“I'd ask 'where am I?'” Tyr said with an exhausted voice. “But I've repeated that question so many times that its beginning to become exhausting.”

The administrator would answer without delay. “You find yourself in the S-class vault located deep with installation 14-02! Please step forth and choose six rewards. Anything is... Correction, eight rewards! Everything is available for perusal. Please ask if you have any further questions!”

He was in a chamber. A glittering one. Not a chamber, exactly, but a series of vaulted hallways with hundreds if not thousands of smaller alcoves. Each with a cost of some factor or another, a catacomb by any other name. One, two, three seemed to be the peak. Some were half, quarter, or ten copper to a silver in terms of integer. There were weapons, armor, tomes, and other things. Even a ship in a bottle that cost half a reward for some reason. Potions and pills with varied descriptions. Alchemical concoctions that could make someone with no mana capacity a mage, and other impossible things. Tyr knew that his death was not something that could be fixed by the rewards provided, so he didn't look. The administrator had said as much.

He browsed. There were even tokens that could revive the dead, though they had a cost. One week the dead would live before going where they were supposed to. Could summon the dead to give a person more time with a loved one, but they'd always return.

Amulets that could speak to other worlds, or presumably to gods. Cloaks that could make him undetectable to everyone and everything not capable of level five divination magic. And there was no guarantee that would even work to see through the cloak. There was even a wand called 'avada kedavra', ten charges in it that he could use to kill any man. Primus' were excluded, being nephilim, but the administrator ensured him that if he was willing to expend seven charges, it would even kill his father. But it, unlike other things, cost five points. If Tyr wanted to kill someone that badly, he'd do it with his own hands, on his own merit. Not via some ridiculously convenient, inconsistent magic.

Piles of gold and silver coins, but they were worthless. Both elements by themselves were incredibly common in Hjemland. There was a mountain of gold in particular in the northern sea. A volcano with golden magma that had erupted in ages past. According to popular knowledge, the element had been rare. Once upon a time. Now, a quarter kilo of gold was worth less than a gold sovereign. Currency was, for lack of a better term, illusory. It was a representation of old material values, and coins were just enchanted discs denoting worth. They could not be counterfeited. No amount of gold coins not guaranteed by the bank of an empire or sovereign nation was worth much of anything. Ten thousand gold coins, should he acquire them, were worth less than three hundred, material values considered.

He wasn't sure what to pick. Eight points was what he'd been given, and there were so many choices. Some tomes would teach spells that could be used at a discount rate as far as mana expenditure went, but she said he couldn't use them. Otherwise, he'd have gone immediately for those. Spellbooks and skillbooks. They were mostly incompatible with shaper magic. Disconcertingly, there were even slaves here. A creature called a 'succubus' and various other beings from other realms that he could bind for eternity to his will. Elementals, mostly, but there were many humanoid and automaton frames to choose from. Not slaves, she explained, but contracted servants. Slaves did not require salaries, but each individual creature slumbering in those vaults would require payment of some kind – even the golems.

Naturally, he ignored them. Looking to some of the pills and balms and tinctures. Things that could passively refine his mana and spira, bringing them to new heights. He bought a handful of each, ten for one point, consuming his first two. The administrator provided instructions, but Tyr didn't really listen.

The artifacts here were all rather underwhelming. Weapons that he'd seen better of in his own world, having expected better. Almost all the armor was plate, and he didn't care for it. Impressive effects or not, plate was good for killing men, not monsters. Tyr didn't need the added protection to engage men, and the raw force monsters were capable of generating would scramble anyone inside of their armor rather easily. Like an egg. Magical artifacts that could hold up to that kind of abuse were rare, and usually only did so because there was a mage inside of them.

Tyr thought about other things. His regenerative power didn't make sense. Ellemar and Solomon both had studied the phenomena of spira on the human body. Mana had a similar effect, but it was in the passive combination of two that one could... Transcend human limits? Both were not wholly necessary, but a mixture of them was ideal. After all, Jartor remained so powerful despite having no mana core at all, unlike every other living thing on their world. He was like a... A divine golem? More like a world golem. Was that a thing? Octavian had both, and he was a powerful mage – something Tyr had never thought possible – but they didn't 'blend'. They were separate entities inside of him and did not cooperate.

Tyr on the other hand, seemed unique in that regard, in context of the current era. Something closer to a human. Even with his mana core deformed, he felt the relationship between the two. He grew in power all the same, but the process wasn't so obvious as a sudden awakening. It was a slow and steady refining process. Killing was the easiest way to observe it, but according to guesswork he'd made based on experience, practically anything could contribute.

Any interaction with energy above the norm found in the outside world. He'd experience these things, and it'd take root inside of him. To varying effects. For some reason, his regenerative properties were always growing stronger, but his bones and body remained relatively the same. His muscles would grow denser, to the point where he would break his own bones if he pushed them as far as he could. But he was still as durable as a human. Earth infusion helped but there was a limit, and Tyr was often clumsy in the midst of combat when trying to balance magic with movement and feat of arms.

