Die. Respawn. Repeat.

I take a moment to review my skills before we actually head into the Empty City. I've lost a number of them, and it's... surprising to me, how much that fact aches. They shouldn't even be alive, let alone sentient enough to sacrifice themselves for me the way they did. They're Firmament constructs residing within my core, my soul—whatever you decide to call it.

But I grasped at a Talent. I Anchored a Truth. For a moment, I made them something more than they were, and in that moment they chose to protect me.

Any number of other things could have happened. The Truth I chose at the time was half-formed, a product of anger and determination and a wilful, stubborn refusal to let myself die. That's all it was: a singular thought, ringing into the void. I am not going to die here.

I know a little more about Anchoring now. Not a lot more, but enough to make a few basic assumptions and come to a few basic conclusions. I know that for a working like that to succeed, a Truth must compete against a Truth. And the competing Truths there were simple:

Ethan Hill will die.

Ethan Hill will live.

I don't know what happens if a Truth fails to become Anchored. I don't even know how the process really works. My instinctive understanding of it, though, says that something had to bend in order for that Anchoring to succeed. It tells me that what happened back then was the path of least resistance—and that it was more likely than not the only possibility I was strong enough to Anchor into existence.

If not for my skills, if not for the way in which they manifested... I likely wouldn't still be alive.

Not only that, Isthanok would be destroyed. Most of Hestia too, more than likely. What kind of sacrifice was that, anyway? Why were the Integrators willing to go that far just to... what, punish Gheraa? By destroying me? They already killed him. It's not like they can do more.