The mist swallows the wyrm as I descend.

I can sense the far off haze of vitality I’d associate with a forest. The outline of branches becomes more distinct with each passing second until the wyrm cuts through a thorny thicket. I soon realize that it’s an enormous ravine covering miles, a thick thorny mass of plant growth. Within I sense the vital signatures of beetles in all shapes and sizes. I also sense martens nesting throughout the area, most sluggish and asleep in burrows.

And still no souls.

I draw the wyrm into a hover above the ravine while I consider how to proceed. Though my bone shield rebuffs the brambles, the wyrm can’t avoid the ravine’s tight-packed coils. I could have the wyrm carve a path through, but I’m trying to be inconspicuous, ideally avoiding activities that significantly modify the environment.

I disassemble the wyrm, grab for the void storage at my waist...and promptly remember that I have no means of conveniently transporting large quantities of bones. I sigh in resignation, then lay out the wyrm bones into a long whip behind me. At least they’ll be readily accessible if I need to form any constructs or defend myself.

As I move forward, hovering myself a few inches above the rugged, root-filled ground, the vines shift position, permitting passage before closing behind me. They fill every space, poking between my disengaged bone shield to superimpose over my reinstated Death energy jacket. My bone whip–really more like a length of a rope–snakes over the brambles behind me.

I can see the glow of my eyes reflected in the smooth, black skin of the brambles. The occasional thorn that snags through my leafy vestments is all that I allow myself to wither: Anything larger is too risky.

The ravine is defensible; it’s essentially a fortress of curving, thorny spears. It’s also close to the veil weak point leading to Messeras’ plane, so it has a good location. It’s a reasonable place to hide if I can’t find somewhere better.

As I consider how I might fortify a citadel of thorns to hold off a fire-wielding ascendant, I start to hear the far-off roar of water coursing over rock. Minutes later I emerge from the thorns and find myself in a gorge surrounded on all sides by towering waterfalls.

The heavy mist parts right as I step into the open, rays of warm, golden light refracting into rainbows where the waterfalls rebound as frothy white spray. The rushing water spills into a river that winds around and out, cutting a tunnel through the rock on the far right side of the gorge. I can sense small fish flowing with the current and small crustaceans and crabs anchoring down to feed on aquatic plants.

I walk along the river’s edge, trying and failing to spot fish with my mundane vision. When I reach the closest waterfall, its mist painting my cheeks, exhaustion overcomes me. I died today. I said farewell to my first real enemy, the Eldemari. I passed between two different planes, met a nice ascendant, and faced off against a powerful hostile.

I suppose I don’t feel physically exhausted–my body was just reformed–but my head aches with exertion and paranoia. In this moment I want nothing more than to stand still and do nothing, letting my mind empty. But I know that I have no other choice than to keep going with the hostile ascendant looming near.

I force myself to keep moving, the gritty ground hard beneath my feet, pebbles jutting into my lightly-calloused soles. Calluses and muscle don’t seem to disappear after death, else I’d expect my feet to be completely smooth. But it can’t be so simple as reverting to how I was ten minutes previous, else someone could be stuck in a perpetual state of almost death if they’re dying from something like poison.

I pause. Hopefully that’s not possible.

It’s been a long time since I last enjoyed a walk, weeks at least. I think the last time was in Yurusi Canyon, and before that, when I went to the nature preserve with Bradley. As I follow the rapids around the sparsely-grassed clearing toward the water-filled exit tunnel, my mind wanders to the Vindradoons...to Soolemar.

This is what you’ve been yearning for, Soolemar. But isn’t it just more of the same existence of which you’ve already grown tired?

My steps halt before the sundered wall of rock, a turquoise vein stretching like a lightning bolt from its peak maybe eighty feet above down to the waterline. The water surges beyond the threshold; compounded by the roaring waterfalls, the sound is deafening.

Habit rears its head as I once again reach for the small pouch on my belt–the void storage–only to re-remember that I lost it just a few minutes ago when I died.

And you thought there wasn’t anything useful in there, I chide myself. What I wouldn’t give to have the swimsuit and breathing apparatus I used to traverse the rift.

Without my suit, I’m tempted to abandon the seedling of an idea to follow the river through the tunnel and into the beyond. The alternative is going up over the rock and walking on the surface, but doing so would naturally leave me more exposed to detection. Moreover, if the enemy ascendant has any skill in tracking (or they acquire the services of someone who does), I figure that they can follow a trail much easier above ground than underwater.

I grimace at the undulating water’s surface. Who wants to bet the river is ice cold?

The bone shield activates, three layers of protection springing into place around me, separated by a hair’s breadth. The bone fragments are still spread apart, but when I’m ready to enter the water, I’ll crouch into a ball and press the bones tightly around me. They won’t be perfectly water tight, but they’ll protect me from accidentally hitting the tunnel walls; moreover, they’ll trap in some air, giving me oxygen to breathe if the tunnel goes on for longer than I can hold my breath.

But I really don’t want to get wet, damn it.

I sigh and lean forward, craning over the edge, unable to see past the protective layers of bone with my mundane vision. The water appears like a dark, shifting mass, separable from solid ground only because of its texture and motion.

I try to imagine what Eury would say. Probably something like, Ian, you’ve literally just had half your body incinerated. Just jump in the water. Even without a suit or any form of protection I bet he’d jump in without a care, forming a bubble of air around his mouth.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I fall forward and enter the rapids, bringing my legs against my chest. The sphere of bone closes in around me as I drop beneath the surface and whip forward in a deluge of bubbles. The sphere pounds against the bottom of the channel before stabilizing a few feet off the riverbed, flowing with the current.

