We jump back down the stones, launching our glass ahead of us as one of the griffins darts in. Rezira backs up, fist raised, as the nearest beast spears straight toward her. Our glass catches it in its side. The griffin screeches as it’s knocked away, swiping at its invisible assailant as it crashes onto Rezira’s stone. Rezira stumbles as the beast on her platform thrashes wildly, finally making it to its feet and jumping back off her rock to glide to safety. We pull our glass back before any of it can be carried out of our range, then swirl more of it around Rezira, keeping the next round of griffins at bay. We land on the stone above her, getting ready to jump to hers next, but Rezira suddenly falls to a knee as her boulder swings out away from us.

  We’re not sure if it was the griffin’s struggle or our glass, but the vines that had kept her stone tied to the ones above it have been cut. Even as we watch, another vine tethered to the base of her boulder snaps, and her rock bobs higher. If too many more are severed, she’ll drift away, and any fall after that will be fatal.

  Our glass preoccupied with keeping the griffins at bay, we lash out with a Void Whip and grab the boulder. Rezira lurches, looking up at us.

  “Shit,” she says. “You look really fucking horrifying, do you know that?”

  We grab the boulder with a second limb of void, straining to pull it back in. Without glass, our grip is significantly weaker, but the rock slowly begins to drift our direction nevertheless.

  “Jump,” we sign, pulling hard. Another vine snaps, and the jolt sends her to her hands and knees. She grabs the vines that cover the face of her boulder, white-knuckled, and eyes the gap between us.

  “I can’t make that!”

  A griffin dives in, and we slam our glass toward it. The bird shrieks as we tear through its wings, and Rezira’s head snaps back in its direction. She stays huddled close to the ground.

  Dammit. We snap our sphere of glass out, driving the griffins away. Then we recall half of it back toward our body—as much as we dare pull away from our defense—and embed it within our limbs of void. We Chain the links of glass together, and the difference in the strength of our pull is noticeable. We lash three limbs around our own stepping stone and grab Rezira’s with the other three, towing her back toward our rock.

  “Climb!” we order.

  Rezira looks back at us, taking in our artificial vines. Still crouching low, she nervously pushes herself to her feet. “And what am I supposed to grab onto, exactly?”

  Our concern for her is quickly turning to frustration. We let go of her rock with two of our limbs, and instead grab her wrists, urgently tugging for her to go up.

  “Fuck,” Rezira says, instinctively jerking her fists back. She looks behind us at the flock of murderous birds that are steadily closing in. “Fuck!”

  “Now!” we say, forcing the staticky words through our translator.

  Rezira grinds her teeth. “I fucking hate heights.” Then she wraps her hands around the limbs we have secured to each wrist, and pulls.

  She very nearly pulls us off the side of the mountain. Our void stretches to its limits. The glass, unyielding, goes taut. We feel a piece somewhere break. We use more to reinforce it, then lock as much void and glass into place as possible: make as few moving pieces as we can manage, visualizing the whole, levitating every piece we can. We let go of her platform with our third limb, and wrap it beneath her arms instead, heaving upward with all our might.

  Rezira’s feet lift from the ground, kick at open air, and then catch on the base of the next stone. We back up, straining as we pull her over the ledge and onto our own rock.

  Rezira is shaking and swearing under her breath, but she doesn’t freeze up again. She climbs to her feet, and we pull ourself up onto the next rock, tugging on her wrists to hurry her along.

  “I’ve got it,” Rezira objects, grabbing the intact vines on this rock and using them instead of our limbs to hoist herself up.

  Even so, she’s going too slow. We let go of her wrists and wrap them around her shoulders instead, helping to lift her weight as she finds grips and footholds of her own.

  “I said I got it!” she growls, but we don’t stop. With us lifting and her climbing, we’re making twice the time.

  And then, finally, we’re at the top.

  Three pairs of hands grab me the moment I make it over the ledge, pulling me back. As soon as Rezira reaches the top, Attiru and Noli switch to her, helping to drag her onto level ground, too. Then they all collapse, panting and breathless. The griffins have retreated beneath us. We dump our cloud of loose glass onto the ground and let the pieces scatter, finally giving our mind a break.

  [Arcane Guardian Expired.]

  Zyneth’s forehead thumps against our back. His hands are still clasped around our midsection.

  The gesture summons a swell of conflicting emotions. The closeness is unnerving—it exposes us to attack. We are filled with an urge to rip ourself away and swirl our glass and void defensively around us.

  But it’s Zyneth—he wouldn’t hurt us. And we know what this gesture actually means. He’s as much exposed to an attack from us as we are to him. But he’s willing to take that risk because he trusts us. He cares about us.

  It’s a concept that all of us finds achingly foreign.

  “You scared me,” he says quietly.

  We understand he’s not talking about our appearance.

  Finally, we let go of Rezira, coiling our extra limbs back toward us. And carefully, nervously, filled with yearning and fear and affection and doubt all at once, we gently return the hug, wrapping one of our limbs around his back.

