By the time I rejoined Stavros' itinerary, with three Sectors and three Stratas separating the Red Sand Sector from the Everwell Sector, I wasn't entertaining the idea of rushing anything.
Not because speed held no value, but because with this journey's primary purpose being to get me to the Everwell Sector more or less intact, speed was merely one of hundreds of factors I had to carefully balance.
Speed.
Risk assessment.
Exhaustion resistance [Cultivation].
Orientation.
Crisis readiness.
Gear integrity.
None of those were afterthoughts.
They were the pillars upon which an [Ideal] journey was built.
Still, for now, this being only the beginning, and with the Rust Wastes looking exactly as I remembered them, I had a considerable surplus of attention to dedicate to appreciating what I was doing for what it was.
A leisure flight over an immeasurable expanse of rusted metal stretching in every direction as far as my eyes could see, broken only by the shadowy outlines of collapsed structures, twisted support beams, and colossal fragments of forgotten architecture that had long since surrendered to corrosion.
Nothing truly lived there.
Nothing truly grew.
The rust abominations merely accelerated what was already inevitable.
They scraped.
Consumed.
Spread.
Then wandered elsewhere.
An entire ecosystem dedicated solely to degradation.
As such, flying above it all proved... dull.
The last time I had crossed these wastes, every obstacle had demanded a decision.
Every suspicious wall.
Every unstable footing.
Every sighting of a rust abomination.
Now...
I simply flew above it all.
That was it.
And unlike within the Red Sand Realm, the landscape itself was not proving itself to be an obstacle.
There were no violent crosswinds forcing me to constantly readjust my posture and flight altitude.
No unpredictable air currents demanding continuous corrections.
No loose rust powder carried by the wind.
A single lapse in [Focus] could no longer send me tumbling into potential jagged debris hundreds of meters below.
Hence, with little to occupy my attention, monotony slowly crept in.
Hours blurred into days.
My wakefulness slowly eroded.
My eyelids grew heavier.
My [Awareness] blurred.
My thoughts slowed.
My wings became stiffer with every passing hour.
Eventually, both my body and mind began succumbing to the most insidious enemy I knew of.
An enemy capable of eroding everything that made up my existence until nothing remained.
An enemy I had chosen as my primary [Cultivation] target of this year-long journey.
Exhaustion.
For that, I had three Aspects dedicated to opposing it.
My [Will] Aspect, to continue moving even as both my mind and body grew too sluggish to function properly.
My [Clarity] Aspect, to prevent exhaustion from dulling my thoughts to the point where my judgment, risk assessment, and crisis readiness became dangerously impaired.
And my [Cultivation] Aspect, to slowly but surely elevate my resistance by repeatedly subjecting myself to the very limits of exhaustion.
Accordingly, no matter how weary I grew as hours passed...
I continued flying.
Whenever my flight degraded, I corrected it.
Whenever my concentration drifted, I re[Focus]ed.
Whenever the desire to sleep became overwhelming, I opposed it.
Whenever my [Awareness] grew too hazy to properly perceive my surroundings, I remedied it as well.
As this was my first time truly and properly engaging in exhaustion resistance [Cultivation], it took me days before I uncovered the vast array of appropriate responses there were to exhaustion and learned how to execute them all simultaneously in [Harmony].
But ultimately, with [Guided] quietly taking over everything I optimized, thus freeing my attention to refine what remained, I briskly stripped exhaustion resistance [Cultivation] to its essential [Exertion]s.
What initially demanded conscious efforts gradually became routine.
And by what I estimated to be the second or third week, I truly felt I had achieved the most sustainable exhaustion resistance [Cultivation] routine I could devise for journey circumstances.
By then, I had only succumbed to exhaustion—went to sleep—six times.
And the Rust Wastes had barely changed.
Or perhaps the rust had deepened slightly?
I wasn't sure.
It wasn't as though there existed any meaningful reference beyond endless fields of reddish dust stretching from one horizon to the other, after all.
But all those interrogations eventually were put to rest when something struck my armor, producing a faint metallic chime.
Then another.
Followed by many more.
