Cade had never been so careful in his life.

  Every step was a negotiation. He would scan the ground ahead, identify a clear patch of moss or stone, lift his foot with exaggerated slowness, and place it down like he was defusing a bomb. Then he would repeat the process. It made for agonizingly slow progress through the fungal forest, but at least he hadn't killed anyone else.

  His followers didn't seem to mind the pace. If anything, they seemed fascinated by his caution, clustering at what they considered safe distances and whispering to each other whenever he moved. The group had grown to perhaps two dozen now—all newly spawned, all without roots in this area, all apparently having nothing better to do than trail after the giant anomaly.

  His stomach growled loud enough that several of the tiny figures looked up in alarm.

  Cade had tried to ignore the hunger, but it was becoming impossible. The last thing he'd eaten was a protein bar sometime before his deadlift session—before whatever had happened to bring him here. He'd watched some of the tiny figures harvesting nodules from nearby mushrooms, popping them into their mouths like snacks, and his mouth had watered despite himself.

  The problem was getting to them. The mushrooms scaled to everything else in this world—meaning the nodules he needed were either on stalks fifty feet tall or on smaller growths surrounded by crowds of four-inch people he was terrified of stepping on.

  He stopped walking and looked down at his assembled followers. They stopped too, peering up at him expectantly.

  "Could one of you," he said slowly, feeling absurd, "bring me one of those nodules? The ones you eat?"

  A ripple of amusement passed through the group. Several of them exchanged glances, and Cade heard what might have been stifled laughter.

  "The giant wants us to fetch him food," someone said, not bothering to whisper.

  "Like a pet," another added. "A very large, very clumsy pet."

  Cade felt heat rise to his cheeks. "Never mind. I'll figure something—"

  "No, no, we'll do it!" One of the figures—he thought it might be the one who seemed to lead the group—was already waving others into action. "Fennick, Maeven, grab a few from that cluster there. Let's see what happens when something that size tries to eat tier-zero food."

  Within moments, three of the tiny figures had scrambled up a nearby mushroom stalk and returned with nodules clutched in their arms. Each nodule was perhaps the size of their torsos. They deposited them at Cade's feet and stepped back, watching with undisguised curiosity.

  Cade knelt carefully—an operation that required significant planning to avoid crushing anyone—and picked up one of the nodules between his thumb and forefinger. Relative to his current body, it was smaller than the smallest pill he'd ever swallowed. A grain of rice, almost. He'd need dozens of these to feel anything, surely.

  He placed it on his tongue and swallowed.

  The effect was immediate and impossible. Warmth spread through his stomach, and the gnawing hunger that had been building since he'd arrived simply... stopped. Not diminished. Stopped entirely, as if he'd just finished a full meal.

  Cade blinked. He looked at the remaining nodules on the ground, then at his followers, who were watching his reaction with evident fascination.

  "Well?" the leader called up. "Did it work?"

  "I'm... not hungry anymore," Cade said, still trying to process it. "One nodule. That tiny thing. And I'm completely full."

  More murmuring among the group. "Anima density," someone said knowingly. "The food here sustains more than just the body. Even tier-zero nodules carry enough to satisfy, regardless of physical size."

  "Thank you," he said to t

  he group. "I appreciate the help."

  "The giant has manners," the leader observed. "Interesting."

  Despite himself, Cade felt something ease in his chest. These people were strange, yes. Their casual attitude toward death was deeply unsettling. But they'd helped him when he asked, and they hadn't demanded anything in return. Maybe having followers wasn't the worst thing in the world.

  He started walking again, still careful, still watching every step. But some of the tension had left his shoulders.

  It didn't last.

  One of them had separated from the group and was approaching him directly. It was slightly more assertive in its movements than the others, and Cade had noticed it seemed to be the one the others looked to when decisions needed to be made. A leader of sorts, though whether that was formal or informal he couldn't say. Its skin was a muted olive green.

  "You," the tiny figure called up to him. "Giant. We need to talk."

  Cade swallowed his bunch of nodules. "My name is Cade."

  "Cade." The figure tested the word. "I'm Hyude. And we've been discussing your situation."

  "My situation."

