Achilles moved through the Artificial Primordial of the Last Verdant Hour with slow deliberate steps, and with every step, his existence settled a little deeper into itself.
The trees went on forever above him, disappearing into a canopy so high he had to adjust his perception twice just to read where it ended.
Gold veins pulsed through the bark in rhythms he was beginning to match without thinking, and the leaves were not leaves but discs of light suspended in the upper reaches, catching a brilliance that did not come from any single sun.
Below his feet, a floor of moss and root-system stretched outward for distances his Architect's Perception couldn't finish reading, and a river of blue Infinity murmured wide and slow off to his left, deep sapphire shot through with paler threads of something older than color.
He was consolidating, and every motion he made in this Domain fed back into him.