So cold.

—

After breathing in the oxygen trapped around me for fifteen minutes, the last vestiges of air bubble away and I’m forced to hold my breath. Though I’m not a swimmer and don’t have practice holding it for extended periods of time, actively using my practice makes it possible to hold it for at least a few minutes before I start to suffocate, even if I feel like I’m going to choke long before that point. I take my mind off the lightheadedness by trying to see into the rock beyond, though for the most part all I see is dark, opaque black.

Two minutes later, I’m starting to get nervous. I can break myself out of the water and dig upwards, but that clearly risks leaving evidence of my passage.

I hold my hand out in front of me in contemplation. Tempered by ascendant energy, people like Holiday and Ari can supposedly descend from the heavens and traverse the void. As a Beginning practitioner, Holiday might construct items to help him survive, but Ari...I don’t think she relied on anything other than her raw physicality. Her Light affinity certainly wouldn’t have helped her survive the vacuum of space. To survive the void, she’d need to eliminate the need to breathe.

A similar skill would be awfully useful now. What if you try manifesting ascendant energy...inward?

I begin by forming ascendant energy at my fingertips. Then I imagine myself sending the energy inward, into my vessels, following the path of vitality through my body.

Despite my efforts, I don’t feel anything happening. Come on, I think, my thoughts growing desperate.

Suddenly, like a candle wick catching fire, I feel a tiny ember of energy manifest below my heart, right around my diaphragm. It feels slightly tingly, numb, like pins and needles.

I ignore the uncomfortable sensation of numbness while I continue to use my practice as before to extend my breath, carefully controlling how my body is using oxygen, stretching the limited supply as thinly as possible.

The ascendant energy isn’t having any noticeable effect, likely because I’m not actually using it properly. Holiday did say that only some ascendants can endure the harsh physical requirements to descend.

Right as I resign myself to cutting a path to the surface, I sense the river meet the surface at the very edge of my range. The river itself doesn’t veer upward; rather, the solid rock turns into a sheer cliff.

The water is moving so rapidly that the river emerges seconds later. I throw myself out of the river and onto land, the bone shield unfurling around me like a rosebud. Dissipating the numbing ascendant energy in my body is one relief, but filling my lungs to capacity is satisfying beyond words.

As I catch my breath, I look around and take in the surroundings. Behind me is a wall of tall rock, orange-brown and steep. Ahead is a vast, flat plain of light yellow grass that stretches as far as I can see. Low thickets and shrubs–unsurprisingly covered in thorns–cover the grass in patches of darkness. As a small ray of sunlight pierces the mist, I realize that the thorns aren’t black, but a deep green.

As before, I sense numerous beetles along with a few centipede-like critters winding through the plain. Martens nest near the thickets and shrubs, the few who aren’t asleep snapping up insects left and right. There are also a few clusters of tall-legged deer with hooves cloven into three toes instead of the familiar two. Whip thin tails topped by large poofs of hair periodically swat against their bodies or wipe down their sides, brushing off the attacks of tiny, blood-sucking beetles. A herd of five is only forty-or-so feet from me by the riverside, lapping up water from a small pool that’s collected next to the rapids.

My leaf clothes are sodden, several patches ripping and flaking off my body. They’re also strangely scratchy when wet, plastering to my skin in all the wrong places.

Narrowing my eyes, I dispel the leaves, leaving myself nude and lying in a wet, leaf-filled puddle.

My wetness unfortunately mixes with the cracked mud lining the shore to cake my ass, back, and legs. Even as I recline, shivering and catching my breath, the mud dries and trails cracked patterns of dust across my body.

As far as places go, this one seems safe enough; I can afford a few minutes to get more comfortable before continuing my journey. I hold up my hand to the overcast light filtering through the mist above (yes, the mist exists even after traveling several miles), the small gem socketed in Messeras’ ring glittering even in the low light. I press down on the gem and a list comes into view like before.

I think the top item is the dagger, though I’m not sure if the last item is underwear or something unrelated. It probably depends on whether the ring organizes like items together, and if Messeras kept more than one pair of underwear in his contingency ring. Of course, this speculation assumes that the ring’s sorting is consistent.

I hesitantly blink on the first menu item. In my hand manifests the same dagger as before, confirming that it’s still the first item on the list. Satisfied, I bring up the menu again to return it, albeit with a muddy hilt.

I stand up and grimace at the mud coating my body, then turn a wary glance toward the cold water. Calling upon every ounce of mental fortitude I possess, I hover myself over the water and slowly dunk myself under the surface, starting with my feet.

“Y’jeni, so cold...” I mutter, wincing. I know I’ve endured far worse, but I just hate the idea of drenching myself in cold water without a means of warming back up.

I frown as my eyes fall on small, white scars trailing my arms, hairline remnants of the frostbite that threatened to kill me when I faced off against the enemy off the shore of Godora. They had come ready to fight me, choosing the battleground (the ocean) and bringing specialists skilled in defeating decemancers. They induced destruction with freezing cold, the kind of chill that sucks the life out of everything. Heat destroys but germinates, sowing the seeds of regrowth, but even I can’t turn Death into potential in absolute cold. The universe won’t end in an explosion or bath of fire, but in frigid darkness.

I snap out of my reverie and peer down at the churning waters, my feet growing numb from exposure, the rest of me shuddering in cold from the light wind and lukewarm ambient temperature.