I did not sleep that night.
I sat by the small desk in my room, the crate sealed again and pushed into the far corner, as if distance alone could make it less real. Hearthroot was quiet outside. Too quiet. The kind of silence that let thoughts wander without resistance.
There was a sealed god somewhere.
That much was no longer a question.
I rested my elbows on the desk and rubbed my eyes slowly, forcing myself to think the way I always did. Break it down. Separate what I knew from what I assumed.
What I knew was simple enough.
Fragments existed. Not just relics, but remains. Pieces that resisted record, naming, and completion. That only happened with divine entities. And not the kind still answering prayers.
They had been sealed. Or broken. Or both.
What I assumed was everything else.
I did not know who they were. I did not know their domain. I did not even know their gender. Every trace I found avoided anything that would define them too clearly, as if the world itself refused to commit.
So I settled on calling them they.
It felt safer.
They had once been important. Important enough that someone had gone to great effort to erase them without fully destroying them. Important enough that their remains could not be handled openly, not even by the capital.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
If there was any chance at all to reach higher beings, to even brush against something close to an answer, this was it. Not because the sealed god was powerful, but because they were connected. To history. To the divine hierarchy. To mistakes even gods did not want to remember.
I exhaled slowly.
This was my chance.
Or at least, it looked like one.
I knew, rationally, that this was dangerous thinking. I was filling gaps with hope. Assuming that proximity to a fallen god meant access upward. Assuming that answers traveled neatly along lines of power.
At this point, I did not know anything much, but I'm just deducing the possibilities.
I glanced at my reflection in the darkened window. The unfamiliar Aetherfall clothes fit me better than I expected. My posture had straightened without me noticing. My face, no longer hidden beneath a cap or shadowed by constant avoidance, looked sharper under the lamplight.
I looked… fine.
More than fine, if I was honest.
The thought passed without weight. I did not linger on it. Appearance had never helped me before. I doubted it would start now.
What mattered was what I did next.
I stood and crossed the room, stopping in front of the crate. I did not touch it this time. I simply acknowledged it.
Somewhere out there, a god had been sealed and forgotten.
And I had stumbled into their remains by accident.
Or by something else entirely.
I did not know how to reach them yet. I did not know where to start. But the path, however dangerous or incomplete, had revealed itself.
And for the first time since arriving in Aetherfall, I felt something close to direction.
Unclear. Fragile.
But real.
~~~
The next morning, I asked Nyra about the group who brought the crate.
She was seated at her usual desk near the window, tail curled loosely around the leg of her chair as she sorted through requests. When I mentioned the crate, just that, she glanced up.
"You need them?" she asked. No suspicion. Just practical.
"I want to confirm a few things," I said.
Nyra studied my face for a second longer than necessary, then nodded. "They're staying at the west inn. The quieter one near the upper slope. Same place they checked into yesterday."
That made sense. They hadn't come all this way to hover over my shoulder, but they weren't leaving either. Not until the work was done.
Nyra stood and grabbed her coat. "I'll walk you there."
We didn't talk much on the way. Hearthroot was already awake, merchants opening shutters, early travelers moving through the streets. The west inn sat a little apart from the busier roads, clean and well-kept, the kind of place people chose when they wanted privacy without isolation.
Nyra led me inside and nodded toward a table near the back.
"They're there."
I thanked her quietly and approached alone.
The captain looked up as I neared, recognizing me immediately. He set aside the cup he'd been holding and stood, polite but reserved.
"Archivist," he said.
"Captain…?" I asked, wondering what to properly addressed him.
"Edrin. Captain Edrin Ward," The captain answered.
"Theo Finley," Theo said, introducing himself afterwards.
We took seats across from each other. The rest of his group remained nearby, not listening openly, but not pretending they weren't aware either.
"I wanted to ask a few questions if you don't mind," I said. "About the crate."
He inclined his head. "Go on."
"I'm not finished with it yet," I continued. "But I want to understand what you were hoping to confirm through me. Not the object itself. Your expectations."
He considered that.
"We wanted clarity," he said finally. "Nothing more."
"No specific outcome?" I asked.
"No," he replied. "If we had one, we wouldn't have needed an external archivist."
That told me enough.
They weren't chasing a theory. They were avoiding one.
"I'll need more time," I said. "The materials are… resistant."
He nodded. "We expected as much."
