Chương 17: Affinities.

Xan actually expected me to have to make arrangements at some point. He doesn't mind shortening the training time.

"Most of those who work out here have their own obligations. You mentioned having to earn your keep, so I am neither surprised nor annoyed. I will just remind you that keeping a balance between your duties remains your responsibility. If your awakening is delayed, and you fail my test, then you fail," he reminds me with a serious tone. I guess I'll take it.

It has been twenty-three days since the beginning of the Year of Judgement. I twirl my staff in the main room, causing it to fall. It's been hard focusing today. I'm guessing the lack of messages from Krane is setting me on edge. I'm still hoping we can stop the explosion. Somehow. The others are looking at me weirdly. It's making me self-conscious.

"Tell me," Xan begins.

"Why did you pick up that sport to begin with? The boxing sport." I pick up the staff and go through random movements. Xan ordered me to do it slowly to get me more used to flowing between one form or another as it's really central to the style he's trying to teach me.

"Well, when I was younger I was a bit of a mouthy wanker. There was a gym not far from the council estates — where I lived. The prices were dirt cheap for students, so I figured, it couldn't hurt." I find that I really enjoy the forms today. I don't know, it's as if things suddenly clicked. Reminds me of finally 'getting it' when working on something with my cello.

"Of course there is a massive difference between knowing how to box and actually fighting in the streets: sucker punches, kicks, people just grabbing you, no one's fighting you one on one when they could do it with their mates. And the block thing implies both fighters have gloves. It's super hard to block the same way because bare hands are much smaller. And people are wicked fast." I like how the staff swishes through the air, especially in long form. I'm feeling good all of a sudden. That's nice.

I see the others have stopped working out but I don't care I'll just keep going.

"And why did you fight with the others?" Xan push with uncharacteristic interest. Do I want to tell them? Do I even care? I don't think I do. They'll forget it anyway.

"My mum left me when I was fifteen. Just up and quit. I was far too old to be adopted, and I wouldn't have accepted it anyway, so I just kept living in something called a council house. Alone. That place was rough and mum was a bit 'posh' so I sounded posh, too. Hmm, that means she sounded like a Patrician."

"I know what you mean," Xan interrupted.

"And then?"

"And then nothing. The locals didn't like the way I was speaking very much. Felt like I was looking down on them. Which is fair, I was, a bit. I guess… I felt the need to be special. I worked hard on my music to make sure I could get a scholarship. Some of them just coasted through life, I guess, or that's how I felt about it. Course, it wasn't fair. My parents had pushed me to start music when I was seven. The other families didn't have private music lesson money like I did.

But as I said I was a bit of a ghastly young sprig with a lot of insecurities." I go through a faster series of forms. Fuck, I feel like I finally got it! And then, vertigo seizes me. I fell to my knees.

"Oh." Energy rushes out of the three gates, filling my body with power. It's so fucking good, my God. Hey, I remember…

"I, uh…" Already?

"Congratulations on your awakening," Xan laughs.

"Very well done." I stand up, surprised. I feel… whole again. Like my body matches my soul more closely. The sense of alienation I have felt since waking up again at the beginning of the loop fades away. I am back to normal. It feels amazing. I just hope I'll never return to unawakened. I would not enjoy that very much.

"Congratulations. Here, have a candy," Xan says, handing me one.

"Thank you so much," I say with all my heart. Looks like we might do it after all. Momo is next. I really have to pay attention not to look at how her hips sway on the way to me. A wave of perfume hits me like a cloud front. I suppose I'm not immune to whatever she has going on yet. I meet her dark eyes and find only amusement. She is also handing me some sort of pastry.

"From my home planet," she says in a singsong voice.

"Normally, your family would bake them over the course of the day."

"Thank you very much, I appreciate it," I tell her honestly. It's really sad to say but I think this is the most personal and thoughtful gift I've received on Enderlith so far. I turn to Tavor who stopped mid flex, three sets of weights bending the metal bar held between his massive hands.

"Let me guess, I'd get banishment since I'm old?" I ask.