Before I realized it, my hazy [Awareness] had become filled with droplets of liquid falling from above so tiny that most completely escaped the senses of my Tier 1 [Awareness] Aspect, requiring a [Will]-enhancement for me to perceive them amidst the absolute [Darkness] that surrounded me.
For some reason, there existed many different words—drizzle, rain, downpour, deluge—used to describe the same phenomenon of countless droplets of something either solid or liquid falling over a large area, differing only by intensity.
Making an educated guess, I first passed through what qualified as a drizzle.
Soon, however, this drizzle became a gentle rain.
Then, skipping every gradual step in between, it transformed into either a deluge...
Or a waterfall.
It depended on the precise definition of the two words, I supposed.
To me, after [Will]ing my eyes to see through [Darkness], it resembled an endless wall of crimson water pouring through a colossal breach in the Strata above, stretching from floor to ceiling before disappearing into unseen depths within the Strata below.
Obviously, the crimson water—or something within it—had eventually breached the Strata supporting the Crimson Hollow Sector.
And that was not guesswork on my part.
Stavros had explicitly explained how crimson water was capable of slowly eating through kilometers of metal over millennia until an entire Strata finally gave way, leaving gravity and fluid dynamics to finish the work.
The resulting phenomenon even had a designation.
Crimson Falls.
Hearing the endless impacts and ceaseless roar produced by such an immense quantity of crimson water cascading through the breach made for quite a novel experience as I searched for a path upward through the deluge.
It took me hours.
Hours of exploration that required [Clarity] and [Focus] such that it should have warranted me taking a nap.
Eventually, however, I found what I was looking for.
An opening in the corroded metal bearing manyfold signs that could not have formed naturally.
Beginning my ascent from there, the deafening roar of a million waterfalls gradually faded, replaced instead by the constant dripping of water echoing through countless corridors.
It took barely a dozen turns for the environment to become something entirely unlike anything I had ever beheld.
Dry rust gave way to wet corrosion.
Metal walls glistened beneath a permanent layer of moisture.
Entire corridors, once undoubtedly meant for traversing a pristine Strata, had become channels ushering torrents of crimson water.
Others had been thoroughly submerged.
Crimson water was everywhere and flowed in constantly.
Sometimes from ceilings.
Sometimes through walls.
Sometimes from openings whose origin I could not be bothered to identify.
And most shocking, unlike the rust wastes...
Life existed here.
Not the barebones imitation that were the rust abominations.
Actual life.
Small creatures darting away whenever I approached.
Strange organisms encased in corroded metal that passively clung to walls perpetually washed by crimson currents.
Even predators patiently waiting beside submerged passages, standing perfectly still until something unable to perceive them drifted too close.
This was an actual ecosystem, just as I had read about.
Actual [Cycle]s of growth, predation, and death.
As much as possible, I remained airborne.
Whenever a submerged passage became unavoidable, however, I folded my wings and entered the water, taking the opportunity to test my admittedly questionable swimming abilities.
The water was generally cold.
Occasionally, however, hot undercurrents brushed against my armor, whose weave, outside of the helmet, had never been intended to perfectly isolate me from the surrounding environment, simply protect me from the worst.
Necessarily, once I submerged myself, my visibility all but disappeared, and I could solely count on my [Awareness] to explore the way forward.
Naturally, mistakes followed.
Several times, I entered currents that carried me somewhere entirely unintended, forcing me to manifest a bit of my [Will] to wrest back control before finding my way again.
Whenever possible, I drew oxygen and nutrients from the surrounding air through [Cultivation].
When there was no air...
The crimson water proved equally sufficient.
It only took some getting used to.
Nothing entered my mouth.
Nothing entered my stomach.
I simply extracted what I required.
Beyond that...
The ascent remained surprisingly peaceful.
The corridors twisted endlessly.
Sometimes climbing vertically.
Sometimes spiraling.
Sometimes opening into immense chambers filled entirely with crimson water before narrowing once more.
Sporadically, I sensed the local wildlife observing me.
Other times, unfamiliar with such an environment, I believed I noticed ripples left behind by something moving beyond the limits of my perception.
