels like trying to swim through mud, but I force my Firmament to bear. I reinforce the edges of my soul, my core—build up walls of power, layer after layer to defend myself against the onslaught of pressure that's trying to crush me into nothing. Further within, the engine that Gheraa gifted me burns. It draws in every scrap of excess power, almost reveling in the sheer density of Firmament within the Intermediary, exhibiting a greed that isn't unlike the Void Inspiration in its intensity. Mine. This power is mine. All of it will be mine. "Ethan!" Ahkelios's voice is sharp, and I realize distantly that I'm saying those words out loud. The Void Inspiration isn't silent—it's roaring, reaching out for the engine in my soul, pouring its power into it like it's discovered a kindred spirit. The echoes of its greed reverberate in my mind, and I grit my teeth. Not now. I have enough to deal with already. I scramble for control in the chaos, feeling the situation slipping through my fingers, and finally, desperately, I call out. Don't forget our deal. I know who I am, and I've chosen who I will be. But the third layer demands success in the second. Right now? It considers me a failure. And the penalty for failure is death. True death. This will destroy my Firmament on a fundamental, permanent basis. If I die here, I'm not coming back.