"If you were young, your father would shave your hair. Your family would burn it, and then you'd be inducted in a youth gang. You would still not be considered an adult," Tavor honestly tells me. The others fall silent. I found very little online about the Sallurians. They're fiercely defensive of their culture. People are not even sure where they come from originally, and in a world of fragmented information, I don't have a way to find out just yet. Xan pats my shoulder before I can give it more thought anyway.

"You did it. There might be a chance you could succeed after all! Or not, I don't think this has ever been attempted before. Now that you're first awakening though, let's celebrate by finding your affinities." I blink. I remember affinities…

"Are affinities not for mages?" I eventually ask.

"And, uh, higher awakenings?"

"Of course," Xan says happily, "but wouldn't it be fun to find out what they are first? There are also limited benefits for basic training. For example, an ice affinity awakened will perform better in colder temperatures, obviously, so I might be able to fine-tune some of your training depending on what we find. Consider this a reward and a gesture of my appreciation. And don't worry about the money. I got an old friend who owes me a small favor. Speaking of money, let's move to my office to discuss the next step."

There are no discounts for the second phase. I need to pay 150 which leaves me at 110 credits with two weeks of pay and some of my spendings. I'll have to save more if I want the last round to succeed.

We take the train to a nearby district and stop at a military checkpoint decorated with the symbol of Might, which is just a fist, basically. Two sentries are discussing the fact their avatar is still missing almost three weeks into the year, and how that's not a good sign. They let us in after calling one of their superiors.

I expected military districts to be, I don't know, fortified I guess, but it's just a backline administrative and training center with young recruits running around a large central spot so I suppose things are normally tame. Xan is greeted on the way by manly chest bumpings which I assume are the local salutes. Fists also adorn flags, banners, and insignias. They sure like their knuckles over here. Our destination is an unremarkable building on the side.

A gray-haired, scarred woman welcomes us in her barebones office. She and Xan know each other well and they spend fifteen minutes laughing and reminiscing while I do my best to emulate a potted plant. Eventually, the woman grabs my hand between calloused fingers. I knew she was serious because I couldn't read her soul, but it feels like giving a handshake to a hydraulic press.

"Hmmm. Hmm hmm hmm," she mumbles very informatively.

"Yes. An unusual mix. Hmmm. Your affinities are flesh and star. I am certain."

"Flesh and star?" I… don't know what I was expecting. Certainly not that. Flesh? Star?

"I was a musician before. I was expecting something related to sound, perhaps."

"Were you an extraordinary musician? An addict melomaniac?" she asks with a mocking voice.

"Did birds fly in your hand while glasses broke in your wake?"

"No." Still a bit of a disappointment.

"I imagine I'm not the first person to be surprised," I surmise.

"At least you have not asked me to test again, and that your father is yadda yadda." She chuckles darkly, and something tells me those scions didn't get what they wanted.

"So… is it good? Bad?" The old soldier considers me in silence for a few moments, a wizened finger tracing an old scar along her jaw.

"You are already a man so I will not lie and claim all affinities are equal. Some combinations are well-known and effective. Yours is too unusual to find paths trodden by enlightened elders. Flesh is an unusual affinity. As for star, we've barely had any since the purifiers left." She sighs heavily.

"Don't go all nostalgic on me now, woman," Xan rumbles.

"Hah! Forgive me if I reminisce about the glory days of Vrok's reign."

"What happened?" I ask.

"Who were the purifiers?" She waves her hand away.

"Just an old group trying to expand the station's livable zones near the middle of our lost Archon's reign. They succeeded. To an extent. But then, they left. We don't know why for sure so don't ask me, and since then I feel like fewer people have awakened star affinities. Or we have stopped looking for them." She shrugs.

"I wouldn't know. Ah, look at me being nostalgic for a better time."

"A worse time," Xan corrects. She doesn't seem convinced, and her amused gaze says as much.

"So…" I interrupt.

"Ah, yes. Flesh relates to flesh manipulation in all its forms. It is not as potent for healing large groups: light and life do it better. No one else can improve a body at a cellular level though."

"Except for transformation?" I ask because I'm not sure. Her expression cools noticeably while Xan shifts his posture, and suddenly I'm in a hostile environment.

"Hold on, I'm just trying to understand here."

"He's solid," Xan says.