  Attiru is the first to recover. They sit up, still breathing hard, and check themself over. Then they check their bags. Finally, they look around at the rest of us. Noli and Rezira are huddled close, signing privately to each other. Attiru looks our way next, and does a double take. They don’t say anything, but their expression is enough.

  It’s time to separate. A portion of us doesn’t want to, yet it doesn’t resist. It remembers our prior agreement. Even so, it parts ways with reluctance. This new thing called an embrace—it is strange. Vulnerable.

  Nice.

  As Ink peels away from my mind, its absence leaves me feeling weak and tired. The void withdraws back within my coat, and all the pieces of glass I’m wielding abruptly feel like far too many to keep track of. All the chained limbs of glass droop to the ground, and I sag, still in Zyneth’s arms.

  “Hey,” I say to him. “Sorry about scaring you.”

  Attiru watches my transformation in clear fascination.

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  Zyneth lifts his head. “You’re alright?”

  “Yes. Just tired. Pretty much out of mana,” I add. Really starting to feel that lack of Arcane Guardian right about now.

  Zyneth chuckles. “After a show like that, I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” He lets go of me, and I scoot around to face him. That’s not strictly necessary, as I could already see him out the back of my head, but I’m sure it’s easier for others to talk to me the normal way.

  “You’re hurt,” I notice, touching a bloody tear in his sleeve. “We should get Rezira to heal you.”

  “It’s not serious,” Zyneth says. He nods over to the women. “And I think we can give them a few minutes, first.”

  Rezira and Noli’s foreheads are lightly resting against each other. Noli’s eyes are closed, but Rezira watches intently, moving a glowing hand over her shoulder.

  “That’s the second time you saved me,” Attiru says, drawing my attention. “It doesn’t get any less creepy.”

  “I don’t think we technically saved you this time,” I say. “We just gave you a boost.”

  Attiru watches me thoughtfully. “The way you say ‘we’...”

  The question makes me squirm. I find Zyneth’s hand, and he squeezes my fingers. “It’s hard to explain,” I admit. “But when I’m… like that… our minds are sort of merged. It’s like we’re many minds, operating as one.”

  “Fascinating,” Attiru says. “And the reason you look like that?”

  I hesitate. “I’m not entirely sure what I look like. We’re not really concerned with appearances while we’re like that.” I turn to Zyneth. “Yes, I know, sometimes even I don’t care about appearances.”

  He smiles faintly at my poor attempt at a joke, but I think he can tell I’m only trying to cover my discomfort.

  “Do you want to know?” he asks. “What it looks like?”

  I think I’ve been intentionally avoiding the opportunity to get a good look at myself while merged with Ink for a while now. I’ve got a pretty good idea anyway, just from being in tune with my body. But hearing it described by other people sounds uncomfortable.

  “Maybe,” I say. “If you think there’s any way I can… I don’t know… improve it.”

  Attiru raises an eyebrow. “Improve how?”

  Desperate for something to preoccupy myself with, I begin pulling all my loose glass toward me. “A way I can appear less frightening. If there’s nothing that can be done, then I don’t think I want to hear it.”

  Attiru and Zyneth look at each other while I set about clumping the Chained links of glass back into one large sphere.

  Zyneth starts first. “I suppose, staying on two legs instead of running on all four—or more—would definitely help make you seem…”

  “More like a person,” Attiru helpfully fills in. Zyneth winces at the suggestion.

  Ink likewise dismisses this. Two legs are slow. Four to eight legs have proven most efficient for traversing the ground quickly.

  The goal is not speed, I think.

  It is in a fight!

  “And the tentacles are rather creepy,” Attiru says.

  “Tentacles?” I repeat, aghast. “We think of them more as… limbs.”

  Zyneth doesn’t say anything.

  Dammit. They really do look like tentacles. “I don’t think there’s any way those won’t look creepy.”

  “Maybe,” Attiru agrees. “But if you used two and had them form out of your sleeves instead of out of… well… everywhere, it might appear more like extensions of your arms.”

  Only two? Ink also dislikes this suggestion. Next they will suggest not to form claws from our void, or teeth from our glass.

  Well… I think.

  “Anything else?” I ask, already weary of the conversation.

  “The voice,” Attiru says.

  “Ah.” I touch the gemstone that’s acting as my translator. “That I’m not sure if I can do anything about.”

  “It is strange,” Zyneth agrees. “I don’t understand why the spell struggles to create sound when Ink is enacting more influence.

  I shrug. “Perhaps because our mind isn’t operating the same way. It’s similar with Echo. I struggle to be able to hear her, or see stats, or access the System in general while Ink shares control. It’s like it’s… magical interference, or something.”

  Zyneth frowns in thought. “I didn’t know about that. That seems odd.”

  “It’s typically the least of my worries,” I say. “Which reminds me, I should check what I missed.”

  “System?” Attiru asks, intrigued.

  Zyneth begins to explain some of what I know as I mentally access the notifications that had been suppressed while fighting the griffins.

  I gained a level-up somewhere in all of that, which should come as no surprise given how many birds I cooked. I’m now at Level 25, only ten beneath Zyneth.

