Sturm shook his head, before speaking at last--albeit through cracked lips, and uttered with a weak, almost inaudible voice, "That's not it. If they are alerted . . . the Ersatzshad will come. They needn't see me again."

Icsorue lifted her head as if to speak, but she refrained almost immediately afterward. With her back against the wall as well, the woman brought her knees to her chest, around which she draped her arms and rested her chin. Her eyes were half shut and stared blankly ahead of her. Every second it seemed, she sniffled and had to blink to keep herself from shedding another tear.

There was a long between them all. It persisted like a plague, a virus that refused to go away, no matter the conjectured cure.

It was painful to Icsorue. As each second passed, each moment she had to hold back from crying again, she wanted to scream more an more--but at who? At the dead Silver? At Eilert? At Sturm? At herself? Or was it all creation she wanted to hate, even if for a very brief moment.

They all worked to save it, but for what? What good was it going to do her or Sturm? When the conflict began, she didn't want to die. Now it was over, and she was questioning all prior urge to live.

Finally, Icsorue couldn't take it anymore; she broke the silence, but perhaps only to cause another one: ". . . Dr. Tyr . . . d-doesn't have much time left . . ."

Eilert's eyes, which had been drifting shut in oblivious, relative peace, suddenly shot open. "How?" he asked urgently. "That wound...is my glyph not enough to heal it?"

His mind, which had been on the verge of resting and maybe in even sleep, was suddenly kicking back into action. He needed to figure out a way to save Sturm...for his sake, for Icsorue's, and for his own.

Or else...what had he truly accomplished?

Icsorue could barely bear to think about it, let alone say it. She recoiled following her words and fought even harder to avoid crying. It had been this way since Eilert left to confront Silver--since Sturm told her the truth.

Sturm shook his head. "It's fine--it's healing fine, but . . ."



". . . six months. I have not slept even a second in six months," Sturm announced. It wasn't spoken with pride, but also wasn't spoken with regret. He was alone in his research and preparation. Those that assisted him were integral in his success in reaching the sky temple, but in the end, he hadn't the time to waste five to eight hour a night with sleep. There was work to do instead--a purely utilitarian approach.

But while Sturm was an enigma, he was still a human being.

"I suppose it was all just the last straw," Sturm, although speaking of a horrifying thought for an enigma: death, was remarkably calm.

Eilert shook his head; how that was possible, he wasn't even sure. He was no medical doctor, but he was fairly certain Sturm should have passed out long, long ago.

"Then sleep, you fool," Eilert replied irritably. It wasn't much, but given his normal composure the change in tone would likely be noticeable. The idea that Sturm would so calmly accept his own death made him...angry. Even angrier than he'd been with Silver.

Though calm, Sturm was also very, very tired--a fact which may well have tied into his calm, if not the very source of it. To stare down death, for an enigma, was to potentially stare down non-existence. None of them knew where they went when they died, and all proof suggested that they simply ceased to be. It was the very source of Icsorue's earlier fear of death. She wanted, then, to exist.

Now, though . . .

"I can, now . . ." Sturm replied, his voice so quiet it could barely be heard--but he tried--even if it was futile in the end, he tried.

Sturm struggled again. He wasn't yet allowing himself to sleep. It was clear what would happen if he did. His struggle, though, was not to stay awake, but to lift his right hand. He was weak and could barely do this, but he force himself nonetheless. He was reaching out and up, to Eilert, to extend his hand to the man.

He couldn't offer a firm handshake, but he would do what he could.

"My friend . . ." he managed to say.

Eilert stared at him briefly, taking his hand by instinct (his own movements weren't much stronger) but it was little more than an automatic motion. "You shouldn't talk as though this is absolute," he said. "Surely between everyone gathered here something can be done. If not glyphs, then another's powers."

He'd spent so long comfortably numb to everything, not caring about his job or the world and merely existing, but Sturm and Icsorue had managed to get him to feel again, to value pieces of his existence. Would all it amount to be to make him experience the pain of loss again?

The images of the other world were still fresh in his head. He had no idea why he saw and experienced them, or if that would be what it would have been like, but he was beginning to wonder if he'd truly made the right decision. He believed Sturm and Icsorue could build their own future here yet, but if that wasn't possible, then what did he fight for...?

