Die. Respawn. Repeat.

Chapter 191: Book 3: Elsewhere, Elsewhen

In the streets of First Sky, a change sparked. It was a change that was set into motion years ago from the perspective of its citizens—a small, barely noticeable alteration to the materials the scirix used to build their homes.

A certain parasite thought that a larger change might have been too noticeable. That it might have sparked a response from the Interface. It was one thing to make changes to the challenge that a Trialgoer had to face and another thing entirely to alter the fundamental direction of a dungeon Ritual created by its soulrot.

For the most part, that change did nothing. The majority of their building materials were untouched, and life—as well as the intended course of events—went on as normal. Novi was the first to notice the color-drain phenomenon, though almost no one else believed her; her only allies in that respect were her sons.

Despite that, Novi was chosen to create the Record. Her sensitivity to changes in Firmament was unparalleled. It wasn't long before she was promoted to Seer herself, until others began to notice the change she warned of; then First Sky began to take her warnings more seriously. They began trying to understand what was happening to their home and why.

In the midst of all this, a scirix named Varus took a walk along the streets. He passed by a home that was still mid-construction, whistling to himself; he'd recently met a peer that went by the name of Juri, and he was excited to see him again.

Excited enough that he didn't quite pay attention when the scaffolding on the home next to him began to tremble. It was only when a threatening crack sounded that he looked up—and by then, it was too late.

Or it would have been.

There was a man in what looked like armor made of bone standing over him. Looming over him, really. He wore what Varus hoped was a helmet that resembled a draconian skull, and the large chunk of stone that would have crushed Varus had simply crumpled ineffectually against it, leaving chunks of dust and shattered rock scattered around them both.

Varus opened his mouth to thank the stranger—a Protector that someone else had summoned, he assumed—but the words froze in his throat. Something about this Protector's power was terrifying. He projected a casual sense of destruction, like he lived in a world of glass and it was only by his will that anything was allowed to live.

"Interesting," Kauku murmured. "I suppose it makes sense that it would target you. The others are too obvious a target, yes?"

Varus had no idea what this stranger was talking about, but he forced himself to speak. "Are... you alright?"

Kauku tilted his head at him, then barked out a laugh. "I was expecting you to run," he said. "It's not easy for mortals to exist around me. You remind me of a certain someone."

Varus hoped that was a good thing. "Thank you for saving me," he said.

"You're quite welcome," Kauku said. He straightened, looking around. "Ah... there it is. I see why Ethan was warned. Unfortunate."

Varus watched, alarmed, as this Protector—the strongest being he had ever encountered by far—suddenly stumbled. His armor cracked. A greenish-black flame seemed to glow from those cracks, and that same flame lit up in a single socket of the Protector's skull.

"I have some time." Kauku said the words as if nothing was happening. "I'll just have to... Let's see."

A pause. Varus felt a gathering of power. A brilliant blue flashed opposite the sickly green, and something seemed to slam into the fabric of reality itself, shaking it to its very foundations. "Seal."

Varus had no idea what had just happened or what he'd just witnessed. It felt like something had just been driven deep into the world. Like a change of some kind had just been anchored into his home. Into the very foundations of First Sky.

He took a step—

Varus shook his head and blinked.

"Ow. Feels like I just took a blow to the head." He looked around at the scattering of crushed rock. "Maybe I did take a blow to the head. Did something fall on me?"

"Actually," he added hastily. "What are you planning?"

Gheraa couldn't really tell, but the Heart's response seemed to carry a hint of laughter within it. "You are a paradox," she mused. "In more ways than one. An Integrator that goes against the plans of your kind. Alive, yet dead."

"How am I alive, anyway?" Gheraa muttered.

"A minor paradox." The Heart said it the way Ethan would sometimes bring up his own impossible feats—like it was mere fact. "You are alive in enough futures that I can maintain a small temporal loop to allow you to render Ethan assistance. You will be less than before, of course. Your full self is too great to be sustained."

"Gee, thanks," Gheraa muttered. The way she said it didn't really seem like a compliment. "And you want me to... what, just help him? What's he need me for?"

"I want you to warn him." The moment the Heart spoke the words, Gheraa felt his own Firmament still. Like his heart had stopped beating, not that he had one. He waited.

There was a long silence.

"...About?" Gheraa asked. "You can't just say I need to warn him and then not tell me what I need to warn him about."

Another long silence.

"Hey!"

Nothing.

"Hello?" Gheraa frowned. "Are you still there?"

Still nothing.

But a portal opened in front of him. Gheraa recognized it as an exit—the way out of the Intermediary and back to Hestia. He hesitated before he stepped through it. Why had the Heart stopped speaking to him? Had something happened, or was that just a question she couldn't answer?

Was he really going to throw himself into the fight again for Ethan? He had a choice here. He didn't need to step through.

Gheraa snorted to himself.

He knew what Ethan would do, and there was no way he was going to let Ethan beat him.

He'd figure it out. There were a million other people the Heart could have chosen to deliver her message to Ethan. She could have done it herself if she'd really wanted to. If she'd chosen him, then it was for a reason.

Honestly, he was kind of excited. It would be good to see Ethan again.

He couldn't wait to find out what Ethan had accomplished this time.