There was a pause, brief but deliberate.
"If you determine it's inconclusive," he added, "that's acceptable. If you determine it shouldn't be handled further, say so."
I met his gaze. "And if I determine neither applies?"
His expression didn't change. "Then we'll discuss next steps."
Fair.
I stood. "I'll contact you when I have something concrete."
He rose as well. "We'll be here."
Nyra was waiting outside when I left the inn, arms folded loosely.
"You get what you wanted?" she asked.
"I confirmed what I needed," I said.
She searched my face, then sighed. "You're exhausting, you know that?"
I gave a small shrug.
As we walked back toward my workspace, I glanced once in the direction of the inn.
They were waiting.
Not impatiently.
Not nervously.
They trusted the process, even if they didn't fully understand what they had placed in my hands.
I did.
And that was exactly why I wasn't saying anything more.
~~~
I spent the entire day thinking and getting nowhere.
I stayed in my room, pacing between the desk and the window, the crate sitting silent in the corner. Every time my eyes drifted to it, the same conclusion surfaced, steady and unavoidable.
The answers were not here.
The relics weren't meant to be understood in isolation. They weren't finished records. They were echoes, pointing backward rather than explaining themselves. Whatever meaning they still held was tied to the place they came from.
The expedition site.
That was what the relics were saying, without words or symbols. A pull rather than a direction. An insistence that context mattered more than analysis.
The problem was simple and impossible at the same time.
I didn't know where the site was.
And I didn't know how to get there.
By the time evening settled over Hearthroot, the streets dimming under lantern light, I had made a decision. It wasn't a good one. It was just the only one that moved things forward.
I returned to the west inn.
Captain Edrin was in the common room, seated at a table with two of his people. He looked up when I approached, unreadable but attentive.
"I need to speak with you," I said.
He gestured for me to sit.
"I can't finish the archive properly here," I continued. "Not with the materials separated from their origin. I need access to the expedition site."
That got their attention.
One of the others frowned. "That's not standard."
"I know," I said. "But neither is the crate."
The captain didn't interrupt. He waited.
"The relics are context-bound," I went on. "They reference spatial conditions that don't exist here. Whatever damaged them happened there, not after. If I try to complete the archive without that information, the result will be incomplete at best. Misleading at worst."
"Why didn't you say this earlier?" he asked.
"Because I needed to be sure," I replied. "I am now."
He leaned back slightly, arms crossing. "You're asking to be taken to an active expedition site. That carries risk."
"I'm aware," I said. "But you didn't bring this to me because it was safe."
Silence stretched. Not hostile. Calculating.
"And what exactly do you expect to find there?" one of the others asked.
"Confirmation," I said. "Of what can and cannot be recorded. Of what should be returned untouched."
That answer was rehearsed.
It was also true enough to pass scrutiny.
The captain studied me for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.
"I can't authorize that myself," he said. "I'll need to contact the capital. This isn't a local decision."
"I understand," I said. "But it needs to be soon. I have other obligations as well, and the longer this sits unresolved, the worse it gets."
He nodded once. "Come back tomorrow morning. I'll have an answer."
I stood. "Thank you."
As I left the inn, the air felt heavier, though nothing had changed. Hearthroot glowed softly under the evening lights, calm and ordinary, unaware of the weight moving through its streets.
On the walk back, the thought settled in with uncomfortable clarity.
If the capital approved this, it meant the crate was important enough to warrant risk.
If they denied it, it meant the crate was dangerous enough that they didn't want anyone near the source.
Either way, the answer tomorrow would confirm what I already suspected.
Whatever was sealed out there wasn't just forgotten.
It was something even the capital didn't want disturbed.
~~~
I didn't wake up on my own.
A sharp knock cut through my sleep, too firm to be accidental. I opened my eyes, disoriented for a second, then reached for my coat out of habit before I even stood.
Another knock followed, lighter this time.
"Theo," Nyra called softly from the other side. "You're needed."
I opened the door.
She stood there already dressed for the day, tail flicking once behind her. "Someone from the expedition is asking for you. Looks urgent."
That was faster than I expected.
"I'll be right there," I said.
Nyra nodded and stepped aside as I pulled on my boots and grabbed my satchel. The crate stayed where it was. For now.
