Stepping off the edge of the map requires an entirely different set of keys than simply conquering the board.
Noah stood within the verdant blue-gold hills of his own Provenance Realm, watching Thalia Vasiliou prepare the doorway. She did not weave the white threads of THE Argent Loom, nor did she attempt to draw upon THE Primordial Source or Infinity or Causes or any Tongues.
Instead, she reached out with her bare, pale hands and physically grasped the fabric of his self-generated domain.
Her existence flickered violently, caught in the paradoxical strain of moving across Dimensions and Time, but her movements were flawlessly precise. She pulled her hands apart, tearing a seam not through space, but through the conceptual layer of existence itself.