As for the many silhouettes I thought I glimpsed retreating deeper into submerged tunnels...
They were either hallucinations brought about by exhaustion briefly prevailing over my [Clarity], or genuine schools of aquatic wildlife deciding I warranted investigation.
Most lost interest the moment I resurfaced and resumed flying.
Those that did not...
Found themselves unexpectedly returned to the base of the local food chain while simultaneously allowing me to practice underwater combat with my new needle swords.
With so many unfamiliar experiences blending together, time steadily lost meaning.
I slept only when both my body and mind reached the point where they intermittently shut down despite my [Will] to forge onwards.
Then once I awoke, I resumed flying.
I resumed swimming.
And I resumed my exhaustion resistance [Cultivation] until my thoughts slowed once more, my wings and limbs grew heavier, and my muscles protested every movement.
For days and possibly weeks, the Strata remained as I imagined it, an immense structure of corroded metal filled with traces of an unknown Era.
Then, surfacing from an extensive submerged section that required several uninterrupted hours of swimming, I suddenly emerged into what almost felt like another world, with the corridor I stepped into being covered in patches of moss radiating a faint crimson glow.
Light.
Actual light.
Or, more Seeker-appropriate... bioluminescence, I assumed.
Continuing upward, the glowing moss became increasingly abundant as the corridors themselves grew progressively more dissolved, eventually opening enough that I could simply swim straight upward while the currents weakened more and more.
Until finally, with one last coordinated and mastered stroke of my arms, legs, and wings propelling me forward through the crimson water, I broke through the surface of an immense crimson lake bordered by shores carpeted in luminous crimson moss.
And above me...
Stretched an entirely different kind of ceiling.
One covered by vast colonies of the same glowing vegetation, illuminating the world below with a dim crimson radiance.
I made it.
The Crimson Hollow Sector.
By the time I escaped the grasp of the crimson water through some astute [Will] manifestation and took to the air to take in this new Sector, it took me less than a minute to conclude that, compared to the Red Sand Sector, despite both being part of the Nexus Realm, it may as well have been another Realm entirely.
For apart from a handful of isolated places, the ubiquitous sight of metal that had never once left my vision or [Awareness] had all but disappeared beneath an endless carpet of crimson moss.
No crumbling rusted structures breaking the horizon.
No bare metal panes overhead.
Instead, countless streams crossed one another before disappearing into cracks and tunnels below, while puddles of every conceivable size reflected the crimson glow back toward the ceiling.
Though, once I resumed flying after determining the correct direction, the most striking change above all else...
Was the sheer life that existed.
Or rather, it did not merely "exist" here.
It flourished.
Flying only a few dozen meters above the ground, I watched entire miniature ecosystems unfold beneath me.
Small grazing creatures feeding upon the moss.
Winged predators diving from above.
Hunters stalking the waterways.
Strange organisms protected by a shell that looked nothing like metal, yet appeared every bit as solid, laying translucent eggs beneath partially submerged corroded beams.
Everything moved.
Everything fed.
Everything was fed upon.
Nevertheless, once I stopped observing this new Sector merely as a fascinating novelty, it quickly became apparent that not everything was exactly... typical.
At first, I thought the unusual behavior of certain lifeforms simply stemmed from whatever instincts governed their non-sapient minds.
Then one abruptly abandoned its prey for seemingly no reason.
It stopped.
Turned...
And hurled itself into a nearby pool of crimson water, remaining submerged for several minutes before emerging once again.
By then, crimson veins had covered every part of its exposed skin, and its movements had changed.
Sharper.
More erratic.
It immediately began attacking everything nearby.
I... of course knew what this was.
I had read about it.
I had been told about it.
The crimson madness.
A form of Essence corruption developed through prolonged consumption of crimson water.
One that primarily altered an Essence Entity behaviorally, driving it into unnatural aggression while granting it a wondrous capacity to recover at wondrous speed whenever submerged in crimson water.
Power in exchange for sanity.
Short-term gain over long-term growth.
It truly was the worst kind of Essence corruption.
Several days after my first sighting of an Essence Entity succumbing to crimson madness, I began encountering people.