  "Your advancement problem." Hyude gestured at Cade's body with one tiny arm. "You're tier-zero. We all saw the surge when you absorbed that anima. But you're enormous. You'll never fit through a portal at this size, which means no labyrinth runs, no battlegrounds. Your only path forward is direct absorption, and..." Hyude paused, seeming to choose words carefully. "Well. You don't seem inclined toward that."

  Cade felt his jaw tighten. "I'm not going to kill people to get stronger. That's not—that's not something I'm willing to do."

  "Yes, we noticed." Hyude's tone was matter-of-fact, not judgmental. "Which presents a problem. You're stuck. Tier-zero, The Coordinator seemed uncertain about that."

  "I'll manage."

  "Perhaps. But we had another thought." Hyude turned and made a gesture. Two more figures emerged from the group—one slightly smaller than Hyude with skin the color of ripe plums, the other about the same size in a pale silver-blue. They walked forward with a casualness that seemed almost theatrical. "This is Pell. And this is Tormina. They've volunteered."

  "Volunteered for what?"

  "To help you advance." Hyude said it like it was obvious. "They're newly spawned, no connections here, no plans beyond following you around. They're curious what happens when you reach tier-one. We all are. So they've agreed to let you absorb them."

  Cade stared.

  "You want me to kill them."

  "We want you to absorb them," Hyude corrected. "Killing is just the mechanism. They'll respawn in a few days somewhere along the Outer Ring, possibly not even that far from here. A minor inconvenience. And you'll be ready to push to tier-one when combined with what you've already gathered. Kern, wasn't it?"

  "No."

  The word came out harder than Cade intended. Hyude actually took a step back.

  "No," Cade repeated, forcing his voice to stay level. "I'm not going to kill them. Not on purpose. Not even if they volunteer. I don't care if they come back. I'm not doing it."

  Pell and Tormina exchanged glances. Pell—the smaller one, plum-colored—stepped forward.

  "You realize we drew lots for this, yes? Beat out twenty-two others for the privilege. Tormina and I are genuinely curious what will happen, and we're offering freely. There's no moral weight here."

  "There's moral weight to me."

  "But why?" Pell seemed genuinely perplexed. "We're not ending. We're just... relocating. Temporarily. I've died hundreds of times across my lives. Tormina's died at least that many. It's not pleasant, but it's not significant either at tier-zero. You're the one making it significant."

  Cade closed his eyes. How could he explain it? These people had grown up with death as a temporary inconvenience, a brief interruption before respawning somewhere else with all their memories intact. They couldn't understand what it meant to come from a world where death was final, where every life was the only life you got.

  And even if he could explain it, would it matter? His values were his own. They didn't require these people to understand them.

  "I said no," he told them. "Please respect that."

  Hyude made another gesture—something between a shrug and a formal acknowledgment. "As you wish. We'll leave you to your meandering, then."

  The three of them retreated back to the group. Cade watched them go, the word echoing in his mind. Meandering. Was that what he was doing? Walking in circles, eating nodules, trying not to step on anyone—with no destination, no plan, no understanding of where he even was.

  He thought about what Hyude had said. Tier-zero. The Outer Ring. A place where life was gentle and the pools spawned the newly reborn. But there were other places, weren't there? Higher tiers. Larger people. Places where he wouldn't be a giant among insects, where a careless step wouldn't mean ending someone's life.

  The idea took root before he could second-guess it.

  "Wait," he called out.

  Hyude paused, turning back. "Change your mind about our offer?"

  "No. But I have a question." Cade chose his words carefully. "You said this is the Outer Ring. Tier-zero. Where would I find... higher tiers? Tier-one, tier-two? People who are—" He gestured at himself awkwardly. "Closer to my size."

  Something flickered across Hyude's face—surprise, maybe, or reassessment. "You want to leave the Outer Ring? As a tier-zero?"

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "I want to go somewhere I'm less likely to kill someone by accident."

  Hyude was quiet for a moment. Then the tiny figure pointed in a direction Cade hadn't been paying attention to—downhill, he realized, though the slope was so gradual he'd barely noticed it.

