Die. Respawn. Repeat.

When I wake up, I roll to the side immediately, my eyes snapping open as I prepare for the mantis' arm to scythe down towards my face — but instead of dodging an attack like I'd expected, I just fall off a bed of straw and onto the ground.

"Ow." I groan. The straw isn't exactly far off the ground, but I'm pretty sure I banged my elbow on a rock.

And my tailbone. And most of my other bones, really. I've never really paid attention to how unreasonably rocky dirt usually is.

Tough Body dulls most of the pain, thankfully.

"You awake," Mari says. She peers over at me from the chair she's sitting in and snorts. "Why you roll onto ground? Straw perfectly comfortable."

"It wasn't exactly voluntary." I gingerly drag myself back into the makeshift bed. I expect it to be scratchy and uncomfortable, but to my surprise, it is actually comfortable — there's a thin layer of Firmament over it that molds itself to my body, protecting me from the actual texture of the straw.

I'm still exhausted. My entire body aches, even though I didn't push it very far. Inspirations are much, much more taxing than I'd anticipated.

But powerful, too. I shouldn't have been able to push Mari back — not with her actually trying.

"You need rest more," Mari says unnecessarily, and I groan.

"But you win," she adds. I glance over at her, and she's very studiously not looking at me.

"Did I?" I ask doubtfully. "I don't think we established a win condition."

"You push me back," Mari says. "I consider it win. You take."

"Does that mean you'll tell me how you and Tarin are so strong?"

Mari is silent for a moment, and I almost take it as a no. It's only when she walks into view that I realize she was grabbing me a bowl of grub. It's a strange, soupy mixture of indiscernible liquid and bug parts.

...I eat it anyway. I'm ravenous. And it's surprisingly delicious. Mari grunts with approval, and while I'm eating, she begins to speak.

"I not know if I tell you before," she says. "But different species have different FIrmament. Yes?"

I nod. Tarin mentioned something along those lines before. Crow Firmament is strengthened by creation, specifically; by building things.

"Crow Firmament stronger when we create. But there is trick, see? Build big, complicated thing, stronger Firmament. Build small, simple thing, Firmament also stronger. Better to build many small things."

She gestures to the home around them. For the first time, I realize it's filled with dozens of tiny knickknacks, most of which look like they're cobbled together from literal sticks and stones.

"We build lots," she says. "All crow do. But part of crow strength is... we can transfer. We put Firmament into thing, thing become stronger. But we also put Firmament into each other. You understand?"

It's starting to make sense, now. "Everyone gave you and Tarin their Firmament?"

"Yes," Mari nods at me. "Firmament stronger when in one person. Village must choose guardians. They choose Tarin and I. We strong."

"What about Naru?" I ask the question before I can stop myself.

Mari is silent for a long moment, and I worry I've offended her. But she shakes her head, and the smile she gives me is a sad one.

"We not give him our Firmament," Mari says. "Naru expect it. Waiting for Firmament. But he not ready. Then Trials happen."

I grimace. "He's had a power complex for a while, then."

"Trial make it worse," Mari sighs. "But yes. I not know how fix. He grow up with... expectations. Son of village leaders. We try teach him, but he not learn. Maybe we not teach him enough."

"He's got to take responsibility for his decisions at some point." I don't know how he was raised; maybe Mari and Tarin did make mistakes. But there's only so many times that can excuse him, and Naru's somewhere far, far over that line.

"You not wrong." Mari is silent for a moment. "You want learn?"

"Learn what?" I ask, startled at the sudden question.

"Firmament," Mari says. She gestures with a wing. "How crow put Firmament into stick. Effects different if Firmament different. Many different methods, also. But crow way strongest."

...Now that I'm paying attention, I think every single straw in the bed I'm sleeping on is individually imbued with Firmament.

"I'd like to," I say. Mari smiles at me, a glimmer of something in her eyes.

I wonder, for a moment, if she sees in me the son she wished she had.

Firmament imbuement is both easier and harder than I expected.

Mari's a strict teacher. She hovers over me as I struggle to do as she instructs — which is a vague 'push your Firmament into the object.' For all that moving Firmament around is easy with Firmament Manipulation, something in the object resists when I try to force my Firmament into it.

"All things have Firmament," Mari instructs. "Most things just weak. But even weak Firmament hard to overcome, if Firmament belong to object."

"Is that why everyone doesn't just imbue their leaders with Firmament?" I ask, and Mari is silent for a moment.

"It matter of trust," she finally says. "And crow Firmament suited for it. Other species... not so easy. Can do. But harder. Need more trust."

"I see." I grunt, still trying to force my Firmament into the stick I'm holding. You'd think it'd be easier to stuff Firmament into a damn stick, but the innate Firmament of the stick resists me surprisingly well.

It takes a mental shove to actually force my way past the metaphorical wall, and I let out as gasp of relief as my Firmament suddenly floods into the stick—

—it cracks in half.

Mari smirks at me. "Not easy."

"No kidding," I grumble, eyeing the pile of sticks she'd brought. I'm starting to understand why she brought a giant pile of sticks.

But I figure it out on the second attempt. I match my breathing to my flow of Firmament, pulsing waves of Firmament at the stick instead of pushing relentlessly at it; the moment a wave strikes, I pull it back, no matter whether I get through the stick's innate Firmament or not.

My Firmament floods the stick on the fifth breath, and I instantly pull it back as part of the same motion. I open my eyes, feeling the stick humming softly with my Firmament.

Mari looks surprised. "You done? You look like you done."

Right, she can't sense Firmament the same way I can. "I think I got it."

Mari gives me a suspicious look, then takes the imbued stick away from me. She tests it, first trying to snap it between her wings, then holding it up to her beak to bite into it, which draws a look of absolute consternation from me. She just laughs at the look I give her.

