Rhoran snarled, slamming his fist into his desk. "Someone tell me how a human is moving two layers in a single shift!"
"Seems Gheraa was telling the truth about your temper." Lhore didn't seem particularly bothered by the situation. She leaned back in her chair, observing the events on the screen in front of her with a mixture of interest and detachment. "Careful. You're starting to sound like one of our Trialgoers."
Rhoran growled, but didn't dare contradict her. "Double layer shifts are theoretical," he said instead, getting up and pacing around his desk. "They shouldn't be possible. You need the second layer to get the third. Otherwise the shift rejects you."
"Then he'll just die, won't he?" Lhore shrugged. "That's hardly a problem."
"I don't want him to die." Rhoran glared up at the screen. "He needs to suffer."
"Sadism is not one of your more endearing traits," Lhore noted.
"It's not sadism." Rhoran narrowed his eyes at the screen. A small part of him found some satisfaction in the way Ethan was struggling, but a much larger part of him hated that the human had even been able to pull this off. How many years had it taken him just to get to his third layer? "I don't enjoy his suffering. I just think he deserves it."
"You seemed to quite enjoy his reaction to your raid."
"Gheraa ruined it." Rhoran scowled. "I can't believe he managed to get a skill to Ethan under yourwa—"
"He was a traitor," Rhoran muttered, rubbing his throat. He glared up at the screen again. "...Whatever. The human's going to die. I'm going to get my lunch break."
"Hmm." Lhore glanced toward him. "Very well. I suppose I should join you."
They left the monitoring room. On the screen behind them, Ethan collapsed to his knees. The readings on the Interface screen nearby fluctuated, flickered, and then a small message appeared, just for a fraction of a second, before it was subsumed by something foreign.
[ WARNING: MULTIPLE PHASE ANOMALIES DETECTED. ]
It's the primary thought ringing in my head. Dying here doesn't just mean my own death—it means the end of Isthanok and likely of the Great Cities as a whole, along with most life on the continent. It means leaving Earth and my fellow Trialgoers to fend for themselves.
It means Gheraa's death means nothing.
But it doesn't feel like there's anything I can do. My power is collapsing in on itself—using it only accelerates the process. Trying to use Firmament Control for this feels like trying to control the ocean's waves with just my hands. It's a futile, pointless effort.
That isn't going to stop me from trying.
Barrier. Second Wind.
The skills flicker to life within my core. I feel them responding to my will just like they always have, eager, willing; barriers form around me, and the blue-gold Firmament of Second Wind glows just underneath the surface of my skin.
The barriers fizzle. Second Wind dies, like a candle being snuffed out. The pressure around me continues unabated, both without and within; my core cracks a little further.
Barrier. Second Wind.
I try again. The barriers fizzle once more, barely forming before dissipating, and Second Wind just seems to send a ripple through my body instead of reinforcing the whole thing like before.
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BARRIER. SECOND WIND.
Barriers protect. Second Wind reinforces everything that I am. I'm not just using random skills—these are the skills I've been relying on, the skills that answer that second-layer question. They're who I want to be.
I am not going to die here!
"I have an idea," I say, standing back up and letting him climb onto my shoulders. New power and new knowledge brims within me.
I don't say it out loud, but this won't be my last time visiting the Intermediary. Gheraa's death weighs on me, but I have suspicions about it—suspicions that have only grown now that I know what the third phase-shift involves and what it feels like. He is dead, but... maybe he won't have to stay that way.
For now, though, I have a city to save.