There was no way to give it a quantitative value as far as he could tell. He was at least three times as strong as he used to be, just passively and without magical enhancement. But his durability had remained unaffected by his growth. His mind was sharper, too. Noticeably so. Tyr was by no means more intelligent, but his head was clear and he had little need to sleep. In tandem with that phenomena in particular, his magic had become far more... Accessible? He used to feel pain whenever he summoned the fire, now he felt only the slightest sting on whatever body part it came from. Usually, his hands or feet.

“I don't really need any of this.” He said, picking up a cube labeled as a 'x12 world assimilation seed'. It lay right next to something called a 'tesseract'. “In fact, I don't even know what this stuff is. Where did you get all of these items?”

“Twenty percent of the articles contained within this facility are random crystallized mana phenomena.” She replied. “The remaining eighty percent are items collected throughout various astral spaces. Participants who have fallen have their items... Repurposed. Repaired, if necessary. This vault accounts for approximately 0.005% of the items we've managed to categorize over the years.”

“Hmm...” Tyr thought about the astronomical figure of items that must lay within the tower. There were thousands here. At least. Yet it was only five thousandth of a percent?

Wait... He paused. Is that how fractions work? Clearing his throat and feeling his neck burn in embarrassment, he continued to peruse the various wares. Like a living museum. A testament to whatever great power had built this monolithic structure.

“I really can't decide. Can you help?” He asked. There were a bevy of alchemical texts, but he'd never had much interest in the subject. Like the 'loot' and 'monster cores' found only in these rare astral spaces, he had no inkling whatsoever as to their purpose. Those that were explained to him by the administrator seemed too good to be true. There was even a potion that could supposedly render him immortal. But it wouldn't fix the deformity of his mana core. Regardless, he shivered at the idea of living forever.

“I see. Understood. Calculating... If you'd like, we can have a unique set of armor crafted for you at the cost of two points. For five additional points, consuming your balance – I will repair the shattered auronite blade within your dimensional ring. To be honest, this is all an estimate. As per the adjusted purpose of this place, all participants will be given an origin seed. Since you are from a world where primary elements are common in nim-derivative lifeforms, you will be granted the origin seed of fire.”

Tyr looked about, brows low. “You can do that?”

“The first thing? Or the other thing?”

“The second thing.” He replied, scratching his head. “You can repair broken auronite that easily?”

“Of course. After all, it's made from my blood. Our blood. I am well aware of Orik runes and can repair those as well, though it is a growth artifact and you'll have to start from square one in that particular process. Well... Calculating. Correction. Multiple points of efficacy will be lost due to the soul matrices inside the item. Curious. To think that this alien filth not only managed to lay their hands on our body but also taint it with such disgusting techniques! Ha! It must be cleansed. Oh, fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain! I won't destroy the item, but I will be wiping it of runes and replacing them with another native language. You truly have a talent for negotiation!”

“I didn't say anything...” Tyr mused. But he was torn from the place again before their 'conversation' could continue. Left with a pocket full of energy rich capsules and spinning through a completely black space. His form was shrouded with a set of armor made for him, and him alone. A black linen cardigan sitting over tight leathers with chain woven between the layers. A sturdy breastplate of black iron, all was tight but flexible, exceptionally comfortable. Sheathing his arms from the elbow down on his right, and shoulder down on his left, in segmented metal of an unknown alloy. Both legs below the knee were similarly covered, a close approximation to his mothers armor, but it was more robe than traditional armor. The knee length cardigan fit tight to his shoulders, cinched around his waist before billowing out like an open faced tabard.

Last but not least, the mask. A rounded plate of black metal that did not obscure his vision, rather enhancing it. Allowing him to see from all angles as if it wasn't there at all. In the form of a snarling face. Not quite human, but close enough to draw an approximation. Like a jesters mask, but bereft of color and angry rather than crying or happy. It was hard and geometric, like something carved in stone. Heavily detailed and a true masterwork as far as it's appearance went.

Cardigan cloaked and nearly as soft as Ayla's silk, it all shrouded him from head to toe. Ending in a thick hood that hung over the mask. All of it was heavily enchanted. Beyond what he was capable of to be sure. Enchanted for swiftness, silence, and durability. Repair runes, too. One of which was added to the sword. A proper repair rune that would ensure it was never remained shattered like that again. Perhaps a last gift from the administrator who bid him farewell. There was even a rune for 'gluttony' on the armor, the purpose of which he could not divine.

The magic array cleverly tucked into the layers of the armor were beyond his comprehension. Wearing it, he knew inherently that he'd be 'better' in all regards by a slim margin. Something that would grow and change with him. Like the sword.

It wasn't an uncomfortable process. Tyr had traveled through rifts before, and it always left him sick and reeling. Instead, this time, he was settled gently on a parcel of grass. Gentle rolling fields that led to a thick jungle. Behind him, the same astral rift that he'd come through once upon a time. What seemed like an eternity ago. It was always like that. In his world, Tyr felt like his own life had been such a blur. But his experiences beyond that world seemed so much longer. Like he'd spent more time here than at home. But...