Sturm tried to grip Eilert's hand, but after a light shake, he couldn't any longer, and his arm dropped weakly to his side. Icsorue watched this from behind her folded arms, and struggled to keep herself from acting. She felt much the same as Eilert--she wanted Sturm to live. Why did she continue to live if he would not? The question continuously drove through her mind, and forced her to regret her past decisions that much more.

"Eilert-- d-do you think . . ." Icsorue sniffled, "Th-there could be . . .?"

With his arms by his sides, Sturm leaned his head back against the wall. At last, he closed his eyes. It wouldn't be long before sleep took him.

But not yet.

"It doesn't matter, in the end . . ." Sturm whispered, "My fight . . . was for the world. Silver's aim to bring about its end simply could not succeed--no matter the cost. Knowing that it's safe, now--from Silver and the organization . . . is all I need. Thanks to you, Eilert Draugr . . ."

"'The world' is just another meaningless term to me." Eilert sank down so like Sturm he was sitting against the wall, on the other side of Icsorue. "I can't fathom it, whether to destroy it or save it. In the end, it wasn't why I made my decision."

He shook his head. "It wasn't I who saved the world; I was part of the reason it was in danger to begin with. The credit goes entirely to you. All I did was pull a trigger. You're the one who created the opportunity to do so."

There was a long pause as Eilert considered his next words. He wanted to berate him for seemingly giving up, for sounding like he wanted to die, for any number of things. But in the end that wasn't what truly was bothering him.

"...I only recently became aware of how small my world truly is. And it will be much smaller still without you in it, Tyrian."

"A world without you . . ." Icsorue began, to add her own thoughts and feelings to Eilert's own, spurred on by Eilert's willingness to say it all, ". . . would be forever empty . . ."

Eilert and Icsorue's feelings, laid out before him, caused the man to put off sleep for much longer--to think about what they said, and why it was so important.

Tyrian Sturm fought for the world. In truth, his own world was just as small as Eilert and Icsorue's--but unlike theirs, it also contained a window to the real world around him. There were people like them, groups of friends and compatriots, that did good work for the world. There were sickly fellows of all kinds that persevered without ever understanding why anymore. There were troubled young women who found their way. There were husbands, wives, children, and unassuming people who deserved their right to be.

Sturm appreciated the people he knew--Eilert, Icsorue, Emitt, Davon, Desmon, Exitus (begrudgingly), Usurii, Zeto, Sanguine, Kremnaes, and even the estranged Isac Hazker. They were friends and they were allies. He did what he could for all of them, even if it was often rushed and busied. But as he appreciated them, he could only think about the rest of the world, and how many millions of instances vaguely similar were out there. How, then, could he fight for himself?

His was a self sacrificing mission.

A necessary sacrifice, to him. To give all of himself so that the rest of them could live on.

But perhaps he owed a little more to them, his friends and allies.

After his lengthy silence, Sturm finally answered them: ". . . there is a drug, in my lab. I developed it to counteract a strength enhancer that nearly killed one of my allies--that solution would boost a man's abilities tenfold, but rapid organ failure was its failing point. The counter-solution, AXG-05, slows general organ failure to a snail's pace . . ."

It was the best admittance to a concession they were going to get out of him.

Eilert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't recall Sturm being this difficult, but perhaps this was just the first time he cared enough to notice. "And why haven't you taken this solution already?" he asked, though the question was rhetorical; he suspected he knew the answer, and it was something he didn't really want to bring up in front of Icsorue.

"In any case, we'll need to get to your lab then--I don't suppose you researched glyphs enough to set a Glyph of Teleportation there?"

He was guessing it wasn't nearby, because there wasn't really anything nearby; and neither of the men could hardly walk, let alone travel any meaningful distance in short order.

Sturm could be a difficult man, indeed . . .

Nevertheless, Sturm shook his head. A glyph of teleportation would have been awfully convenient right about now, but while he researched glyphs pretty well, enough to know about the glyph of will, he hadn't gone so far as to set up a permanent glyph of teleportation in his lab. In hindsight, that would've made his life much, much easier--but oh well.

"Zeto . . . is outside," Sturm replied weakly, presenting an alternative option: "He currently has . . . the Key to Oblivion. He can take you to my lab and back . . ."

