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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Quetzhal on 2025-05-16 14:57:50+00:00.

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It takes me a moment to figure out where I am. My first impression is that there’s something wrong with the Tear—it’s not like that would be a surprise. Maybe it just doesn’t have enough energy to be able to simulate whatever past event is trapped in here.

Then I realize that my eyes just haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet. When it does…

Well, the sight is beautiful, but I can’t deny that it’s also deeply concerning.

I think I might be in space.

The good news is that I can breathe normally, though that might be more because of the weakness of the Tear than anything else; the stale air of the Sewers continues to filter through to me. Whatever the Tear is trying to simulate, it’s not a complete simulation.

The bad news is that I’m not going to be able to move much without an exertion of Firmament, because I’m not standing on anything.

That and I’m struggling to understand why I’d be in space. The sight of the countless stars and nebulae is beautiful, certainly; there’d always been too much light pollution on Earth for me to be able to see much, and even on Hestia, the concentration of Firmament around the planet dulled the night sky.

But the Tears are supposed to represent events on Hestia, for the most part. Why would I be in space? I glance around, puzzled; the only things I can really see are massive asteroids drifting through the area. There are distortions around me that might be rifts left behind by powerful waves of Firmament, but they might also just be weaknesses within the Tear—

One of Isthanok’s massive crystal cathedrals float past me, the light of the sun refracting through it and casting prismatic rays across my arm. I freeze, sudden realization striking me.

This is Hestia after the planet explodes. What I’m seeing are the remnant chunks of the planet scattered about in the void.

Something about the sight is chilling. It’s a sobering reminder of what awaits if we fail to stop the explosion at the end of the loops.

“I have made a miscalculation, it seems.” A voice rings out through the emptiness of space. The tone is dispassionate, almost dull, but it startles me anyway, and I whirl around to face it. A Trialgoer here means a Trialgoer that managed to survive the detonation of the planet. Why? How?

What I see makes me do a double take.

Not only is the Trialgoer a robot—which I suppose explains how he’s able to survive in space—he looks remarkably like He-Who-Guards.

They aren’t exactly the same, of course. This new robot is bulkier, with layered panels for durability and defense where Guard’s design opts for agility. He has two optics instead of Guard’s singular one, along with a number of flaps around his head that open and close erratically, doing a remarkable job of conveying his panic.

Last but not least, his Firmament core is a muted green, and the lines of his power curve through his plating in smooth, swooping lines.

The similarities are undeniable, though. It’s like they’re the same species. If not for the fact that I know that Guard’s current body was built by Whisper, I might have thought they were; as it stands, I wonder instead if this is where she got the inspiration for his robotic form.

A core transplant has to be a complicated process. Most of the technology Whisper used wasn’t Hestian in origin—she needed the Trials to acquire the power and information that would help her “heal” Guard. No doubt she would have encountered this particular Trialgoer when his Trials began and seen his ability to sustain himself through Firmament alone.

Maybe that was what set her down her path.

I shake off the thought. That’s not important at the moment. What’s important is the fact that I’m looking at another former Trialgoer. There might not be much emotion in his tone, but I recognize despair when I see it.

More than that, with all the time I’ve spent with Guard, I’ve learned to read many of the little quirks of his body language. Despite all the differences in their construction, this isn’t that difference.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone gentle.

It’s an awkward greeting, but in all honesty, I’m not quite expecting it to work. Tears are rarely very interactive when it comes to the people inside them. Carusath’s Tear required me to Anchor the mother before she could speak—

—but to my surprise, the Trialgoer turns to look at me, his optics glowing with an equal amount of shock. We stare at one another for a long moment.

“You are an organic,” he says. His head-flaps flutter in confusion. “You survived the explosion? That should not be possible. How are you here?”

“It’s complicated.” I have no idea how to explain it, in all honesty. Part of me really hopes this isn’t going to be another Fyran situation. “My name is Ethan.”