"Yes, yes, well, transformation isn't about 'improvement' per se. The fleshcrafters are the ones who cook the gene mods for the rich arseholes, and manage the more exotic diseases and threats. They're also… very keen on self-modification." She frowns her disapproval, perhaps daring me to object.

"I noticed."

"Strange bunch though it's infinitely better to have them on your side. To return to our topic, flesh is mostly an internal expression of power while star is an outside expression. Star is an affinity in itself, but its sub-categories are light and heat. I remember purifiers going after the beasts, shining like beacons in the darkness, rays of light searing the eyes of the depths monsters. I remember the air tasting sweet after they passed with every spore and miasma fading away. Aaaah.

But see me rambling like a crone. Xan! I told you to interrupt me when I lost it!"

"But your voice is so sweet." Xan dodges a lazily flipped table ornament. He grabs it before it can clang on the wall, and places it delicately on the table like a gift.

"Those affinities are rare and potentially useful," she continues as if nothing had happened.

"However, their combination is so unusual that I have no path for you. We do not have star affinity training, only fire training you would be subpar at. If you were one of mine, I would fast track you to a surgeon or bio-weapon countermeasure career with the caveat that we can't train you to the best of your abilities. Since you're not, perhaps check with the flesh crafters, although I reckon they don't take adults." Maybe they would take avatars. Something to consider for later.

"There is something else as well but it's so diffuse that I cannot quite put my finger on it. It feels more… external," she continues. She smiles politely. I am left to wonder if this is one of the few people who could detect an avatar because she's most likely feeling the touch of time. I don't think there is a natural time affinity, but I might be wrong. In any case this has been very illuminating.

So I thank her profusely again since she's doing us a favor and I look at the brochures while Xan exchanges a few more words with the old woman. The brochures are amazingly unhelpful. After a while, we leave. I start asking questions as soon as we're back on the train.

"So… how do affinities work, exactly?" Xan closes his eyes, almost reciting the answers.

"They are most important for mages. Mage traditions will only function for matching affinities though I heard high awakening mages can use simple traditions from all around. There are also near affinities. For example, with your star affinity, you could theoretically learn fire or light traditions with some effort. As I said, it's mostly for mages so the influence for you will be minor until you have reached the third stage and decided to pursue a martial path. There are other aspects that are of interest to us.

For example, you would function better under the lamplight so we'll try to work out outside whenever possible. There are also aspects and flaws associated with affinities." What?

"Excuse me? As in, the affinity affects our personality?"

"Yes. The flaw is usually an overuse of the associated quality. For example, star affinities tend to try and fight to improve situations, keeping an optimistic outlook. The associated flaw is a certain arrogance and inability to give up." Uh oh.

"While flesh affinity is associated with improvement and appearance but by extension an almost masochistic need to surpass their current self. And vanity, of course." UH OH. Wait no I'm fine on the vanity front. I'm wearing shit training gear most of the time. Surely.

"This isn't a defining feature," Xan says in a perfectly neutral voice.

"Some people are more affected than others. Some people lean towards different aspects of the better known flaws. It's still worth keeping an eye on especially if you develop those affinities via mage traditions." I consider him.

"What affinities do you have?" I ask. He chuckles.

"Metal and Touch. Affinities are extremely varied, with some of them being quite unusual such as touch. Metal makes me inflexible and adverse to change. That's why I quit the army: I was getting too set in my ways. Flaws must be fought on occasion. Touch is a little more complicated." A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"So… do you have a mage tradition?"

"No. By the Founder you really are new at this." I have to shrug at that.

"I am vaguely familiar but information online tends to contradict itself. I'd rather get an explanation from a pro I can trust." Xan smiles in a way that shows he knows I'm buttering him up like a fresh crumpet.

"And that wouldn't be me since I am no mage myself, but I have worked with a few so I can at least give you a basic rundown. A mage tradition covers certain types of energies, how they act, and how they can be used in an elaborate and external fashion. Dazzling people with sparks and tossing fireballs, or repairing someone's flesh are all the results of traditions. It's a philosophical and spiritual pursuit as much as an occupation." His eyes grow distant before he remembers he was giving me an explanation.

"Sufficiently advanced martial paths can be seen as traditions, I suppose. The distinction is purely academic."