Outside, the air was cool and pale with early morning mist. Hearthroot hadn't fully woken yet. A few shopkeepers were just lifting shutters. The streets felt stretched thin, like the world hadn't settled back into itself.
The man waiting for me was one of the captain's companions from the night before. He inclined his head when he saw me.
"The captain wants to see you," he said. No ceremony. No small talk.
I followed him without comment.
We reached the inn quickly. The common room was nearly empty, tables still clean, chairs neatly pushed in. The captain was already there, standing near the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
He turned as I approached.
"Your request was approved," he said.
Just like that.
I felt my shoulders loosen despite myself.
"We'll depart today," he continued. "After lunch. I'll be coming with you. Two soldiers as escort. One carrier for the crate and related materials."
I nodded. "Understood."
"This isn't a short trip," he added. "The site is far from here. The road will take time, even moving efficiently."
"I'll prepare," I said.
"You should," he replied. "Food. Water. Anything you need to work on the move. Once we leave, there won't be many places to resupply."
He paused, then added, "You should also know this. The route itself should be clear. We already swept the surrounding area during the expedition. You shouldn't expect much resistance."
Shouldn't.
"But Aetherfall doesn't promise certainty," he finished. "So we prepare anyway."
I met his gaze. "Of course."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded, as if satisfied.
"Be ready by midday," he said. "We move shortly after."
I left the inn with my thoughts already racing.
Approved. Escort. Carrier.
That meant the capital had weighed the risk and decided it was acceptable.
Or necessary.
As the morning light finally spilled across Hearthroot, I headed back to my room to prepare. The road ahead would be long, tiring, and quiet in the way that usually came before something went wrong.
And for the first time since the crate arrived, I would be moving closer to where the answers were buried.
~~~
I spent the rest of the morning preparing the way I always did when I knew something would go wrong.
Not with panic. With lists.
I laid everything out on the bed first, then decided what stayed and what went. Writing tools came before food. That was my habit, and it was also the only way I could pretend I still had control. Slate sheets, ink vials sealed tight, chalk sticks, a bundle of thin twine, sealing wax, a small knife for cutting paper and cord. I added a few strips of cloth that could serve as bandages. A flint. A coil of wire that I wasn't sure I would ever use, but my hands kept reaching for it anyway.
Then I went out and bought a robe.
Nothing special. Just a normal brown one, the kind locals wore when the wind turned sharp and the sky couldn't decide what it wanted to do. The fabric was rough but warm, the hood deep enough to keep rain off my face. It didn't scream wealth. It didn't scream Initiate either. It made me look like someone who belonged on a road.
That mattered.
I packed provisions next. Dried meat, hard bread, small packets of salted grains that could be soaked in hot water if we found a fire. Two flasks. One for drinking, one empty in case I needed to carry more. I added a few personal things I didn't want to lose, not because they were valuable, but because I hated the feeling of forgetting what I owned.
When I was done, everything fit into the belt pouch Elder Caelum had given me.
That still felt unreal.
The pouch didn't look rare. It didn't glow. It didn't hum. It just accepted item after item with a quiet patience, as if space inside it didn't obey the same rules as the room around me. The weight barely changed. The strap sat lightly against my waist. It was the kind of gift that could keep you alive simply by making survival easier.
I tightened the belt, checked that the pouch was secure, and stepped out.
As I walked toward the inn, the thought hit me without warning.
This was my first time stepping out of Hearthroot since I arrived.
Not stepping outside my room. Not walking the market. Not taking work down the street. Leaving the town boundary. Moving toward something unknown. The streets I'd come to recognize felt different when I saw them through that lens. Familiar things gained edges. The bakery smoke in the air, the sound of carts on stone, the way people moved without looking up. It all felt like a place I was borrowing.
I wasn't sure I would come back the same way I left.
Since arriving here, I had died three times that I was aware of.
Failure Converter didn't stir for any of them.
That was the part that kept bothering me.
Not the dying. Dying was ordinary. It was a background noise in my life, unpleasant but expected, like an ache that never fully left. What mattered was when the world broke in ways that didn't make sense. When situations became abnormal enough that failure itself turned into leverage.
These deaths weren't that.
They were exactly what you'd expect from someone with low stats and a Luck value that looked more like an insult than a number. Most of it was my body failing to keep up with basic reality. The rest was reality noticing I existed and taking it personally.
The first death inside the town was almost funny in a way that made me want to laugh and throw up at the same time.
