Aster’s arms were sore from rowing both groups back and forth, but it’d sounded more difficult to ask anyone else to take a turn, so she didn’t regret it. It made sense that they’d been focused on other things the whole way. Even Fennel - Aster could tell he was a little shaken by Tune’s close call, and he’d been watching the water closely the entire way.


    What use was it to even be thinking about it? She shook her head, stepping out of the boat and leaving the oars with it. Fennel stepped out next, waiting to make sure Mira followed.


    The boat looked similar to those used by the Lanterns in the more commonly visited bodies of water in the Depths. It didn’t have many clues as to how it got there, though. Maybe they’d never know.


    They set off again, moving ever forward now that there was solid ground ahead of them again. It seemed like there was always something ahead of them, to demand more and more from them. That thought occurred to her as overwhelming, but she tried to remember that she’d rather have it this way than have nothing in front of her. Nothing she needed to do, nothing she could do, or at least could pretend to do. At least overwhelm was more comfortable than emptiness, wasn’t it?


    She glanced at Hyacinth, as if that could reveal more of the hollowness she sometimes glimpsed in him. He just smiled wearily at her. “Well, we made it across. We’re doing it. We’re making the journey, one step at a time.”


    Aster put on a smile of her own, tried to put her real relief into it, even though it didn’t stretch as far as she was pretending. “We sure are. Take that, Depths. We’re putting the ‘star’ in ‘Starless Depths’.”


    Hyacinth chuckled. “Sounds like that’d call for a name change.”


    “Yeah, probably. It’s a work in progress.”


    At first, Aster was convinced she was imagining it, but eventually she became sure that the ground was starting to slant gradually upwards. And the fog seemed to be thinning, bit by bit.


    How much hope should that give her? Was it worth the risk of that hope just to feel a little better in the moment? She’d just had a stark example of the dangers of complacency, of feeling invincible... What role did ‘rest’ play?


    Should she train herself out of the need for it?


    The thought scared her. I’m so tired.


    As if she was the only one. They all had to make sacrifices. Wouldn’t that be a small sacrifice, on the grand scale of things?


    But if I break under the pressure, I won’t be able to help them either. I can’t be useful that way.


    So then she just had to be stronger, right? Be everything she knew she wasn’t?


    Great plan, Aster. How very concrete.


    Aster squinted, raising her lantern to see something that’d seemed strange upon first glance. She slowed down as she approached it, then stopped, seeing a streak of the strange translucence in the tunnel floor. She looked around, seeing traces of it on the walls and ceiling as well.


    The rest of the group slowed to a stop. Hyacinth took a few steps forward and Aster joined him in investigating. Tune joined them a moment later, hanging back away from their light.


    The translucence continued appearing in streaks ahead, becoming more and more widespread until it took over the entire tunnel. Some patches of it appeared perfectly clear, others translucent but strangely free of light or reflection.


    “What in the world...?” Aster murmured.


    “Apparently, yes.”


    She looked bemusedly at Tune.


    “It is demonstrably in the world.”


    Aster shook her head, but chuckled softly.


    Tune poked at the translucent rock. “‘Tis nonetheless weird, though.”


    “This seems... very concerning.” Aster crouched down beside the phenomenon and started hesitantly examining the translucent areas with her hands. It was like Tune had said before - it had a deep, pervasive coldness that compounded the longer she sank into it. She tested to see if it had any lasting effects the longer she left it, and it seemed to consistently recover each time, so she started testing different areas to see if there was a difference in depth to the intangible portions. There did seem to be some significant variance, not all of it easily apparent from sight.


    Aster pushed through the coldness, trying to see if she could feel out a path. Even if she could, could they trust it?


    Hyacinth stepped onto a portion of the translucent rock, his feet sinking unevenly into it. He watched it impassively, then took another few steps.


    “Isn’t that... cold?”


    He shrugged. “It’s not bad. You get used to it.”


    He kept going, continuing steadily into the darkness ahead, slowly being consumed by it. He slipped toward a deeper area and took a few steps back, but kept going in a slightly different direction almost immediately.


    “Hyacinth? Please be careful.”


    He nodded absently, sinking a little deeper in the next step he took.


    Aster stood up quickly and rushed along the path he’d taken, grabbing his arm as she reached him. He seemed to hesitate, then finally turned his head to look at her. His expression was hard to read. “What is it?” He didn’t sound angry, or indignant, nor even particularly confused.


    “Some of this is deeper than it looks. We don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I’m worried about you getting farther and farther away, and not taking any precautions that I can see.”


    He put on a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah. Sorry to worry you. That’s why I’m going, to find out the information we need about it to get everyone through.”