Hope. It was a cruel thing. Icsorue was filled with it almost instantaneously. Her heart stopped beating so erratically, as there arrived a light amongst her worst fears. Sturm didn't have to die. Why he brought this up now, she might never know. Perhaps he just didn't think to bring that solution with him. But it didn't matter. If that sort of thing would keep him living, then she'd find it--even if that Zeto fellow was unwilling to help her.

But first she passed a glance to Eilert and back to Sturm. Neither were really in the condition to be going anywhere. Truth be told, she was the only one of them that was remotely capable of moving around. She hesitated initially, fearing what might happen if she left Sturm's side, but if she was the only one who could.

"I'll do it," Icsorue declared first and foremost, with a renewed vigor. She stood up, while the men remained sitting. She sniffled one last sniffle and wiped away one last tear. It was time for her game face. "Zeto-- AXG-05. Mission accepted!"

Eilert nodded mutely. Truthfully he was much more suited to finding something in a lab, but he could hardly move; even if he'd have a better idea of where to look, the chances of him getting it with the expedience that he suspected was required were slim. He only hoped that Icsorue's time spent around Sturm got her accustomed enough to labs that she could find her way around one.

For the moment, he refrained from pointing out to Icsorue that Sturm only said the solution would slow down the problem, not stop it. Though admittedly that could mean it would be anywhere from days to years as far as he knew; his knowledge of medicine was limited.

"I hope this Zeto is reasonable," Eilert noted after she left. "With your life on the line, I don't think she'll tolerate much for delays."

With Icsorue's declaration, she was off. She intended to waste absolutely no time. Taking the wood block would have been helpful, but she actually refrained from doing that, and simply walked past it. Indeed, it would've been helpful, but she didn't quite need it, in actuality. It would've only allowed her to warn those outside of her wrath if her needs were not fulfilled.

Sturm opened his eyes to watch her go, half-smiling as she left. Icsorue was a good woman. And likewise, fortunately for everyone . . .

"Zeto is a good man," Sturm replied with a nod.

He leaned his head back against the wall again. He refrained from shutting his eyes this time for any real length of time. He'd sleep. Soon--but he supposed he could clear up a few things for Eilert while they waited.

"Zeto's an Ersatzshad, like Sanguine of your familiarity," Sturm remarked, before reflecting: "I suppose one benefit, as their creator, is that I know each individual Ersatzshad better than anyone else . . ."

Even if she was a bit temperamental, Icsorue was still a good girl at heart. Eilert doubted any serious harm would come to anyone who tried to interfere. At the least the other Enigmas would know not to get in her way. Hopefully the rest of these Ersatzshad would be the same.

"Indeed," Eilert replied with a nod. Then there was a pause, followed by an actually audible turning of his head. "Creator? You created them?"

He knew Sturm was smart...a genius, even. But creating a species? He couldn't even begin to fathom how one would go about doing that. He half expected to be corrected, or possibly it was a turn of a phrase he was unfamiliar with.

"Mn," Sturm replied with a nod of his head.

"They are the byproducts of ten years of research into the nature of shades. A shade . . ." Sturm took in a breath; he was tired, and it made it hard to talk, but he kind of wanted to. This was something he hadn't explained to many. ". . . becomes a shadeling, after consuming enough victims. Shadelings are aware of themselves . . . conscious, thinking, learning-- they're human. And they can control other shades. In the end, for this to work . . . I needed that power. But I . . . couldn't have thousands die for it. So . . . I created the Ersatzshad--artificial shadelings, created by drawing out the hidden powers and consumed victims of shades themselves. Manufactured or born, even if . . . no Ersatzshad ever could wield the power I needed--it never made them less human."

Indeed, none of them ever could control other shades. None of them were responsible for the army he marched upon the Sky Temple. However, that didn't make them failures. As a man who saw the value of human life, a thinking, feeling person was not a failure.

The man never really wanted to be a creator, nor did he think of himself as the type to be a good father. Some Ersatzshad wanted to see him as a father figure, and he failed them miserably. Even if he had the time to pay attention to their emotional needs, he feared he wouldn't have done them the justice they deserved. Unfortunately, that was the drawback of manufacturing life. Those you create expect you to be more than you really are.

"My only regret," Sturm sighed, "is that they acknowledged that I created them."