"So I gather there is a reason why most people don't follow one?" Xan bursts out laughing,"Many reasons, kid, many reasons. First, you need to be taught or invent your own and you can imagine inventing a tradition requires an Elder's level of understanding. That's one. Two, learning a tradition takes time, time that could be dedicated to many other pursuits. Three, assuming you learned a tradition… that doesn't mean you can get anything out of it.

Imagine you learned the Path of the Fire Wyrm in the hope of joining the Sevens Suns. Unfortunately, there are three more talented mages applying for the same position in the sect. You are now in debt and unemployed." I think about his words for a moment. Obviously, I have an amazing advantage because I can just point buy a tradition.

"Could you join a sect outside of Enderlith?" Xan laughs.

"Ah, don't let Momo hear you say that. You must understand. Everyone wants to get in, no matter what. The advantage the energy on board represents is immense. No other place can offer unaspected qi of this magnitude."

"There is plenty of unoccupied space under our feet," I remark.

"Not unoccupied, far from it," Xan corrects.

"There are centuries of wild tribes, runaway cultivators, obscure sects, traps and the like. In a perfect world, the army would mobilize to dig deep and purge entire districts…" His eyes grow distant.

"No matter the cost. But this isn't a perfect world. It's a world of self-interest, and a station facing the Year of Judgment. Safe space is limited. All of the refugees living in their floating pieces of junk stay there because there is little safe room inside, or rather, Law makes sure only the deserving get their spot." He gives me a critical glance. I haven't told him how I became a citizen, and he hasn't asked but he must guess there is a reason for it.

"Soul awakening is a precious gift," he allows after a while.

"Why did you ask, by the way? Do you intend to pursue a mage tradition? It takes time.

"I have all the time I need. Well, not now, but next year."

"I wouldn't make too many plans for next year, Steve. There are rumors… Many gods going all in. It's going to be the most eventful Year of Judgment in the hundred thousand cycles of recorded history." I don't comment because he has no fucking idea. The pursuit of a mage tradition is an interesting prospect, but even I know it relies on a higher awakening, third at the very least. The option is mostly closed to me except for that soul-based tradition I had my eyes on.

Unless, of course, my fleshcrafter idea pans out. I even have a flesh affinity… is it a sign? I am left wondering if Chronos picked me because of those affinities, but then he probably had candidates with better ones. Why did he ever pick me? It must have been partly random. I wonder…

"Which tradition would you pick?" Xan asks.

"Do you have any idea?"

"I like flesh crafting?" His face falls off.

"Steve. No. Have you seen what they do with their bodies?

""There is much more than that. They can heal, repair, research…" I say, a little reproachfully. Xan immediately gives up on the conversation. We are close to landing anyway. I suppose I have learnt enough for now.

This side of the security room is empty. Technically, I don't need a lot of space because distant souls do not feel harder to read than nearby ones. So long as someone stands in the sphere of control, I can perceive them. Doesn't mean I can read them, but I can perceive them. After that it's just a matter of sweeping the club segment by segment.

"Second person in VIP room 1 is terrified."

"Copy that," Sefer replies, his voice accelerated. He appears like a thunderbolt in my perception sphere. There are two people currently in VIP room 1: a man on the second awakening who's been worried from the start, and a woman I cannot read. I slowly continue my sweep while checking Sefer's camera footage on the security console's grainy screen. The room looks fine. Faux wood panels and exotic decorations can make customers forget this is a tiny concrete box without windows.

Two people sit at the lone table: a man in Patrician suit, and a muscular woman in a black dress — apparently a universal fashion staple. The man either has voidling ancestry, or he's scared stiff. There are datasheets between them.

"May I please have a moment of your time?" Sefer asks the woman in Kei-Sah, who returns a glacially polite smile.

"Is there some sort of problem?" she asks.

"None at all. Something just requires your attention," Sefer lies. He moves in. The woman stands to block his path, still smiling. To both my and her surprise she is pushed against the wall. There is a sword on the side of the seat, hidden from the entrance. Well, I call it a sword but it looks like a large knife. Super forbidden, obviously. The woman snarls, her femme noir mask cracking to reveal something much more primal. I feel something else.

"First floor, bar, middle," I say as fast as I can.

