The moment Luke stepped forward, the world shifted.
It wasn't abrupt—never was—but the transition always left him with the same strange sensation, like reality itself had exhaled and decided to rearrange its bones. Stone beneath his boots smoothed into tile, rough texture fading into something clean, precise, manufactured. The air changed, too. The scent of leaves and earth thinned, replaced by something neutral, almost sterile. No forest. No palace. No wind.
Just a room.
Luke paused, as he always did, taking it in again—not because it was unfamiliar, but because it was.
The Tesser's interior was unmistakably of his world.
Square edges. Straight lines. A ceiling that didn't arch or breathe or curve like elven architecture, but sat flat and deliberate above them, faintly illuminated by recessed lights that hummed softly to life. The walls were plain, off-white, unadorned—no carvings, no runes, no signs of reverence. Just function.
