Achilles opened his eyes.
The Pure Primordial Essence was still working through him, still settling into the foundations of THE Primordial Realm of Assimilation and threading the connection to THE Primordial Source deeper into the architecture of his existence.
He could feel it continuing, the integration not yet complete, the changes still unfolding at a pace his foundations dictated rather than one he chose.
He gazed at the obsidian sea around him.
There should have been a trial here. The prompts from the maze had made clear that crossing THE Trial of the Immovable Stone deposited candidates somewhere further assessment awaited, and the quality of this place, the endless dark water and the sense of something watching, all of it communicated that he had arrived at exactly such a place.
But it was quiet.