    Aster furrowed her brows. “There are safer ways to do that.”


    He looked at her for a moment. “Right. Well, how long would that take? Being hesitant?”


    “Time isn’t the only cost to consider.”


    He met her eyes again, then bent down and rolled up his pant leg to show her his Mark of the Darkening. The Darkening had definitely progressed in the time they’d been down there, discoloring his veins, though they couldn’t really determine the pace by working backwards, as it tended to be somewhat inconsistent. “I saw Mira looking at hers. It’s worse.” He dropped the pant leg, letting it fall back into place. “Time may not be the only cost to consider, but right now... it’s valuable, and pressing.”


    Aster needed to find better words. Hyacinth kept talking before she could.


    “I know you’ll fight for them even if I don’t. And you’re determined to do more than I ever could, and even if you fail, you’ll fail trying to do the right thing. If anyone ever can be what they need, it’ll be you. I was never really going to go far enough to be much different from anyone else.” He drew in a breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “And you don’t need yet another person to fight for. I know how much of a burden it all is, constantly trying to fight the world itself, trying to save every single person that it seems to try so hard to tear away from you. I don’t want to become another worry weighing on your mind. Maybe it’d be kinder to both of us if you didn’t spare that concern, for once.”


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    He looked away and paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. “Aster,” he said, his voice trembling all of a sudden. “I’m so tired.”


    She stared at him, feeling the weight of those words sink in.


    Aster squeezed his arm slightly, then gently placed her hand on his shoulder, hoping to prompt him to look at her again. He hesitated, then looked at her, his eyes haunted by that exhaustion, the coldness that seeped ever deeper, the kind that didn’t stem from the phenomenon they stood in.


    “Hyacinth.” She looked deep into those eyes, trying to understand, knowing there was too much she didn’t know and things she hadn’t felt, but knowing they shared that exhaustion at least. “You could never be more of a burden than the emptiness that would replace you.”


    That seemed to shock him a little bit, for a brief moment. He looked down, to the side, but seemed to take a moment to consider.


    There was a quiet moment that felt so painfully long to Aster.


    A tear silently traced Hyacinth’s cheek. He seemed surprised to find it there, and wiped it away, then stared at his hand for a moment.


    “...I hope you’re right.” He let out a heavy breath. “What if it’s always this hard?”


    “It hasn’t always been this hard, has it? It always changes. Right? Bit by bit. It isn’t always exactly as painful as it might be in other moments. It doesn’t always press down just as heavily.” Aster let out a breath of her own, releasing his shoulder. “There’s no universal rule that says it has to always be this hard, so I will fight for that chance, those changes, however slim or scattered they become.” She tried to smile. “It’s what I like to believe I’d choose. Beyond everything I can’t do, everything I’m not even though I need to be, I’m not willing to let anyone slip through the cracks.”


    She hesitated. “Not even myself. Even though that kind of feels... like it could be a relief, sometimes.” Aster took a breath. “There’s no reason to believe you’re an exception to the value you place on everyone else.” Would that sound hollow coming from her, would it be clear that she didn’t know how to really believe it for herself?


    Hyacinth gripped his own arm tightly. “I’m not always good at caring enough about them either.” He seemed to force himself to meet her eyes again, his voice getting quieter. “I’m not really the person I try to let people believe I am. Is it really not obvious how fragile that is?”


    Aster felt uncomfortably vulnerable all of a sudden, feeling like he must be able to see right through her. How much did he need to be able to trust in her facade? She hesitated. What if this is how I break it for him irreparably?


    “Is it really not obvious how fragile my facade is?” She felt somehow detached from the words as she made herself let them go. “How guilty I feel for letting anyone depend on me, as incompetent and unable as I am? How I’m afraid that with all my hubris, I’ll end up doing more harm than good?”


    He blinked at her a few times. He probably wasn’t sure how to take that. “You?”


    “All I’ve got is this inexplicable stubborn defiance and ignorant pretended optimism. I’m just determined to see how far it can take me, because... well, someone’s got to try. If we need all the help we can get, it may as well be me, right?” Aster offered one end of the rope they’d used earlier with the fog and the water. A short moment later, she offered a smile too. “We might be broken, we might not be everything we need to be, but we want to be everything we can. And that’s so much closer to ideal than this world’s cruelty can ever be, right? I want to at least see how far we can go.”


    “What if I fail too quickly and drag someone else down with me? That’d be so much worse than if I’d failed alone.” He studied her expression, as if he could find the answers somewhere in it. Maybe trying to gauge her sincerity.