"Shit!" Everything happens very fast, so fast I cannot follow it despite my awakening. The VIP room erupts with immense, yet contained violence. The security console's second of four screens switches to the bar where the barmaid throws something at a man barreling towards a group of revelers. A breath later, the woman is on the ground while part of the concrete wall is destroyed, showering the room in debris, yet the other guest is alive and Sefer is gone. Another breath.

Sefer holds the bar assailant by the throat. A circle of guests gasps. Another breath. The barman offers complimentary drinks. Sefer and his charge are gone. The woman is gone. Another breath. The panicked guest is calmly escorted outside by a bouncer and my communicator wakes up again.

"Steve, if you could join us in room B?" That's the place where I was 'welcomed'. The message isn't a request and anyway, I'm curious. After one last sweep because I'm just very afraid sometimes, I make my way to the room now blocked by one of the largest bouncers. He continentally drifts to let me in. Both of our guests sit at the metal chair, one on each side.

It's clear the woman has been punched with extreme violence from the way her jaw doesn't quite look right, but she's also a third awakening and those can take a lot of punishment, some of which ought to be lethal. Even the bones should lock themselves back into place without prompting. The second man is terrified. He's been left awake on purpose. We wait. Sefer leans lazily against the wall at the nervous man's back. He is unrestrained.

He is also of the second awakening, and not a strong one that I can tell while Sefer is… well, I don't know, but he feels dangerous. There is no need for manacles here. I feel the 'boss' approach. I used to call him Brain as a joke until I learned he went by Mr. Money which is completely unconscionable but who am I to criticize superhuman nightclub etiquette? He enters the room at a fateful pace, his massive gut heralding his coming.

The nervous man leaks terror, not a structured one but just visceral, animalistic fear. It's distracting.

"Check her wrist for a star tattoo." Sefer wordlessly turns up the bruised appendage for inspection. There is indeed a nice, shimmering teal tattoo of a star there. It's not a star in the sense I am used to, with five points, but a ball radiating color over the smooth skin like an astral beacon, its light impossibly alien.

"Neck for implant?" The woman groans when Sefer pulls her braid back, revealing a golden plate on the side.

"It's her. So, friends of the Prosperity Cartel, could you tell me why you've come here to try and fuck my entire livelihood?"

"I swear I knew nothing about this! I was just supposed to —" His eyes search the room. His mind stops, churns, considers. He's going to lie. I know why I am here anyway. Don't try it. The man yelps in surprise and fear. Mr Money gives me a glance and I realize my faux-pas: it sounds like I am having a private conversation with the prisoner.

"He was considering lying, boss," I tell my employer with my voice this time.

"That won't work." I feel positively evil. And I am also lying, of course. I can't really tell truth from falsehood just from emotions. He doesn't have to know though. A distant part of me feels increasingly worried. This looks entirely too much like a mafia movie, but the first time I was being hazed and now this is the real deal. Our guests tried to sabotage the, well, the capo? And the capo found out. And now someone might lose fingers.

"I will tell you why you will not want to lie, friend," Mr Money says.

"You see, this is Kriga. She is a mildly competent mercenary operative. I assume we just don't warrant better." He smiles. I find the patient expression rather disturbing.

"She is also very cruel, slippery, and generally a menace. I don't have what it takes to properly extract information out of her. That means…" He nods at Sefer. The man steps forward, locks clinking from the simple motion. His hands close around Kriga's mouth and forehead, waking her up with a yelp. In a smooth, deliberately slow motion so we see it, his entire body from the waist up rotates to the left. Crack. To the right. Crack. Kriga falls on the table, head flopping like a revolting fish.

There is a bump and the beginning of hematoma where the spine was severed. She still gasps a few times, yellow teeth bared to no one, a futile last effort for air that will never come and oh my fucking God it's… it's happening again. It's happening again! Corpses in the street. Darkness. The corridor of an abandoned miner ship, silent, a presence parroting human words so it can be more. Flesh, sewn, empty sockets looking at the abyss the abyss the — No.

"Fuck," I exhale in English. God dammit. Sefer and Mr Money stare at me with naked fear. The nervous man collapses into a horrible, sobbing wreck.

"I'll talk, I'll talk, I'll tell you everything please please please. Pleaaaaase. I beg of you…." Shit. I must have leaked memories.

