To prevent my sanity from completely stripping its gears, I decided to occupy myself with work. The best cure for existential panic is routine. In my case, that meant methodically poking my index finger at everything in sight for [Analyze]—but very carefully, with a constant eye on my ME bar. My internal safety protocol set a limit: never drop below 30 units. That was my rainy-day fund for an emergency [Energizer] or a desperate [Blink] if another fan of eating live food jumped out from the shadows.

  Despite the moonless night, the forest was drowning in a ghostly radiance. The stars here shone brighter than Earth’s, and the drifting sparks cast dancing shadows on the ground. It was enough to keep me from poking something of mine out on branches. I walked and poked at the world to the accompaniment of Valtar’s mumbling. His answers were about as effective as a five-year-old’s if an adult asked him about the mechanics of the universe: "something wooden," "unknown what," "possibly a palace," "some substance."

  The System's lack of clarity gradually folded into a sort of chanting mantra, and I, balancing between watching the darkness and monitoring my ME levels, drifted into a meditative trance. It was shattered by Valtar’s triumphant cry: "Congratulations! [Analyze] has increased to Level 1! It’s now more perceptive!" I stumbled and immediately tested the update on the nearest branch, my long-standing rival.

  "It’s a branch, you idiot. If you don't know what this thing is yourself, then congratulations—you’ve already lived the largest and best part of your stupid life."

  That was definitely progress. I continued my journey under an updated song: "Branch. Branch. Rock. Tree. Night Emaciator. Branch..." Stop.

  "What?" I whispered, freezing in place.

  "A branch, I said," Valtar stated, clearly playing dumb.

  "And before the last branch? That creepy name that stood out from the list?"

  "Ah, the Night Emaciator. Calm down, Lex; you spotted it, which means the element of surprise is gone. It won't strangle you in your sleep. Wraiths are shy creatures."

  "Is that supposed to reassure me?!" I broke into a hissing whisper, looking around feverishly.

  The System considered the topic exhausted, and no answer followed. I "shot" at ferns with my finger until my ME dropped to the critical mark, but it seemed the Emaciator really was a shy ghost and preferred to retreat. Or perhaps it took offense at my lack of seriousness.

  Eventually, I realized I was walking just for the sake of walking, without purpose or direction. I had to—no, I was obligated to rest for the sake of my own efficiency. Approaching a massive tree, I dug my fingers into the bark (thankfully, it was very craggy) and climbed the trunk. A minute later, I was sitting in a wide fork of branches, far away from primitive "Abes," toothy "children," and modest stranglers.

  I stuck the sticks I’d collected earlier into the gaps in the bark so they would fly out if someone decided to use them as a foothold while climbing toward me. Or at least crunch loudly enough to wake me up. Yes, I knew it was just an illusion of control, but it did wonders to soothe my nerves in the face of the unknown.

  "Sticks again?" Valtar sighed. "Sublimating the loss of your glowing brick by returning to your ancestors' addictions? Some kind of dendrological fixation. You know, on Earth, there are people..."

  "It’s an alarm," I cut him off.

  I tied myself to an upper branch using my old clothes so I wouldn't fall in my sleep. I wanted to pull out the rusty little sword but feared I’d start twitching from nightmares (which I was bound to have after digesting the day's terrifying impressions) and stab myself. But as soon as I closed my eyes, I plunged into a cold, dreamless darkness. Or perhaps I just didn't remember them. Either way, it was for the best.

  I woke up when the local star unceremoniously smacked me in the face with light. My whole body ached, as if I had slept tied up at a great height in a state of wild stress. First things first, I hit the flask. The substance inside had refreshed, remaining the same foul slush, but my body responded with grateful alertness. My nighttime subconscious restructuring of thoughts yielded a few tips.

  Second order of business: I took out my sword and checked it with [Analyze]. "Chameleon’s Tail" was its name. I couldn't help but smile. So, my "giftedness" wasn't just a hollow mockery. What exactly this rusty knife did, I still had to find out empirically, but the mere fact that it had a name inspired cautious optimism.

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  Third, I climbed to the very top of my host tree. The trunk swayed threateningly in the wind, but I stubbornly poked my head above the sea of foliage—and my breath caught for a different reason. I saw it.

  I don't know the circumstances under which you are reading this. Nor do I know who you are. Perhaps you live here in Transcendal, and for you, this is a commonplace sight. Or you are reading this on Earth, as I planned; in that case, the publisher has probably already plastered this on the cover and mentioned it in the blurb. They’d hardly ignore such a juicy detail in their marketing. Но just in case you avoided the spoilers, I’ll describe what I saw.