    “But what if they pull you back to shore? What if they’re just as determined to bring you back as you were for Tune?” Aster tied part of the rope to herself. “Would you deprive them of that chance? What if it hurts them more to let you go than it would for them to help you?” She held out her hand with its length of rope.


    Hyacinth looked at it, and took in a slow, deep breath. He finally took the rope, to tie to himself as a tether to safety. He tied it and looked at her. He mustered up a small strained smile. “Thank you, Aster. I hope you never regret this.”


    “I promise you I won’t,” she said firmly, “even when it’s difficult. I understand the potential costs enough to know which side I’d rather err on.”


    He chuckled softly in disbelief and drew her into a brief embrace. She held onto him with the desperation she’d felt in the last few moments, with the relief at his acceptance of her efforts, then let go with the trust that he would try to hold on to them and their willingness.


    Aster took a few paces backward to toss the rest of the rope to Tune. They caught it readily and sprung to their feet. “Same as before, connect everyone together?”


    “Yep, you got it.”


    “Yep, you got it,” they said in return with a chuckle, turning to get the others attached.


    It didn’t take long, and soon Aster and Hyacinth were leading the group through the strange half-hollow tunnel, passing back information about where to step. Hyacinth kept up a pace that still concerned Aster a bit, but she trusted in the implicit promise of tethering himself to them, even though she knew she couldn’t see the thoughts running through his head. It didn’t take long for Aster to no longer be able to feel her feet through the cold, but on further inspection it didn’t seem dangerous, just numbing.


    Hyacinth slipped like he had many times before, but this time, without warning, he disappeared completely beneath the translucent rock. The rope went taut, yanking Aster forward. She scrambled to stay upright, tugged on the rope to try to help him even as she still struggled with her own footing. “Hyacinth!”


    As she slid closer, not able to gain much traction on the strange rock, she could see him suspended in the emptiness below, unmoving. Why wasn’t he moving? Couldn’t he hear her? Was he breathing?


    She pushed off, towing herself backward, away from the inexplicable hollow, but all at once she lost her balance and found herself in the hollow, suspended just like he was.


    Even though the empty rock was translucent, inside of it she found her vision dimming. She blinked, but nothing she did cleared it; in fact, it just continued to dim. She couldn’t breathe. The cold bit at her, seeping into every corner of her being. She couldn’t hear anything beyond the rushing of her blood in her head, and even that grew quieter the longer she strained to listen.


    She moved her fingers, finding that she could. It was almost like being in strangely viscous water - she could move, but every movement was languid, reluctant.


    Aster reached out as her vision fled, catching hold of Hyacinth’s arm. She held to it tightly, even as she lost feeling in the hand she gripped it with.


    With her other hand, even in its growing numbness, she tugged desperately at her rope, trying to pull herself up. Was this really how she wanted to spend her last futile moments? Would she rather claw at the boundless darkness, or drift away softly into it? Wouldn’t that be more comfortable? A victory of sorts, to choose what she felt in her last moments?


    No. Something in her knew she didn’t want that. She wanted to at least fight it, at least show her determination, grasp at any chance she could find to live. Even if it ended up being futile. Shout a last message into the uncaring void, if nothing else. Become a trace of something distinct from it, even if for just a fleeting moment.


    Hyacinth moved. She could barely feel it, but somehow he’d finally found it in himself to turn around. She could feel his hand a moment later, tugging with her on her rope. Beyond the weight of everything else, he clearly did want to live, deep down.


    And in a timeless moment, abruptly she could breathe again.


    Aster gasped for air, trying to cough out a substance she didn’t actually find anywhere inside her. She couldn’t carry it with her, it seemed, but what was it?


    She turned her head to see Hyacinth collapsed near her, clinging to the rope, breathing deeply and desperately.


    She looked up next to see Fennel, Tune, and Mira arrayed in different positions to support pulling the rope. Mira had attached a stalagmite as a makeshift anchor to the end of the rope, which was attached to Fennel.


    “I’m... sorry, Aster,” Hyacinth gasped out. “You were - dragged down with me - after all.”


    “So?” Aster met his eyes. “And they pulled us out. I accepted...” she had to take a breath. “the risk. Just as you - gladly served as - an anchor for Tune.” She pushed herself to a sitting position. “You’re not an exception.”


    He laid his head back, taking a long, shaky breath as he tried to relax. “...Okay.” He gripped the rope, his tether to the lucid world, holding it close as if he thought it might disappear. “Okay. I’ll try to... accept that.”


    Aster smiled warmly. It wasn’t like that could solve everything, but it was nonetheless enough for that moment. “Thank you.”