  "Follow the water," Hyude said. "It all flows the same direction eventually. Toward the center, toward the heat, toward the heavy places. You'll hit tier-one territory long before you reach anywhere truly dangerous." A pause. "Assuming you survive the journey. Tier-zeros don't usually walk that path. They take steps to advance first."

  "Advance through killing?"

  "In one way or another," Hyude agreed. "Yes." The tiny figure's expression was unreadable. "Follow the water, giant. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for. Maybe you'll find something else entirely."

  Cade nodded and turned to orient himself. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the faint trickle of moisture across the moss, the way the streams all bent in the same direction, pulled by some gradient he couldn't perceive but the water obeyed without question.

  He started walking. Downhill. Toward wherever the water led.

  Behind him, he heard the followers fall into step, then noticed Pell and Tormina hadn't rejoined the main group. They were circling around to his left, moving with a purposefulness that made his stomach clench.

  "Hey," he called out. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing," Pell called back cheerfully. "Just stretching our legs."

  They were faster than he'd expected. Tiny legs pumping, they darted toward him—not away, toward—and Cade scrambled backward, nearly losing his balance, his feet coming down in what he desperately hoped were empty patches of ground.

  "Stop!" he shouted. "What are you—stop!"

  "Make us!" Tormina called out, and there was laughter in the voice. Actual laughter. Like this was a game.

  Cade's heart hammered. They were fast—fast like mice, darting and weaving, deliberately putting themselves in his path every time he tried to move. He froze in place, afraid to lift his feet, and they circled around his ankles like children playing tag.

  "This isn't funny," he said, his voice cracking. "Please. Please stop."

  "It's a little funny," Pell said, darting between his feet. "You should see your face."

  From the watching crowd, Cade heard more laughter. They were all enjoying this. The giant stranger, terrified of stepping on people who were actively trying to be stepped on. Comedy gold, apparently.

  He didn't know how long it went on. Minutes that felt like hours, standing rigid while two tiny people turned his trauma into entertainment. Eventually they seemed to tire of the immediate game and retreated back to the group, leaving Cade shaking and sick to his stomach.

  He didn't try to eat any more nodules. He just started walking again, more carefully than ever, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

  The followers kept pace. And somewhere among them, he could hear Pell and Tormina talking, planning, laughing.

  Moments Earlier

  Hyude had been following the giant for perhaps an hour when the others started asking questions.

  "So what is it?" asked Fennick, a newly spawned soul who'd emerged from a pool just minutes after Hyude had. His skin was a warm terracotta orange. "Some kind of mutation? A tier glitch?"

  "The Coordinator called it a fresh soul," Hyude said. "New to the cycle. But the pool that made it was wrong, apparently. Did things pools don't do."

  "And it's really tier-zero?" This from Maeven, who was on her third life by her own account and had chosen to respawn in the Outer Ring after her second life ended badly in the middle terraces. Her skin was a pale mint green. "That surge was definitely tier-zero absorption. I've seen enough of those to know."

  "Tier-zero," Hyude confirmed. "In a body that size. Which raises some interesting questions."

  The group had swelled as they walked, other newly spawned souls drifting in from nearby pools, drawn by curiosity and the lack of anything better to do. The Outer Ring was gentle, yes, but it was also boring for those without established lives. Following a mystery was more interesting than harvesting nodules.

  "It can't use the portals," Pell observed. She was sharp, Hyude had noticed—quick to see implications. "Look at the size of it. Even the large-group portals wouldn't fit those shoulders."

  "Which means no labyrinth runs," Tormina added. He was Pell's counterpart in many ways—equally sharp, but more inclined to speak than observe. "No battlegrounds either. Even if it could fit through, can you imagine that thing in a tier-zero battleground? It'd be wedged floor to ceiling, barely able to turn around, trying to capture nodes and carry flags through corridors it can't even crawl through."

  Hyude considered this. The labyrinth was dangerous but rewarding—you went in with a group, killed what you found, absorbed what you killed, and tried to make it back out before something bigger or better killed you. The battlegrounds were safer in some ways, riskier in others. You couldn't truly die there, but you could spend ages in stasis waiting for a match, and even if you got selected, the experience itself could be... unpleasant.

  Neither option was available to the giant. Not at that size.