  Before me stretched an ocean of green. In the distance, snowy peaks gleamed white. In the blue sky, the star shone with a deceptively familiar brilliance. To the left, the forest thinned, giving way to hills dotted with rocks sharply honed by the winds—the edge of the place I was so eager to escape. But all that was trivial. The horizon didn't curve down like on Earth. It went up, as if chewing gum had been stretched toward the Karman line. A massive, insane, inconceivable pillar of landscape. On it, behind layers of clouds, other continents were visible, with the blue expanse of oceans on the sides. I was on the inner side of a gargantuan hoop encircling a star.

  "A Ringworld," I said softly. "Of course."

  What "of course"? I don't know. I hadn't thought about a megastructure before.

  So, an engineering feat with infrastructure on an astronomical scale? This promoted the stranger's civilization from "advanced" to "near-divine." On the Kardashev scale, this was at least Type II, possibly transitioning to Type III. They have access to the resources of multiple star systems and an industry where planets are merely quarries.

  Magic? Fine. It can be rationalized: nanotechnology, field manipulation, computational environments woven into the very fabric of reality. Monsters? Bioconstructs (like that "child" from the fire), genetic engineering, exobiology. It all fit into the paradigm of "extremely advanced, but still technology." But a Ringworld... It wasn't a question of how. It was a question of why.

  It takes a certain will to start something like this. And the certainty that the goal justifies the price. I felt a pang of turmoil at my own speck-like insignificance. But it burned away quickly in the [Flameborn] filter, leaving behind only the dry ash of fact. This is data. It can be processed.

  Well then.

  If I have to oppose this system, finding its weaknesses will be easier—they must be just as grandiose. Yes, I thought about that. Did you forget that I'm a bit of a nutcase? Perhaps you forgot, given all my analytical reasoning.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Valtar asked almost softly. "Few stars can boast such a necklace. This is Transcendal. The Cradle. The Threshold of Worlds. The Node. The Fragmentary. The Playground. The Ark of Epochs. The Prison."

  I climbed down slowly and carefully, without yesterday’s franticness. The forest remained ancient and dangerous, but now, having seen its edge and the edge of the world, the magic had faded. Just a tiny bit. It always fades once the world becomes more understandable. The star shone from the side, piercing the canopy with long rays; the multicolored sparks had gone out or dissolved in the daylight, and the shadows became shorter and more honest.

  On the way, I decided to finish exploring the menu. The "Reputation" section was empty (logical, I’d only annoyed branches and the System so far). In "Achievements" was a short row of icons marking my dubious successes. In the "Codex," I had a whole two entries: Earth and Earthly Humanity. Earth was a "closed water planet with volcanic surprises, numbered T42. Dominant species: Earthly Humanity (hyperlink to Earthly Humanity)." Earthly Humanity turned out to be "generally harmless primates from T42 (hyperlink to Earth), obsessed with sticks." But despite all its attempts to be useless, the Codex did provide an important detail: the specification "Earthly." Does that mean there are other humanities? The "Journal" was empty but had an option to "add entry."

  "You can write your unstoppable thoughts in there," Valtar suggested. "And if you get your hands on a blank book, you can transfer the entries there. Just keep in mind that no one except Earthlings is interested in your ruminations on sticks."

  I didn't bother to reply. If I didn't react to these "stick" jabs, he’d get bored (he hasn't yet). The last section was the "Map," with a virgin-white empty square, save for a jagged line as if someone had scratched off a lottery layer, revealing a bunch of schematically drawn trees. This was likely my path through the fog of war. And above it all hung a caption: "Hillwood. The Old Forest."

  I had taken about twenty steps when the forest decided to remind me it hadn't gone anywhere. First, I heard a sound. Not a cliché growl, but a cautious, testing snap of branches. Then a second. A third. To the right, between the trunks, a snout appeared. Grey, elongated, with eyes the color of old amber studying me. Behind it, others poked out silently. A pack in battle formation.

  These creatures were too large for ordinary wolves: paws thicker, chests broader, height greater. More monsters, or wolves that hadn't been restricted in growth or ambition for a long time. I didn't waste energy on [Analyze]. My own analysis has roughly analyzed that this is a dangerous mountain of muscles with fangs.

  "Ooooh," Valtar drawled with satisfaction. "Social predators. Just like your species, Lex. Only they’re the predators, not the victims."