"Right," Money says after a while.

"Right. Steve. Go get a drink. We got this covered."

"Pleaaaaase." I leave. The bouncer is throwing up in the nearby toilets. Oops, I guess. At least I kept it contained before I could hit the guests. A part of me almost wants to weaponize it since this is perhaps the first time I managed to scare four people at once in my entire goddamn life, but somehow I don't think making me insane and debilitated would be conducive to my survival. A bluff, maybe? Ah who am I kidding? I don't want to see it again. I don't want to be reminded of that place.

I look down, the many walls and hundreds of meters of solid matter between the vacuum of space and my fragile mind suddenly feeling like flimsy paper. It's there. Full south of the solar axis so right now, almost under my feet, but it's there. I looked it up. Almost no one talks about it. Nobody wants to talk about it, but it's there. The abyss. Fuck me I hope nothing ever comes out of that thing.

"Steve?" I was spacing out. Mr Money is calling me back in, so I join and find the nervous man shivering in the corner. He flinches when our eyes meet.

"Our new friend Volus here agreed to help us. He had much to say. Volus, leave us."

"Yes sir!" With shaky arms, nervous man Volus grabs the still warm corpse of dearly departed Kriga, carrying her away in an awkward firefighter grip. I am honestly a bit surprised he'd be hired. And they bitched about my methods… The door closes. It is quiet. None of us three sit, nor do we want to.

"What was that?" Mr. Money finally asks. It's my turn to wince.

"Memories. Bad memories. Sorry, didn't mean to leak them." That's right. The murder. It looks like I've already grown desensitized to some degree, because I have already calmed down.

"Bit of warning perhaps, next time friend?"

"Ah, yes." He finally sits down. I mirror him to not feel awkward, though Sefer remains standing.

"To be honest, I wanted to test your reaction as well." I have to grit my teeth at this.

"Have I not already proven myself? I warned you about both plots."

"Peace, Steve." I realize I was leaning forward, which is perhaps not the best idea considering my spine is currently facing Sefer.

"I didn't test your loyalty. I tested your, ah, mettle. Perhaps a little too harshly, and yet the control you show now proves you have what it takes to be one of us in a more, shall we say, committed manner." I frown while he waits for me to connect some dots.

"Does it relate to the Prosperity Cartel you mentioned?"

"Precisely. When I started this business, I joined a network of like-minded fellow entrepreneurs." Holy shit it's a real mafia.

"We share a certain amount of common resources and coordinate for a very modest stipend. It so happens that this organization has been under attack recently, and some of my unfortunate colleagues had to sell their assets at bargain bin prices to a certain cartel."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. We are under attack, Steve. Wandering Star, that is. The tattoo you saw on that fucking mercenary trash was supposed to be our stamp of approval." He huffs.

"Clearly we were wrong to extend our trust. Which is also why I had her executed." I feel the ghost touch of a cold hand on my neck. Thankfully it's just the nerves.

"I'd like you to take a more… active approach to your job. You would be compensated, of course. Wandering Star values good assets. Barring this little incident which itself was… quite enlightening, you have shown a remarkable command of your own abilities. It is a command we would value."

"I'm interested," I immediately reply. Mr. Money smiles.

"I sense a 'but' coming?"

"But my priority is still to awaken another two times this year. If it is at all possible." He clicks his tongue. Sefer moves towards the door. Someone brought us a bottle of something expensive.

"And we will be happy to support you. Let's seal the tentative deal. Don't worry, it is very mild."

I am left pondering the situation on my short and thankfully uneventful walk home. It's clear to me that this is another Year of Judgment clusterfuck, one that could or could absolutely not be related to the bomb plot. Honestly, I'm left to wonder how many schemes and plans get snuffed out together with Elysium, and although I intend to save everyone, I'm really not looking forward to opening that box of tarantulas. Mr.

Money's execution just shows the consequence of what it means to live outside the Law, capital L, even though she's probably a bit of a bitch. On Enderlith's outskirts, every group makes their own rules. Only important people must submit to Might and Law's rules and only because the different powers here could depopulate entire planets. Outskirts ants like us manage however we can. I'm honestly surprised how stable everything is. I suspect there are still many rules and mores I just don't understand yet.