Not merely a handful.
Entire caravans.
Whole groups of hunters.
What appeared to be merchants, navigating the waterways aboard both improvised and professionally [Craft]ed floating platforms.
Then came settlements built atop elevated ground spared from flooding.
Watchtowers.
Roads.
Even bridges...
If this was what the "wild" of the Crimson Hollow Sector looked like, I was beginning to understand why the Red Sand Sector was considered to be a desolate, Nexus-forsaken place.
Over mere days, I sighted so many people doing so many different things and living so many different lives that I wondered if there even was a point in estimating that the Crimson Hollow Sector housed a population perhaps a hundred times greater.
In the end, I settled for the convenient conclusion that, as it was wont to do, Civilization had adapted to what was available.
The flora was methodically harvested, with cultivated fields appearing here and there.
The fauna was hunted, while certain species had even been domesticated, putting the overabundance of crimson water to one of its more logical—and optimal—uses.
While I did not remain long enough to determine the reasons behind every adaptation, the necessity of avoiding direct consumption of crimson water was almost certainly one of the driving forces behind this Sector's development.
Not that its inhabitants had perfectly mastered their environment to begin with.
That much was evident from the many individuals whose veins glowed crimson beneath their skin, or those confined within cages after crimson madness had already corrupted their Essence.
I observed it all from afar, neither bothering to try talking to the locals nor pausing without situations of great interest that motivated me to do so.
I simply continued onward, calmly grasping every [Insight] such passive observations offered.
[Insight]s into how environments shaped life.
[Insight]s about how the same held true for both the Rust Wastes and the Red Sand Realm.
[Insight]s regarding how the crimson waters had similarly shaped this Sector, the Civilization built within it, and the people who comprised that Civilization.
[Insight]s concerning how not every environment was equal for Civilization to develop in, nor were they for those who inhabited them.
Some lifeforms thrived.
Some yielded.
Some remained seemingly unaffected.
As the days passed, my observations increased in both quantity and quality.
Then, over weeks, I began deducing variables from everything I witnessed, deepening my [Comprehension], which in turn gave rise to further [Insight]s.
Repeating this [Cycle] of ever-deepening and diversifying [Insight]s, slowly...
I began approaching certain realizations.
Realizations that ultimately converged upon one answer I had always known to lie at the heart of the concept known as [Purity].
Identity.
Or more specifically...
The extent to which an Essence Entity struggled to remain itself despite everything attempting to change it.
Whether that Essence Entity was a plant.
An animal.
Or...
Myself.
My contemplations quietly lingered, returning whenever I witnessed another creature or another person warped by crimson madness.
Because deep within, I knew with utmost certainty that my Path had never been about rejecting all outside influence.
Simply attaining greater [Knowledge] demanded precisely the opposite, after all.
And it was similar for every encounter I made.
Every experience I lived through.
Every failure I incurred.
Every success I achieved.
Everything changed me.
And it all allowed my Path to advance further.
Because for all the increased protection against hypothetical Essence corruptions that complete isolation from outside influence might provide...
The price to pay for it would be the equivalent of giving up both my Path and myself.
It did not matter that such complete isolation was practically impossible.
It was the [Insight]s born from contemplating that possibility that truly mattered.
And as I continued reflecting upon them, those same [Insight]s kept on flourishing, gradually leading me toward questioning just how far I would willingly expose myself to overwhelming influences...
And what, ultimately, would define my identity the day I ventured too far.
Those contemplations accompanied me day after day.
While my mind remained crystal clear beneath the effects of [Clarity]...
When exhaustion had worn it down to the point where it struggled to produce even the simplest of rational thoughts...
Until, after yet another day spent alternating between long flights and sustained observation of whatever happened to capture my interest...
I noticed something unusual.
Dozens of lifeforms converging toward the same clearing.
I descended carefully, adhering to every rule of [Secrecy] while keeping my [Awareness] primed.
It wouldn't be the first time my curiosity allowed a particularly [Stealth]y lifeform to get the jump on me, after all.
Not that it wasn't excellent [Awareness] [Cultivation], and even better preparation for my eventual journey through the Darkened Spires Sector...