  Though, especially when I’m merged, I sometimes think I’ve grown far more powerful than him. Is that because of Ink, or because I’m part of Echo’s System, and he isn’t? Or maybe a combo of the two.

  Finally, Noli and Rezira rouse.

  “Who’s next?” Rezira asks, looking to Zyneth and Attiru.

  While they get checked out, Noli comes over and sits next to me.

  “Thank you,” she signs before I can say anything. “That was a daring feat to help my wife. I’m not sure I would have made it in time myself.”

  I shrug, not sure how to respond to such thanks. “I would have done the same for you.”

  She laughs. “Of course you would have! But you also did it for Rezira, even though you two don’t often see eye to eye. And that means a lot.”

  As I’m still trying to come up with a reply, she lets out a sigh. “Though I am sorry I missed the opportunity to meet Ink, again.”

  I tip my head. “It can understand you even when we’re not fused.” At least, it can through me, after I’ve processed the language into concepts. “You wouldn’t want to talk to it while we’re merged, anyway. We’re not very talkative like that.” Mostly because it’s so hard. Though it was interesting to discover signing had been easier.

  That perks Noli up. “Can I ask it some questions now?”

  “I guess,” I sign, hesitant. Ink finds the suggestion curious. I’m somewhat afraid of how it might answer whatever she’s going to ask.

  She leans forward, excited. “Does it know who I am?”

  Well that one’s easy at least. “Yes.”

  Noli waits. “Oh, come on, I must have more elaboration than that!”

  Ink, curious about the attention it’s receiving, is happy to oblige.

  “It knows that you…” I cringe at its response. “...it knows that you belong to its pack.”

  This, however, only seems to delight her. “A pack! Yes, we are like a family, aren’t we?”

  I’m glad that’s the part she latched onto and not Ink’s use of “belong.” It didn’t just mean that we were all part of the same pack, it specifically sees the others as beneath and belonging to us. The only positive outcome of all this is that it’s developing a fierce protectiveness of what it deems “ours.” Originally this had only included my soul; then my glass and void; and now, apparently, my friends.

  It also regards each of these things as benefiting it in some way. My soul provides it a source of magic and a means to stay anchored in reality. My Attuned elements provide it with weapons. My friends are… tools, I guess, of a sort.

  Look, I’m not saying it’s developed a moral compass or anything. But at least its possessiveness can be channeled into something constructive.

  “Why has it changed so much?” Noli asks next.

  I shrug. “It’s been learning, I guess—"

  But Noli cuts me off. “I don’t want to hear what you think. I want to hear what it thinks about itself.”

  This gives both me and Ink pause. I try to sort through its thoughts.

  “It’s… not the same creature it was before,” I sign, pausing to listen as it continues to process the question. “Ink doesn’t see itself as the predator. There was more of it before. And when it lost that part of itself, what remained was different. And when it gained back that portion it lost, it changed again. It’s gone through multiple metamorphoses, I guess. But each of those different forms are not what it is now. Like when…” I pause.

  “Like what?” Noli prompts.

  “Like when we fuse,” I reluctantly continue. “It sees us, our fused minds, as another version. It’s not Ink, it’s… someone else.”

  I lower my hands as I consider this. In a way, I guess I sort of feel the same. I’m not entirely me when we fuse. Maybe that’s why it makes me so nervous. Strange, however, that Ink feels the opposite. It seems to like being this… other version of ourselves. It’s not afraid of losing itself in the transformation.

  “You know, you’re right,” Noli signs, looking at me thoughtfully.

  “About what?” I ask, pulling myself out of my thoughts.

  “It doesn’t seem much like an animal,” she signs. “It’s more intelligent than we’re giving it credit for. It’s still rather alien in how it reasons. But it does reason.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, sometimes.

  Rezira finishes with the others soon after that. Wearily, everyone drags themselves to their feet and gets ready to start off once more. I add my wrecking-ball of spare glass to my Inventory. We probably could have been traveling the whole time we were talking and healing, but the others needed some time to catch their breath (which seems to be getting harder for all of them the higher we climb) and I frankly needed the mental break.

  But now Zyneth has his navigation bowl in hand once more, so there’s nothing to do but move forward.

  “It’s on this level,” he reports, watching the now-flat arrow as it points ahead of us. “We will find it in the next hour, I suspect.”

  As Zyneth leads the way, Rezira moves up to walk by me. I give her a curious look.

  “You said you and that creature are like many minds acting as one,” she says.

  I hadn’t realized she’d been listening in. “Yes.”

  “Is it driving your actions, or are you driving its?” she asks.

  “Neither, really,” I admit, still thinking about what Ink had said in response to Noli’s questions. “When we’re fused, we’re doing everything together. Sometimes a sense of separation happens when we disagree on something, but that sort of tends to… lock us up, and keep us from acting in either direction, until the disagreement is resolved.”

  Rezira grunts, and as she lapses into silence, I think that’s the end of it.

  But a minute later, she speaks up again. “Then, thanks. You can tell that to Ink, too, I guess.”

  I do.

  It doesn’t understand what she means.

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