I also suspect they vary a lot from one location to another. This station is just such a mess. Then there is my little panic attack. Chronos claimed my soul couldn't be destroyed or even permanently damaged, but clearly a little bit of abject terror is still in the cards. I just hope it doesn't get much worse than that. I have no doubt the station still has an entire panoply of horrors beyond human comprehension hidden under her crystal skirt. I… This is my second life.

The second life where I don't get killed in under a day. I've been here for over a year and I'm still only beginning to realize how unfathomably fucked everything is. I have to do it. I have to believe I will succeed. There is no other option. Chronos said it himself. Even he can't stop me anymore. So surely, I can do it. Yeah. Surely. There is no one else anyway. It's cold in here.

I hate when nothing happens. I wish I were joking, but the days of nothing just feel like reality winding up the mother of all boots to the balls. Krane hasn't contacted me for days. The Splendor has only had to face the standard issue kind of assholes as opposed to the organized one. My training is progressing smoothly, though right now it means I'm out in the light twirling my staff in front of a wooden mannequin.

Unamused, I step back, grab the edge and then slam the entire thing into the target's head with a satisfactory bang that leaves my hands in pain. It's cathartic, however. And it seems to amuse the toddlers in the park across the street. We shall call my embarrassing public display a community service for the edification of the next generation.

"Hey!" I turn, finding a frowning woman glaring at me. She looks mostly human except for a pair of antennas, marking her as something of a local.

"Can't you make less noise?" I sigh. One of those. I'm technically in the gym's inner court so I should be able to do what I want.

"You're not even talented. What are you doing here, wasting everyone's time and ringing my ears?" Behind her, parents frown, but they will not intervene.

"That's not exactly any of your business. What I'm doing is perfectly legal, so kindly leave me." I return my attention to the target and make to strike again. I shouldn't let myself be distracted but the words are still bothering me. She's right. I'm not particularly gifted at any of this. I'm not terrible either according to Xan, but this is Enderlith. Here, I'm below average, and ten years behind. The woman steps forward, a furious scowl on her face.

She's dressed very casually, clearly a local, which means I really don't understand what she's thinking. Maybe it's because she's of the second awakening and can probably beat me senseless. Thing is, I may be weak right now, but there are advantages to being weak. She takes exactly three steps before the absolute boulder that is Tavor stands in front of her, door smashing against the wall from the sheer speed of his coming. The woman freezes.

"You're trespassing," Tavor says with a seismic growl.

"Leave."

"I was just —""I will not ask again." I wave her goodbye because I can and because it makes me feel good. Tavor turns, head shaking in disapproval.

"Xan should have given you a hammer instead. You want to hammer things," he says with a frown.

"I might be a little frustrated." My attempt to engage with a man who normally grunts his way through the day dies when I stumble. The room shakes. At first, I think I'm having some sort of medical event but no, Tavor moves too though he doesn't fall. The lights flicker before returning. Screams are next. I look at the parents in the next part but besides hugging their little loinfruits, nothing appears to be wrong.

"What the Founder?" Momo asks, coming out of the gym. What is — No fucking way. Absolutely no fucking way. It's too early. Can't be that. Can't. I jump and rush to my bag, picking my datasheet and frantically opening it with shaky fingers. It can't be. It's only day 32 of the loop. There should be two days left. There was still time. There should be two fucking days left, dammit! I realize I received a recorded message from Krane. How did he manage to get me one? I thought the connection was ass?

Uncaring, I switch to the main information channel, find nothing, then switch to a video hosting website. Nothing yet. Nothing. Might be something else. Momo and Tavor are there with me. They must have come here at some point after they realized the detonation hadn't come from inside the district. A new video comes. I click on it on the spot, recognizing the angle as taken from the spaceport looking out towards one of the refugee flotillas.

The surface of the station erupts in a shower of purple blood and crystal ichor, sending entire districts out into the vacuum of space, their atmosphere, their water, the hopes and dreams of their people snuffed out in an instant by an incomprehensible explosion. The mortal wound expands in the perfect silence of the void, its size incomprehensible. Something hurts: Momo has grabbed my shoulders and her fingernails dig into my skin.

"Ow," I protest.

