Chapter 16 #2
"This is a good spot," Cypher said, stopping where solid ground gave way to ice.
I nodded, though I had no idea what made for a 'good spot' to tear a hole in reality. The First Anchor felt heavy against my chest. I only hoped this wouldn't turn into a massive failure, or worse, get somebody killed.
I turned at the sound of footsteps crunching across the frozen ground.
The rest of the crew approached, their breath clouding in the cold air as they formed a loose semicircle around us.
Kora held Click close to her chest, the brass gears in his little tail ticking softly as she stroked its head.
Both watched me with identical expressions of worry.
"Everything's ready," Vic said, setting down his medical satchel. I glimpsed bandages, tinctures, and tools I couldn't name.
Tor dropped a heavy pack beside Vic's supplies. "Provisions, just in case. Enough for three days if something goes awry."
I swallowed hard. "That's... reassuring."
Cypher reached into his heavy coat and pulled out the codex, its ancient leather binding worn and cracked with age. He hesitated before extending it to me.
My heart lurched as I took the book. "You really think I can do this?"
He nodded curtly. "I know you can."
I opened the codex to the page he'd marked. Ancient Nytherian script covered the yellowed parchment—beautiful, flowing characters I couldn't begin to decipher. But Cypher had written in the margins, translating the instructions into common tongue.
Become the void. Feel the space between realms. The First Dark exists everywhere and nowhere. It is not a place you go to, but a state you invite into yourself.
I looked up at Cypher, my mouth suddenly dry. "This sounds like I'm supposed to let it possess me."
"I don't think it's possession," he said, taking a step closer. "It's a sort of communion. There's a difference."
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, but returned my attention to the page.
Stand at the threshold of two states. Land and water, light and shadow. Place one foot in each world. Breathe in patterns of three: three short, three long. Let your consciousness expand beyond your physical form.
The instructions continued, describing hand positions, visualization techniques, even the proper stance to maintain balance between realms. It was both more precise and mystical than I expected. I was almost completely sure I'd done none of this when I'd slipped into the First Dark by accident.
I stepped forward until my toes touched the ice edge. Following the codex's guidance, I positioned my feet—one on solid ground, one on the frozen ocean. Suddenly Cypher's decision to do this out here made sense.
"I'm ready," I said, though I was anything but.
I closed my eyes and began the breathing pattern. Three quick inhales, three long exhales. I pictured a pair of hands made of pure swirling darkness reaching towards me, wrapping around my body and tugging me into the void. The First Anchor pulsed against my skin, growing warmer with each breath.
At first, nothing happened. Just the cold air in my lungs, the sound of the crew shifting nervously behind me. Then, gradually, I felt it. A subtle tugging sensation deep in my chest, as if someone had tied a thread to my sternum and was gently pulling.
"It's working," I whispered, not opening my eyes.
The tugging grew stronger, less like a thread and more like a rope, yanking me toward something vast and distant. The First Anchor burned against my skin, no longer simply warm but hot enough to make me wince. I kept my breathing steady, following the pattern despite the growing discomfort.
Then came the whispers.
They started faintly, like the rustle of leaves in a distant forest. But they multiplied rapidly, dozens becoming hundreds becoming thousands of voices, all speaking at once.
I couldn't make out individual words, just the sensation of countless entities reaching across time and space to touch my consciousness.
The voices grew louder, more insistent. The tugging in my chest became painful, as if something was trying to pull my very essence from my body. The First Anchor flared with blinding heat.
Fear hit me hard and fast. This wasn't communion—it was a damn invasion. The First Dark wasn't responding to my call; it was consuming me.
I gasped, my eyes flying open. The codex slipped from my trembling fingers, tumbling to the frozen ground. I staggered backward, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight.
Strong hands caught me before I fell. Tor's massive arms steadied me, his voice rumbling in my ear. "Easy there, little rift. I've got you."
I couldn't breathe. The strain of the connection had siphoned the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping like a fish on dry land. Darkness edged my vision, threatening to pull me under completely.
Cypher's face appeared before me, his golden eyes wide. "Breathe. Just breathe."
I tried, but my chest felt constricted, as if the whispers had wrapped themselves around my ribs and were squeezing. Vic appeared at Cypher's side, pressing something cool against my lips.