I had tripped.
That was it.
Uneven stone near the market edge. My foot caught. My balance went wrong. I fell at the wrong angle and hit the step hard enough to break my neck. It was fast. Barely any pain. A sharp impact, then the world cut out as cleanly as a lamp being snuffed.
I respawned a few minutes before the fall, in the same street, upright and breathing, my heart hammering like I'd been chased.
It took me a moment to realize what had changed.
Not the street. Not the sky. Not the people passing by.
The number.
A translucent window had flickered at the edge of my vision. Not my regular status panel, but a smaller notification. A tally that felt separate from the rest of my life.
[Number of Deaths: 101]
I remember staring at it until my vision blurred.
One hundred and one.
That was impossible.
It should have been ninety-one.
I knew my count. I had tracked it for years, not because it mattered to anyone else, but because it was mine. The only proof that I wasn't insane. The only way to measure time when time refused to move normally around me.
Ninety-one.
Not one hundred and one.
Ten deaths were missing.
Not missing from the count. Missing from my memory.
I stood there on the street, still feeling the phantom snap in my neck, trying to force my mind to produce the missing moments. Nothing came. No flashes. No panic. No last-second terror. Just an empty stretch, like a book with ten pages torn out.
My first thought was the simplest one.
Did I die in my sleep?
That had happened before, back in my world. Silent deaths. Sudden stops. Waking up and realizing the day had shifted backward without warning. Sometimes I only noticed because something I'd eaten was back on the plate or a message I'd sent was unsent.
If it could happen there, it could happen here.
Maybe I had died during naps too. Maybe my body had failed quietly while I rested. Maybe my Luck had done what it always did and found the one crack in safety, even in a locked room.
It wasn't comforting, but it was believable.
After a while, I dismissed it. Not because it sat right, but because there was nothing else I could do with it. I couldn't chase ten invisible deaths without evidence. I couldn't interrogate the System. I couldn't ask anyone else. And I couldn't afford to spiral over something I might never explain.
The other two deaths I remembered were just as mundane.
A loose sign bracket. A sudden slip on wet stone. Little accidents that didn't deserve the attention I gave them. They happened fast, and I came back fast, and Failure Converter stayed quiet through all of it because nothing about them was abnormal beyond my life being what it was.
By late morning, I found myself walking through the center plaza.
That was when I saw the small office-like building again.
The headquarters for Crossers from my world.
It looked plain from the outside, like any administrative house. Clean window, reinforced door, a simple sign. People went in and out with calm expressions, carrying papers, wearing the tired look of those who still believed rules could keep them safe.
Inside, they handled practical things. Respawn registration for those who still had their allowed rebirth. A place to anchor your return if you died outside town. A place to track what you had left. It was also where they managed the one-time teleport code we'd been given before entering Aetherfall, the code that could return you to the gate of our realm without crossing the expanse again.
A shortcut out.
A last resort.
I slowed without meaning to.
Registering a respawn point here sounded smart. Normal. Sensible. If I died on the road to the expedition site, I could return to Hearthroot instead of ending up somewhere worse. I could test it too. Confirm what "return point" meant now that I had an Aetherfall Function. Make sure the town would catch me.
My feet carried me closer. I reached the door. My hand hovered near the handle.
Then I stopped.
A thought rose in my mind, sharp enough to freeze me in place.
If I anchored myself here, and I died halfway to the site, I would be thrown back into Hearthroot.
I would lose the route.
I would lose time.
I would lose the chance.
The captain's approval was not something I could demand twice. The expedition group wasn't my escort. They were a moving blade, and I was a small attachment they had agreed to carry for a reason. If I got reset back into town because of one stupid accident, they would not turn around and fetch me. Not when their mission demanded otherwise.
I stood there for several breaths, the plaza noise passing around me like a river.
Registering was safety.
Walking away was risk.
I didn't like either option.
In the end, I stepped back from the door.
Not because I was brave. Not because I wanted danger.
Because I knew myself.
If I chose the safety net and it snapped me back at the wrong moment, I would never forgive it. I would be trapped in town with a crate full of answers I could never finish decoding.
I adjusted the belt pouch at my waist, pulled my robe tighter, and kept walking toward the inn.
Some chances didn't allow experiments.
Some chances demanded you commit first and survive second.
And with my Luck, survival was never promised anyway.