"Sorry…" She withdraws, returning to silent horror. The bomb exploded. I failed. Enderlith has been devastated once again, and just like last time, I didn't manage to change… actually no, it happened earlier, right? And… there is less debris. I feel shock more than relief but it's true. The explosion is smaller. And I think I know what changed.

Training ends early today, for obvious reasons. I decline the offer to join the others in order to retreat to the safety of my room. Even my nightmarish landlady is out. For now, this suits me well. Krane's message opens to a shaky camera. Krane is wounded. There is blood on his ruddy cheeks. He is, I realize, wearing armor. His entire left side is covered by a tower shield no earthling could possibly carry.

"Important information first," the recording says.

"the bomb team has about fifty members, and as far as I can tell, two —" An explosion rings in the background. The room shakes. I hear a faint voice giving orders.

"Two avatars," Kran says.

"Very strong. Their base is in the Spider District. I traced their path back. Steev, if what you say is true, and I believe you, we don't have the means to stop them. Listen to me, because this is very important. You must focus on two things. First, involve me in every loop. I will help gather information for you to remember. Second, you must focus on getting stronger. Listen, I communed with my goddess. She is guiding me to a better path, and that advice is unequivocal.

Neither the templars nor bounty hunters will make up for a lack of personal strength. Do not waste your time trying to warn everyone as we will not win that way. You must dedicate your entire focus to becoming stronger. Only then will we obtain the tools required —" The room shook again.

"The tools required to succeed," Krane continues, louder.

"And last thing, do not reveal what you are. There is no salvation that way; you'll just get hunted down. Do not do it, Steev. Trust me, if not as a friend, then as the Avatar of Redemption. You will find no salvation with Enderlith's powers. Remember this. You must not sacrifice the future in the name of the present. None of the small increments of this loop —" Sparks appear in the field of view. Someone was cutting through something made of crystal.

"None of them matter when compared to saving the station. Do not burn the forest to save a few trees. Do you understand, Steev?" I grip the datasheet with all of my strength. I know what this means. Krane is dead, obviously, but he also thinks I can't stop the bomb. Not as I am right now. I think he's wrong. I could stop it as I am by knowing exactly how to proceed… but he's also right in the sense it would be a waste of my time that leads to more suffering across many more loops. Is he right?

Can I just act with endless selfishness and justify it by claiming I seek the ultimate good? No, no, that's not what he's asking. He's just telling me to be careful and focus on my progress. I can do that. But surely there is a way to… I cannot accept that he is right, that stopping the bombing is so hard. I should at least try.

In the following weeks, Wandering Star's war against the Prosperity Cartel fizzles out with the ashes of the station's pain. Elysium was destroyed again alongside half of the station's Elders, or at least those on this section of the station. Law's avatar was vaporized. The station is, once more, decapitated. Xan often leaves to help with the recovery effort, tasking either Tavor and Momo with training me. I have found a way to reconcile awakening with helping the station.

It appears progress is faster after a battle, so if I participate in a few at least near the beginning of the invasion, that might help more than dozens of hours of meditation. I also considered trying to catch the 'infection' sooner. Unfortunately, the origin of the plague appears to be deeper towards the tip, in the 'Outskirts'. Enderlith generates almost no natural resources besides food, so a lot of what is used is imported, or recycled, but mostly imported.

Proximity to the major space port helps with getting stuff. The Tip also gets raw material from Obis while the traditionalists play by their own rules. Anything in the middle is a bit of a dump for the desperate and the fearless. Three known gangs have taken control over the Outskirts, with possibly more beyond. There is very little available information I can find on the Endernet. Only one thing is certain: I can't go there. Not yet. I'll be eaten alive.

During the months that follow the explosion, I do not join the recovery effort. Instead, I focus on my progress and manage to reach the second stage of awakening in the fifth month thanks to relentless training and a double supply of mana supplements. Second awakening brings an interesting array of advantages. It basically makes me slightly superhuman, maybe at B-rated superhero level and no more but it's still fun.

I need to reinvent the way I move and fight to account for much greater capacity which is fun in itself. The progress also earns me Tavor and Momo's respect. I am now part of the team. Even Orva gets me a cake to celebrate. The Small Night district has fully adopted me. I feel some warmth again. Of course, it doesn't last. The abominations arrive on schedule.