Sensing, it turned out, was not so simple in a place like this.
When Noah had asked Seo-yeon about dying Causes, his daughter had closed her eyes upon the golden sands and reached out with the gift that had once felt Chernobyl grieving across an entire Observable Existence. And after a long moment, her small brows had furrowed.
"I can barely feel… something, Aba. But it's all murky. Veiled!" She had opened her eyes with visible frustration. "It's like listening for a song underwater. This place is too heavy and too old. I think… I think I need to adapt to it first."
So Noah had not pushed.
He had simply lifted her onto the wide handle of his golden throne, and there she sat now with her legs crossed and her eyes closed, mirrored light drifting faintly off her small frame as she sensed and adapted and sensed again, hour after hour as their island of dream-sand drifted across the storming dark of THE Krazhor-Nul.
