The space Theo now occupied defied every law of physics his analytical mind had spent three years cataloging. There was no floor in any conventional sense—no stone, no wood, no solid matter—yet he stood.
It was a surface that presented itself so perfectly, so absolute in its solidity, that the distinction between 'floor' and 'void' became purely semantic. He was standing on the concept of stability itself.
The light was wrong. It wasn't sunlight, nor was it firelight; it was an amber gold radiance that felt neither warm nor cold but was simply present.
It was pervasive, structured, and omnidirectional, as if the very fabric of reality had decided to become luminous. There was no source to point to, no sun on the horizon, and no lamp in the corner.
The light simply was, pouring out of the nothingness.
And then, there were the symbols.
