For the last few loops, I had gone into battle without hesitation, even when I knew that I was walking to my death, but now I hesitated in front of my tent, because I was afraid.

This fear came from knowing that whatever was coming, my friends would perish in front of me. I know they were dying in every loop, but knowing and seeing was something else.

I did not know what it would do to me to see them die over and over again, but I told myself that I needed to gain more tangible information, and perhaps if more people survived long enough, they would be able to see details that I had missed.

There were Adepts here that had fallen into the trap of Orath and Rel, and if they could live longer than they did, who knows what hidden changes might happen, and I may not have to carry this burden alone.

This was always part of the plan, but I was too weak for my voice to matter in the past, and now that I could hold my ground against an Adept for the most part, this was the right time to dig for more information.

The fight would happen in the camp, and it would be in my best interest for them to live as long as possible.

I sat for a moment longer, letting that decision settle. Fifteen loops of running, hiding, dying in the bowl, dying in the pyramid, dying at the hands of demons and Adepts, and the Arcanist’s grey eyes. Fifteen loops of letting them dictate where and when I fought.

No more.

I stood. The staff was strapped to my back, held in place by a thread of Threadwork, thin, almost invisible, but strong enough to hold a staff through anything short of a direct hit. I would not use the staff to cast. The staff was a reminder. A tether. A promise that I had not forgotten who I was before the loop began.

I pushed open the tent flap.

The grey morning light was the same grey morning light. The cookfire was burning. The porridge was bad. Bari was gesturing with his spoon, his voice carrying across the camp in the familiar rhythm of a complaint that was also a comfort.

Dara saw me first. Her eyes went to my face, then to the staff on my back, then back to my face, and as I began to move, she froze. I had read of animals that froze in front of a predator, as their bodies had already given up and were only depending on hope for survival. I nodded at her, and that gesture was enough to break her out of her state, and she laughed nervously.

Her mouth opened, but I walked past her. Time was not on my side, and I had too much to do.

"Elric?" Bari called after me. "Where are you going? The porridge is—"

"Bad," I said, without turning. "It’s always bad. Eat it anyway."

I spread out my senses without holding back; everything about me worked better since my soul had changed, and in addition to this, I activated Storm Sense, and the entire camp fell into my vision.

My first task this morning was to look for the one weapon that killed the Adepts every morning, and luckily for me, Orath and Rel’s discussions in the last loop had given me the answer to that problem; they had said an Essence Dampner was in the camp.

Every loop, the Adepts had died without putting up much of a fight, and this needed to stop.

My eyes were closed, and my behavior was undoubtedly drawing attention, but I knew that the eruption was so close now that I would not need to explain myself for long if it came to it, the breaking world would be enough proof.

It did not take long for me to find it, and I would not have been able to without the combination of Storm Sense, Observation, and Anima Sensitivity.

The culprit, as it turned out, was the surveyor’s stake at the eastern edge of camp, the kind that was hammered in to mark instrument lines, except this one was wrong, I felt it the way you feel a draft from a door you thought was shut: a slow, patient pull.

I don’t know what it was doing, but I know these stakes that could be bought for five silver coins were not supposed to do that. And there were others. A ring of them, spaced around the camp, all of them having that weird pull that irritated my senses.

Okay, I had my targets, now it was time to change the direction of this story. Looking around, I saw my target, and I smiled before heading towards him.

I stopped at the edge of the instrument tables, where Adept Torvin was calibrating his resonance meter. He of magnificent mustache and tall stature, more befitting of a king than a mage.

I shook my head. This was not the time to get distracted.

In the loops where I was in the camp, I had always seen Adept Torvin fiddling with the instruments, a frown on his face, and only until this moment was I able to connect everything together.

"Adept Torvin," I said.

He looked up. His expression was mildly surprised, then mildly amused. An Acolyte approaching him with a staff on his back and a face like a thundercloud.

"Voss. You’re up early. Is there something..."

"Your resonance meter," I said. "What does it say about the ambient Essence density in the camp?"

Torvin blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your meter. The one you’ve been calibrating this morning for a while, this usually takes you seconds. What does it read?"

He glanced at the instrument, then back at me. "That is not your concern, Acolyte. If you have questions about the expedition’s research parameters, you should address them to Scholar Orath."

"The ambient Essence density is lower than it should be," I said. "Significantly lower. You’ve noticed it. You’ve been recalibrating your instruments every morning because the readings keep changing. But you haven’t asked why."

I may not be extremely sure of what I was speaking about, but I think I hit the nail close enough to the target that Adept Torvin straightened, and he looked at me with surprise and curiosity.

The other researchers near the instrument tables were looking up from their brass dials and calibration arrays. I had made no effort to lower my voice, and they heard what I said.

Good, it was time to shake things up.