Once I obtained a clear view of the clearing, the scene appeared almost peaceful.
Grazers fed upon the crimson moss.
Predators rested nearby without immediately attacking.
Smaller scavengers picked apart old carcasses and rotting flora scattered along the clearing's edges.
Then I caught sight of something I had grown all too familiar with.
One of the grazers, stopped, body stiffened, with crimson veins rapidly spreading beneath its hide.
Several tense seconds passed before, without warning, it lunged at the nearest creature with wild abandon.
[Chaos]... erupted?
The grazers stopped grazing.
The scavengers froze.
The predators... turned toward the corrupted beast.
Every creature reacted as one.
None paid attention to one another.
There was no posturing.
No intimidation.
No competition.
Only... something collective.
The ensuing battle lasted barely a minute.
The maddened grazer possessed strength beyond what its body should have been capable of producing.
It ignored wounds.
Ignored pain.
Several predators were injured.
One died.
Eventually, however...
The corrupted beast fell.
And just as abruptly as it had begun, [Harmony] returned.
The carcass remained untouched.
No scavenger approached it.
No predator attempted to feed upon it.
Like that, one after another, the surviving creatures simply departed, and the clearing gradually returned to normal, as though nothing had happened.
Throughout it all, I remained perfectly still.
Watching.
Thinking.
About how something like that could even happen.
About how what felt like the entire fauna had momentarily united.
All for...
What?
To eradicate corruption?
Because the maddened creature had become too dangerous to everything around it?
Because it had ceased being part of the whole?
Because, instinctively, it was no longer recognized as one of them?
With far more questions than answers, I did the unthinkable.
I opted to settle down in this area for the time it took for another similar corruption event to occur.
Fortunately, the surrounding life density was high; thus, barely five hours later—far sooner than the several days I had anticipated—the phenomenon repeated itself.
This time, it was one of the predators who succumbed.
The moment crimson madness took hold, the others converged without hesitation.
The ensuing battle claimed three lives and left many more injured before silence once again reclaimed the clearing.
So... it hadn't been an isolated event.
It truly was how things were in this remote area.
Or perhaps, more accurately...
How life here had adapted to fight against the antithesis of its own stability that was the crimson madness.
My thoughts quietly deepened.
[Purity] here was not one of isolation.
Every creature continuously interacted with the environment.
With one another.
With danger.
With death.
They were constantly changing.
Yet... somehow, there came to exist what could only be qualified as a boundary.
A point beyond which the whole had collectively accepted that a change did not belong.
Here, that change was crimson madness.
That... was exactly the sort of [Purity] I had been seeking.
A relative [Purity], not an absolute one.
A [Purity] that did not reject influence, but determined which influences deserved to remain.
Changes that remained within acceptable bounds became part of one's identity.
Changes that crossed that boundary... were denied.
Absolutely.
Mercilessly.
Regardless of the price.
Even if doing so demanded sacrifice.
Even if doing so demanded pain.
Even if doing so demanded relinquishing something precious.
Because preserving one's [Purity]—identity—was not meant to be easy.
The realization resonated throughout my entire being.
And within my Essence, with an unequaled [Clarity] granted by my ability to enter true communion, I watched and felt as countless fragments of accumulated [Insight] quietly converged.
My countless observations of changes.
My ceaseless delve into what defined my identity.
My weeks of contemplation on what I would be [Will]ing to endure to further my Path.
All of it flowed together.
Condensed.
Then bloomed into a single seed brimming with conceptual potential.
Aspect Formed: [Purity] (Tier 0).
Finally, after what felt like a year of aspiring to it, my second Aspect with capabilities directly targeted against Essence corruption was formed.
Unlike my [Harmony] Aspect, however, it didn't feel like much.
Nothing about me felt like it changed.
The crimson waters continued flowing.
The moss continued glowing.
Predators resumed hunting.
Life continued exactly as before.
Yet, as I quietly took flight and resumed my journey through the Crimson Hollow Sector...
A strange, unwavering certainty that something within me had become ever so slightly more difficult for the world to rewrite grew stronger and stronger by the days...