Inside the small, world-sized isolated bubble that Schrodinger and Leonore Rureaux were invited in.
They walked upon a radiant stellar blue pathway, a bridge of solidified light that cut through an expanse of breathtaking, cosmic beauty. All around them was the allure of a starlit environment, as if this entire isolated domain was a captured piece of the night sky, a private galaxy where the only destination was a single, glowing point of life at its center: a round garden, pulsing with a gentle, welcoming light.
Leonore Rureaux, her form still frail but her crimson eyes now burning with a cold, clear, and rejuvenated light, gazed at the impossible architecture with a flicker of analytical interest. "Before I even meet him," she said, her voice a low, melodic thing that held the sharp edge of a razor, "I am going to bet ten thousand Everythings of Paradox that he is an Early Creature. Would you take that bet, O Herald?"