  "So its only path is direct absorption," Hyude said slowly. "Killing inhabitants. But did you see how it reacted to stepping on that one? The first one, right after it spawned?"

  "Like it had committed some kind of atrocity," Fennick said. "Very strange."

  "It's a fresh soul," Maeven reminded them. "No memories of past lives. Maybe it doesn't understand how death works here. Maybe it thinks killing is permanent."

  The group fell silent, considering this. The idea was so foreign it was almost difficult to process. Death, permanent? What a horrible way to exist.

  "If that's true," Pell said finally, "then it's never going to advance on its own. It'll stay tier-zero forever, and we'll never know what happens."

  "We should help it," Tormina said.

  Everyone looked at him.

  "Think about it," he continued. "None of us have roots here. We're fresh spawns, following a curiosity. But that curiosity is also a question, isn't it? What happens when something like that advances? Does it grow even bigger? Does its body change? Does the tier system even work normally for something that wrong?"

  "You want to feed yourself to it," Maeven said flatly.

  "I want to see what happens," Tormina corrected. "And I can't do that if I'm the one being absorbed."

  A murmur of understanding passed through the group. That was the problem, wasn't it? The ones who died would respawn somewhere else along the Outer Ring—maybe nearby, maybe far away. They'd miss the very thing their sacrifice was meant to reveal.

  "We cast lots," Hyude said slowly, working through the logic. "Not for volunteers. For the ones who want to know but are willing to give up seeing it firsthand. The rest of us stay and watch."

  "And spread the word after," Fennick added. "Something this strange—people will talk. Whoever gets chosen, they'll hear about what happened eventually. Word travels, even across the Ring."

  "So we're not asking who wants to die," Pell said, a note of amusement in her voice. "We're asking who's willing to wait for the answer instead of seeing it with their own eyes."

  "Exactly." Hyude looked around the group. "Anyone not willing to be in the lottery should step back now. No shame in it. Some of us need to stay and witness, or there's no point."

  No one moved.

  "Good. Then we draw."

  The lottery was quick—a simple game of chance using fallen spores, the kind any child learned in their first life. When it was done, Pell and Tormina stood apart from the others, their expressions a mixture of resignation and pride flickered in their dark eyes.

  "Well," Tormina said. "At least we'll be the ones who made it happen. That's something."

  "And we'll hear about it eventually," Pell agreed. "Someone will find us. Someone always does, when the news is interesting enough."

  "It won't agree to kill you," Hyude said. "You saw how it reacted. It's not going to willingly hurt anyone."

  "Then we'll have to be creative." Pell's eyes were bright with mischief. "What's it going to do, run away? At that size, with its obsessive need to watch every step? We can outmaneuver it."

  "You're talking about forcing it to kill you," Fennick said. "Against its will."

  "We're talking about answering a question," Tormina said. "It just doesn't understand why the question matters."

  Hyude considered the logistics. Pell and Tormina were willing to be the sacrifice. The rest of them would witness and spread the word. The only complication was the giant's inexplicable resistance to something that would benefit everyone's curiosity.

  "We should at least ask first," Hyude decided. "Give it the choice. If it refuses, then... we can discuss alternatives."

  "Agreed," Pell said. "But we should also have those alternatives ready. Just in case."

  The group began planning. It wasn't complicated—the giant was large and slow and pathologically careful about where it stepped. All they needed to do was put someone where its feet would inevitably land. The challenge was making it look accidental enough that the giant wouldn't freeze up entirely.

  "The terrain along the water-path gets uneven," Maeven offered. "Lots of exposed roots, sudden dips. Easy to trip on if you're not watching your feet."

  "And it's watching its feet constantly," Fennick pointed out.

  "So we give it something else to watch. A distraction at eye level. While Pell and Tormina position themselves where it'll land when it stumbles."

  Hyude nodded slowly. "It could work. But let's try the direct approach first. No point in elaborate schemes if a simple offer will do."

  They all knew the direct approach wouldn't work. But there was something to be said for going through the motions, for giving the giant every chance to make this easy.

  It would refuse, of course. It was too broken in its thinking to do otherwise.

  And then they would help it anyway.

  Cade didn't see the trap until it was too late.

