The transition from the shimmering, hyper-dimensional substrate was not a smooth descent into a star system, but a sudden, silent translation into a space that defied all Elythrii sensory parameters.
One moment, their harmonic seed-ship was navigating the river of pure mathematics that was the Archai's realm. The next, it was… docked.
There was no starfield outside their viewports. No planet. Instead, they found themselves in a vast, silent harbor of polished black stone, its architecture both impossibly ancient and eerily devoid of wear.
The air was still and carried the faint, dry scent of dust, ozone, and old parchment. The "sky" above was a vaulted ceiling of the same black stone, stretching into gloom, from which hung immense, unlit chandeliers of a twisted, metallic design. The only light came from a soft, sourceless glow that seemed to emanate from the air itself.
