Noah looked down, and it was like standing on the ceiling of the world.
That was the gift of the mask. Shaped to look like one of Those Who Remain, his gaze sat over the Cabin the way theirs did, high and unhurried, and the whole story churning below him lay open like a map he could take his time with.
He didn't have to reach for anything. It came to him. Every rank of Descendant, every current of dark power, every thread of the thing THE Overseeing One had staged, all of it hung open under the blue-gold eye, waiting.
He'd done nothing but dream, and the prompt came anyway!
You are dreaming a dream quintessential to THE Human Dreamer: to watch existence as the watchers do, and to be one of them without being one of them.|
|Provenance rises for the sheer scale of the thing dreamed.|
|+9 PROVENANCE ESSENCE.|