  He had been walking for what felt like forever, eyes fixed downward, scanning every inch of ground before each step. Pell and Tormina had resumed their game twice more—darting at his feet, forcing him to freeze in place, retreating with laughter when he refused to move. Each time, they pushed a little harder. Each time, he managed not to step on them.

  He was exhausted. Not physically—the low gravity made walking easy in that sense—but mentally. The constant vigilance, the unending fear of making another mistake. He wanted to sit down, to close his eyes, to wake up back in his home gym with a barbell in his hands and all of this revealed as some kind of fever dream.

  Instead, he kept walking. And watching. And trying not to think about the hunger that pulsed in his chest every time Pell or Tormina came close.

  The terrain had been changing gradually—more exposed roots breaking through the moss, more dips and rises in the ground. Cade navigated it carefully, adjusting his balance with each step. He was getting better at moving in the reduced gravity, at least. Small mercies.

  Then someone shouted from his right.

  "Hey! Giant! Cade! Look at this!"

  His head turned automatically, tracking the sound. One of the followers—Fennick, he thought, though he was still learning names—was waving frantically from atop a small mushroom, pointing at something in the distance.

  "There's something moving out there! Something big!"

  Cade squinted in the direction Fennick was pointing. Through the mist, he could see... something. A shape, maybe. Or just a trick of the light.

  He took a step forward to get a better angle.

  His foot caught on something—a root, hidden beneath the moss—and the reduced gravity that had made walking easier now betrayed him completely. He pitched forward with no way to stop himself, arms pinwheeling, his body covering far more distance than it would have on Earth before he crashed into the ground.

  He felt them beneath him. Two small impacts, two tiny crunches, two lives ending under his weight.

  No.

  The power hit him like a wave—twice as strong as before, flooding through his body, filling him to bursting. He felt himself growing again, his torn clothes straining further, his perspective shifting as the ground fell away beneath him.

  He scrambled to his hands and knees, looking down at what he'd done.

  Pell and Tormina lay in the moss where he'd fallen, their bodies broken, their faces—impossibly—peaceful. They had positioned themselves perfectly. They had known exactly where he would land.

  They had made him kill them.

  "Yes!" someone shouted from the watching crowd. "Anima, look at him grow!"

  Cade couldn't speak. He was watching his arms lengthen, his hands expand, his entire body scaling up by another foot. The power kept flowing, and he realized with horror that he had enough now—more than enough. The threshold was there, waiting, and all he had to do was reach for it.

  Tier-one. Right there. Just within grasp.

  He didn't reach for it. He didn't know how, and even if he had known, he wasn't sure he would have. Three people were dead because of him now. Three people who would come back, yes, but who had still experienced death, still felt whatever pain came with being crushed by something fifty times their size.

  "Why?" he managed to choke out. "Why would you—"

  Hyude stepped forward from the crowd. The tiny figure had to crane its neck to look up at him now, but there was no fear in its posture. Only satisfaction.

  "Because you needed help," Hyude said simply. "And you were too confused to accept it. Pell and Tormina understood. They wanted to see what you'd become. Now we all get to see."

  "I didn't want this."

  "Want doesn't matter. You're growing. You're advancing. Whatever you are, you're part of the cycle now." Hyude's voice was gentle, almost kind. "Stop fighting it. Stop treating every death like a tragedy, especially at this tier. Your friends will be back in a few days at most, probably laughing about the experience. And you'll be closer to understanding what you're meant to be."

  Cade looked down at his hands. Larger again. Stronger. His muscles had scaled with his growth, and he could feel the power contained in them—not just physical power, but something else. Something that hummed in his bones and whispered of potential.

  He hated it.

  He hated that it felt good.

  "I need to be alone," he said, his voice rough. "Please. Just... give me some space."

  Hyude made that gesture again—the half-shrug, half-acknowledgment. "As you wish. We'll be nearby if you change your mind about anything."

  The crowd dispersed slowly, giving him a wider berth than before.

  He sat down heavily in the moss, not caring anymore if he crushed something.

  Above him, the clouds churned their eternal gray. Around him, the mist continued its endless fall. And inside him, the power sat like a coiled spring, waiting for him to make a choice about what came next.