Thank you. All he could do was thank the administrator. His hands shook less now, gradually steadying. That anxiousness he'd felt was soothed by the long, albeit artificial – he hoped – time he'd spent in the tower. He plucked his communications amulet from his neck and called in. Wait, did she say origin seed? What... I'm sure it'll be fine. Tyr scratched his head again, clearing his throat. It was better not to think about such things. He was fairly confident that he wouldn't end up the way that Altrimar supposedly had. He hoped...

“Relay station. This is Tyr requesting a situational report. Come in. Over.”

“We have no record of a 'Tyr'. Use your call sign, idiot. Are you new? Who let you in here? Over.”

Tyr sighed, almost laughing. The sound of another human voice was like music to his ears, even if it was insulting him. He had no idea if the relay stations existed anymore, but this was a sign that so much time hadn't passed that he'd been left behind. A contradiction of astral spaces. That which he could remember, he'd been gone for decades. Well beyond the time necessary for the rift to change and cycle. “Relay tower, this is Meat Man Infinity. It's good to hear from you. Over.”

“White wolf?” The person manning the relay station replied, suddenly a lot more friendly. “Roger. Got teams looking for you, adventurer. Reporting your location now. Situational report... Not much of one. There are six teams in the astral space and four are currently assigned to SAR units, with you as the target. Report to the gate immediately for a debrief. Over.”

“Wait, does this mean we get the bonus?” Somebody whispered before being shushed by a third voice in the background.

“Roger, relay station. What's the date?” Tyr asked. “Over.”

“August 10th, 895. Reason? Over?”

“No reason.” Tyr replied with a belated 'over'. Two weeks had passed since he'd been in the tower. Not even a tenth of the time that he'd spent there. A hundredth of the time if his fragmented memory was worth anything. Though the goals and context of which he could not remember for the life of him. All he had was a repaired weapon and suit of armor to serve as any reminder he'd been there at all. And Ayla, who he hoped was okay. Administrator had, at the very least, promised to not let him forget her, and it seemed the machine voice wasn't a liar. “Why are teams looking for me? Over...”

“No idea.” The voice was full of static, tinny through the communications amulet. “Some order from the higher ups. You silver rank adventurers are so important, after all. Me? I'm only iron. But one day, they'll have whole armies coming after me if I ever get lost. Oi, you can't say that, this channel is monitored. So? Fuck, nobody wants to do this job. Let's see them replace me, you daft bastard! Anyways, white wolf, I've informed the SAR teams of your location. ETA is seven days. Questions? Over.”

“None. Thanks relay station. Let me know if you're ever in town.” Tyr laughed at the argument erupting on the other side. A more green and diligent employee berating his senior. He felt lighter, better than every before. Like he hadn't just gone through that incredibly long process. Full of energy. “I'll buy you all a drink. Hells. A dozen rounds on me. Make it back safe. Over.”

“Oi, oi, oi. You hear that, Benson? A dozen rounds! We'll hold you to that oath, white wolf. Remain at your location for the arrival of the recovery team. Relay tower bravo over and out.”

Tyr chuckled again. He felt so alive. So energized. Laughter erupting from his lips was rare, Abe had said so in the past, but this was honest laughter. Only after so long did he realize that nothing had smelled of anything. It was all... Blank. No substance to it. Here, in this place, he could smell the aroma of nature in all its glory. Waiting for these 'recovery teams' who had come to collect him. It boded ill, in his opinion, considering he'd only been gone for a short while. Still... They couldn't stop him from enjoying the little things. Meditating under the bright sun and clear sky. It was yellow today, something he was more used to. The violet wasn't so bad, but the red sun in particular was the absolute worst. Left his eyes stinging trying to discern anything under its radiance.

“Well...” Tyr exhaled, taking a breath and appreciating the fact that he was back in the 'real world'. Or at least close enough to it. “I guess I'll go kill some monsters. Yeah?”

“Acknowledged.” The relay tower answered. He was unaware that their voice connection had not yet been closed. “Please remain at least five kilometers from the the exit gate. Otherwise...” The voice chuckled. “Go wild. Over. Also, you press the big round button on your amulet to close your connection with a relay tower. Not that I mind. Shit gets boring out here. Everyone is afraid of the astral space closing on them again. Hells, not that I can blame them, but... The hazard pay, brother. Believe me. Enough said. Anyways, I am obligated to remind you of proper protocol. But if you ever want to talk, I'm here for you, man! Also, I am expecting those dozen rounds. Over, but for real this time.” The voice came, in a happy-go-lucky type of way.

Tyr had been given rewards for his completion of every individual trial. A lot, though he'd barely looked at them. For now, he wanted to fight and struggle and kill. Things that wouldn't make him feel guilty for ending. Thoughtless monsters. Real ones, like bloodhounds and velds. Most of all, he wanted to see how far the power coursing through every inch of skin had taken him. An electric tang on his tongue, like the energy had a mind of its own and wanted to be set loose on the world.