Noah looked around the vaulted dark, at the nine ancient suns and the gnawing gray threaded through every one, and the decision assembled itself with the cold clarity of a craftsman surveying a ruin.
He would simply have to replace the Organs themselves, no big innovations needed.
Break down cursed anatomy seated by the makers of a Dimension. Grow new Organs from his own existence in the wounds left behind. Seat his Prime Causes into the growing flesh and hope that the grafts would take!
So much work. So much impossible work!
He proceeded ahead, and started.
"The Lungs first, and I will need as much help as you can give, Hvitrmarr!" Noah declared, and moved!
He descended through her inner vaults to the twin oceans of white flame, THE First Cause of Valor laboring beneath its gray threading, every breath of the great Steed dragging through cursed channels! And Noah set his fused existence against it as his Intent erupted.
