Damodred regarded him from behind the veil of ancient, severed hands.
"If an old dead thing may offer the Master a recommendation."
The great head inclined slowly, sending a subtle shudder through the empty gray domain.
"You have been trying to do something, and it has not been working. You hold two sets of Causes right now, do you not? Nine of your own, seated in your Infinite Cause. And nine more, the First Causes of THE Steed you cured, which now stand behind you."
The gray eyes held Noah with unblinking, ancient focus.
"You have been trying to mix them. To fuse the two sets into one. And they will not fuse, Master, no matter how you press them, because they cannot. They are not the same kind, and no amount of will makes a stone into a fire."
Noah said nothing, for the titan was right. He had felt that exact conceptual resistance within his own existence.
"But..." Damodred spoke, opening one massive, scarred palm as the atmospheric density of the gray space deepened.
