It took Gheraa a while to piece it all together. Part of the problem, he thought, was that there was a part of him that didn't want to put it together. He understood now why the higher ranked Integrators kept it secret—there was something about the truth that was... uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. Trying to pry open this secret felt wrong.
He kept going anyway. If there was any chance that this was going to be important, then Gheraa felt he owed it to the people of Earth to try.
That didn't mean he needed to stay still while doing it, though. The storm around him was beginning to worsen, a little like the dungeon had finally sensed and recognized the danger of his presence here; more concerning, however, was the fact that he could sense a disturbance elsewhere in the dungeon.
That was strange. Gheraa hadn't expected to be interrupted. There were few individuals on Hestia that could survive the pressure of the Intermediary combined with the soulrot of an Integrator's death. The Hestian Trialgoers could, perhaps, but Gheraa couldn't think of a reason they'd be interested in the Intermediary. Maybe if they were trying to repair it, but that would require them to have initiative.
There was another possibility, of course.
He'd been told that Ethan was trying to bring him back. If there was anyone strong enough to both survive the Intermediary and cause a disturbance he'd be able to sense, it was him.
Gheraa pushed himself back to his feet and began to walk, trying not to look particularly hurried. As he did, he continued mulling over the fragmented images in his mind, slowly piecing together the core of the secret he'd found. The warning? He still wasn't sure exactly what it was.
Even when he'd mostly pieced it together, it felt more like a particularly horrifying children's tale or a myth of creation than it did a forbidden secret locked within the Firmament of all Integrators. It was strange, to say the least.
Change eyed her with suspicion. They had not spoken much before now. There was an understanding between the three that they would not interfere with one another lest they upset the balance they had created.
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"What would you have me do?" he asked, his tone guarded.
Imagination wrapped herself around him, whispering a tantalizing scene. A fantasy, almost. She could create anything, and Change could render it permanent. Together, they could write new laws into being. They could carve a path into the universe, make it possible to grow beyond themselves. They could become the very terrors they feared.
And Change, despite himself, found the idea more and more alluring as her whispers grew more insistent.
So they worked together. They toiled for an eon, Change and Imagination entwined, his hammer to her nails.
And yet their power, even together, was not enough.
They saw this eventually, though not without the passage of another untold eon. Anything they created took too long to grow and expand into something powerful enough to be used—it would be another eternity before even their best efforts rewarded them with even an iota of what they needed, and in that time, their enemies would grow ever greater.
Though there were one or two truths in there that threatened to shake the foundation of everything he'd ever known, so it was possible he was just trying not to think too hard about it.
The Integrators as an artificial race, created to free some being known as the Sunken King... except if the vision was right, then the Sunken King was either already back or in the process of returning. How long had they been Integrating and completing Trials? How many more needed to be completed before he was free?
If he was free already, then surely far more would have changed—and yet Gheraa couldn't shake the dread that was beginning to settle over him like a shadow.
Another disturbance shook the dungeon, and Gheraa broke into a run.