I do not know why the realization shocked me. Perhaps because I had still clung to the belief that this place operated by different rules.
Nobler ones.
It does not.
Survival is the only scripture beyond the Gate.
"Take what you can," Chronovore advised. "Sentiment in the Glass feeds nothing." It hissed.
("Chronovore seems to be quite talkative here. Till now, it has not responded to me" Soren thought out loud.)
I hesitated only a moment before reaching for the grass cloak.
The instant it settled over my shoulders, a coolness spread through me.
The exhaustion in my limbs softened, as if roots had grown into unseen soil beneath my feet. My breathing steadied.
The ache in my spirit dulled to something manageable.
"Good," Chronovore hissed with approval. "It binds to vitality."
I lifted the flowing helmet next. It felt weightless in my hands, yet dense with quiet awareness.