"Stick imbued," she mutters to herself after a moment. "How you do? You learn fast."

"I just... pushed waves of Firmament at it," I say. It's a little reminiscent of the way the obelisk functioned, actually, now that I think about it — except the obelisk's Firmament waves are so strong they still disintegrate anything that touches it.

...Except the pools of color.

Huh. There's a thought. I wonder if those color-monsters are just another form of Firmament imbuing.

Mari stares at me for a moment more. "You scary," she grunts. "Or your species. I not know. You or your species. Scary."

"Says the crow that can cut my head off with a wing."

"I not cut your real head!" Mari folds her wings at me in a huff, and I laugh. After a moment, her composure breaks, and she laughs too; without warning, her gaze shifts over to the sight of her husband, still lying down in his own bed of straw.

"Wish husband here," she mutters after a moment. "He like you."

"He did." I glance over, too. "I'll save him."

I mean it, too. It's as much of a promise as I can make it. The Firmament battle within Tarin still rages on, but it doesn't seem like it's progressed; he's fighting it to a standstill, which gives me more time.

I'm glad for it. I wonder if some part of him knows what I'm going through — what I have to fight.

Probably not.

"Now!" Mari declares. "You look closely. You sense Firmament, yes? What stick feel like?"

I take a moment to parse the question, my eyebrow twitching, then reach out with my Firmament sense. I grasp what she's saying almost immediately.

For lack of a better word, the Firmament is leaking. I can feel it oozing out, slowly but surely; at the rate it's moving, I imagine the imbuement will be gone in a day or two.

"This where you need trick," Mari tells me. "Firmament need anchor, see? Most people anchor Firmament in rock. Rock holds Firmament well. So people use sticks with stones tied to them, or put stones all over item."

"But you don't need to do it," I say, and Mari grins at me.

"Crows clever," she says proudly. "We tie Firmament. You watch carefully, yes?"

I tilt my head. I watch as she picks up a stick and carefully threads her Firmament into it; unlike me, she's learned the exact amount of force she needs to apply, and she's able to push the right amount of Firmament into it and then withdraw in a single attempt. I feel the stick pulsing with Firmament.

Then — so subtle I wouldn't have noticed it at all, if not for the fact that she's told me to watch carefully — I watch a thin piece of Firmament thread itself off. It wraps itself around that innate Firmament in the stick, coiling around it and then slipping into the loop it's created.

She's literally tying a knot.

The word anchor makes a lot more sense now.

"Now you try," Mari says, her eyes glinting. She looks almost too eager for me to give it a try. I give her a suspicious look, then pick up a stick; I pulse my Firmament at it in waves.

One. Two. Three—

On the third pulse, the innate resistance falls through, and my Firmament floods the stick. I pull it back immediately, and maintain only the smallest of threads, a tiny connection to my own Firmament.

And then I set about tying a knot.

It is, it turns out, a lot harder than it looks.

At the scale I'm working at, Firmament is surprisingly... slippery. It's difficult to keep it in the form of a thin thread, let alone manipulate that tiny thread to loop around itself. Tying it around the stick's own Firmament is basically out of the question for me. I sweat as I practice just coiling the thin thread of Firmament into a loop, twisting the end over itself again and again.

The look Mari gives me is almost infuriatingly smug. I level a glare at her, and if anything, she seems to get even more smug.

"It not easy," Mari says. "You keep trying. You get fast! I believe. Maybe take you a month, if you fast."

Like hell.

I'm almost sure I'm not going to be able to do this in a single day, though. As simple as the task is, I feel the Firmament slipping out of my grip again and again, and it does it more and more easily as I get more frustrated. My head begins to pound from my overuse of Firmament Manipulation.

Finally — after a full hour of doing this — I give up. I sit back, panting.

I've managed to nudge the Firmament into a full loop, at least. The only part I have left to do is to thread it through itself... and to do it while the stick's own Firmament rests in the center of the loop, which is a whole other layer of complication. The presence of that stick Firmament seems to mess with Firmament Manipulation, making my control of it a little less granular, like it's interfering with my control somehow.

I grumble.

Mari's been cooking, I think. She gave up on watching me sweat over the stick after about five minutes, and set about gathering fruits and making that soup again. It's only when I sit back with a sigh that she glances up at me, and she grins.

"You done?" she asks. "You not succeed, right?"

"Don't remind me," I grumble.

"Crow take years to succeed," Mari snorts. "Even basic imbuement take months. You already scary fast. No need faster."

I stay silent at that. I don't know if that's true. The Trials are still happening, and for all I know, humanity is dying off by the second.

I can't let myself relax too much. I can't. I need every advantage I can get, and imbuement is only one of them.

Mari seems to sense my thoughts on some level, because she sighs, and sits across from me. In a wing is a bowl of that fruit-soup she served me a few loops ago, and she offers it to me; I take it gratefully. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until this moment.

"Moving Firmament tiring," she tells me. "How you feel?"

"Frustrated," I grumble. Mari laughs at me.

"Good," she say. "Frustration good for crow! Learn faster."

"I'm not a crow," I point out.

"You honorary crow. I find you wings. We tape on your back. Use Firmament. Will look very handsome. Trust."

"I'd rather not," I say. I can't tell if she's joking. She maintains a look of perfect seriousness for a moment more before the feathers around her eyes crinkle, and she cackles the way only an old crow woman can.

"I joke!" she says, unnecessarily. "You look strange if feathers, yes? Like naked crow."

"I'd rather not look like a naked crow," I say dryly.

"Yes," Mari agrees. She settles down after a moment, grabbing a bowl of her own soup, and her expression turns quietly contemplative; after a moment, she lets out a sigh. "Okay," she says. "We need talk now. We need decide what you do next."

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