“I am GRO-R7,” the Trialgoer says, still staring at me. “How are you able to speak? How can I hear you?”

“That’s… even more complicated,” I say. Explaining a Tear is one thing. Explaining that the Tear is weak, that the air from a dungeon is filtering through into the pseudo-reality it simulates? I don’t even know where to begin.

“You should not be here. You are an anomaly,” GHO-R7 says.

I snort. “That’s more true than you think, GHO-R7.”

The robot’s flaps flutter briefly. He looks simultaneously relieved to not be alone and worried about my presence. “You may call me Ghost. I have learned that the designation is easier for organics.”

That’s certainly less awkward. I raise an eyebrow. “Why Ghost?”

He shrugs. “It was better than Ghort.”

“You’re not wrong, but considering the Interface is acting as a universal translator for us both, I have no idea how that works in our respective languages,” I say dryly. The slight distraction seems to have helped him calm down, at least—his flaps flare with amusement, and he tilts his head in acknowledgement.

Something about his name is giving me pause, though. I frown, running through what I remember of Hestia’s former Trialgoers. The name in particular strikes me as remarkably familiar, I just don’t remember how.

And then it hits me. Not just the name, but the situation. I’ve seen this described before. I bring up the Interface and navigate to the anomaly log, picking out the changelog for Anomaly 006—Hestia’s destruction.

Sure enough, GHO-R7’s entries are some of the earliest.

—

Anomaly log has been formatted and language has been formalized, with the exception of the changelog.

Cause of anomaly appears to be related to the temporal Firmament that runs the loop. Theory unconfirmed. Usage of opposing Firmament can delay death, but without a planet to subsist on, even I cannot survive for long. — GHO-R7.

—

It is possible to temporally displace the exit past the point at which Anomaly 006 occurs. This is a problem. Do not do what I did. — GHO-R7.

—

“I am glad I am not alone,” Ghost says quietly. I look up from the Interface and find that he’s turned away from me and back toward the remnants of Hestia. A few smaller pieces of the planet drift past us, and he lets them go without a word; one piece, however, he reaches out to grab.

I look at what he’s holding. It’s small—not a piece of the planet at all, but a fragment of something that rings strangely in my Firmament sense. When he turns back to me, I can see that it’s a blue-gold stone, shaped like the corner of a doorway and made of solid Firmament.

Easy enough to identify from sight alone, even if I didn’t have my Firmament sense. Even if I couldn’t feel faint remnants of spatial Firmament echoing from the piece he holds, the kind that might have been able to transport someone off-planet and out of their Trial.

“That’s the exit, isn’t it?” I ask gently.

Ghost looks up at me, hesitating for a moment before nodding. His shoulders sag. “It is.”

“What happened?”

I know what he wrote in the changelog, of course, but the details are vague. More importantly, Ghost looks like he might need someone to talk to.

It still takes him a minute to find the words and the will to respond. I wait.

“Temporal displacement,” he says eventually. His tone is as dispassionate as ever, but his Firmament flickers when he speaks; I see disappointment, fear, and regret in his drooping posture, in the way he can’t quite meet my gaze. “I was able to determine that the Trial’s exit exists not only at a specific point in space but also at a specific point in time. I had hoped that by manipulating it past the point of Anomaly 006, I would be able to find it.”

I glance at the shattered remnant of the exit. “It was a good plan.”

“It failed,” Ghost says, and now his despair is raw enough to bleed into his voice. “The anomaly destroyed the exit, and the loops do not repair it. It seems that I will not be able to pass my Trial. I had hoped…”

He lapses into silence again, staring at the piece of the exit he holds. Then he shakes his head, letting it go and turning to me.

“You are new,” he says. “I have lived through 8,136 loops. I have not encountered anyone of your species, nor anyone capable of surviving the Anomaly. How are you here?”

There’s a spark of curiosity in his voice. A flicker of interest that w…

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