"Drink," he ordered.
I swallowed reflexively, and liquid fire burned down my throat. Whatever Vic had given me, it shocked my system enough to break the stranglehold on my lungs. I sucked in a desperate breath, then another, each one slightly easier than the last.
"That's it," Vic murmured, his fingers on my wrist taking my pulse. "Slow and steady."
As my vision cleared, I became aware of the crew gathered around me, their faces etched with concern. Kora had moved closer, Click chirping anxiously in her arms.
"I'm fine," I managed. “I just... it was too much."
"We'll try again tomorrow," Jask said, moving to gather our things.
"No." I pushed myself upright, shaking off Tor's supportive hands. My legs trembled beneath me, but I forced them to hold. "We do this now. While I still remember how it felt."
Cypher frowned. "You're in no condition—"
"I can do this," I insisted, meeting his gaze. "I have to."
For a moment, no one spoke. The crew exchanged glances, their breath clouding in the cold air. Finally, Cypher nodded once, reluctantly.
"Be careful," Kora warned, her knuckles white where she clutched Click. "If anything feels wrong—"
"I'll stop," I promised, though we both knew it was a lie.
Cypher retrieved the codex from where it had fallen, brushing ice crystals from its ancient binding before offering it back to me. His fingers lingered against mine during the exchange.
"This time," he said, voice pitched low for my ears alone, "don't fight it. The First Dark responds to fear by overwhelming it. Try to approach it with curiosity instead."
I nodded, and positioned myself at the edge of the ice again, one foot on solid ground, one on the frozen ocean. The First Anchor hummed against my skin, already responding to my intention. I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing—three short inhales, three long exhales.
This time, I imagined myself extending an invitation rather than issuing a command. I thought of opening a door and stepping aside, allowing a guest to enter rather than dragging them across the threshold or letting them pull me out.
The tugging sensation returned, softer at first. I leaned into it, letting it pull me without resistance. The whispers started again, but I didn't try to understand them or push them away. I let them wash over me, through me.
The First Anchor grew warm, then hot, but this time the heat felt less like burning and more like the intense warmth of a hearth fire on a winter night. I kept my breathing steady, my mind open.
The darkness behind my eyelids deepened, became something more than absence of light. It gained texture, depth, a presence I could almost touch. The whispers organized themselves into patterns, still unintelligible but no longer chaotic.
Then something shifted. The tugging became a hook, lodged deep in my chest, and yanked with terrifying force. My eyes flew open, but I couldn't see the crew or the frozen wasteland anymore. There was only darkness, swirling and alive, pressing against me from all sides.
The pressure was immense, as if I'd been plunged into the deepest ocean. It crushed against my ribcage, squeezing the air from my lungs. I tried to breathe, but there was nothing to inhale except more darkness.
Panic clawed at the edges of my mind as I dropped to my knees. My body felt impossibly heavy, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't come. The whispers had become a roar, thousands of voices calling my name, reaching for me with incorporeal hands.
I was drowning in nothing, suffocating in emptiness. My vision sparked with bursts of color—the last desperate firings of a brain starved of oxygen. I could feel myself slipping away, consciousness fading like a candle in a storm.
Then, through the darkness, I felt something solid. A hand gripping mine, anchoring me to reality. Cypher's voice, distant but clear, calling my name. I clung to that connection, using it to pull myself back from the brink.
With tremendous effort, I forced my lungs to expand. The darkness resisted, then suddenly yielded, rushing into me like water through a broken dam. But it wasn't air I breathed. It was the First Dark itself, filling me with ancient knowledge and impossible power.
Images flooded my mind—a device of crystal and ornately twisted metal, pulsing with energy that could create or destroy worlds. The Genesis Engine. I could see it clearly, suspended in a pocket of the First Dark where time had no meaning. And I knew, with absolute certainty, how to reach it.
As quickly as it had come, the vision faded. The pressure around me released, and I collapsed fully onto the ice, coughing and gasping. Real air filled my lungs, painfully sweet after the void's emptiness.
"Juno!" Multiple voices called my name, hands turning me over, lifting me.
I blinked up at their worried faces, trying to focus. "I saw it," I whispered through a raw throat. "The Engine. I know where it is."