Lui walked forward, leaving the higher-dimensional plane of Erythiel behind, though the experience lingered in his mind like a resonance that would never fade. Every step felt different now; even the landscapes of the Dreamroot no longer obeyed his old intuitions. Worlds unfolded in layers he had never perceived before, as if each contained not just reality, but its own perspective, story, and weight.
And then he sensed it: the Great Gods.
They did not arrive like mortals or beings of ordinary power. They were not heralded by sound, light, or movement. Instead, they existed on planes so far removed from the Dreamroot and the multiverse he had walked that their very perception was alien. To even notice their presence was an achievement of consciousness itself.
Lui felt their awareness like a wave brushing against his mind. It was immense, yet indifferent. Vast, yet detached. It did not care, not in a way he could comprehend.
"We are here," a voice said, though it was less a voice and more a vibration across dimensions. "Though you cannot hear us, you sense us because you are capable of perception beyond your plane."
Lui's mind staggered. He could feel countless layers of worlds stacked above worlds, realities folded into realities, all viewed at once. And beyond that, the Great Gods were watching.
"Are… are they like the First Silence?" he asked, though the words were meant more for himself than anyone else.
"Hardly," the vibration answered, seeping through him. "From their perspective, what you call omnipotence, omniscience, or creation is trivial. Their scale is beyond comprehension. You have walked through multiverses, touched the Dreamroot, faced higher-dimensional paradoxes—but to them, it is little more than a story, a single thread in a tapestry too vast to notice."
Lui felt a strange humility descend upon him. He had been learning to walk among infinite possibilities, to witness the limits of infinity, to act upon worlds that had never existed and might never exist. Yet here, in the gaze of beings so far removed, it was like holding a grain of sand and thinking it contains the ocean.
"So… all we do, all we create, all the trials and struggles of the Dreamroot… are they meaningless?" he whispered, his voice trembling within the folds of his own mind.
"Not meaningless," the vibration replied. "Merely… insignificant in scale. To the Great Gods, your story is like a book in a library that exists within a single atom of a world no one remembers. They do not dismiss it maliciously—they are simply beyond the scope of concern. Their perception is not bound by empathy, interest, or consequence as you understand them. To them, infinity itself is trivial."
Lui swallowed. His gaze drifted across a cluster of emerging worlds. He had fought in labyrinths that warped reality, altered timelines, and shattered causality. He had stood before Erythiel, felt the pulse of dimensions beyond comprehension, and touched fragments of higher-dimensional infinity. And yet, here, he felt small, almost laughably so.
"But… then what is significance?" he asked. "If what we call struggle, creation, and existence is tiny to them, does it matter at all?"
A pause. The vibration of their presence lingered.
"Significance is relative," it said. "Not all existence needs the attention of a Great God to matter. Within your plane, within your multiverse, within your awareness, your acts have consequence. A single world may bloom or collapse because of your choice. Your perception is small, yes—but your agency is real within it. That is enough."
Lui closed his eyes, feeling the truth in that. The Dreamroot, the multiverses, even the labyrinths—he was beginning to understand that existence itself is layered. What mattered on one plane could vanish on another, yet still flourish in the context of its own dimension.
"So… we are like stories," he murmured. "Stories told within worlds, appreciated by those who perceive them, ignored by those who cannot. Our struggles are meaningful only to the readers who experience them."
The presence of the Great Gods pulsed like a distant sun. "Yes. Imagine a library of infinite books. Each book contains a universe, a tale, a cosmos of thought and consequence. Some are read by the Great Gods, some are ignored, and some are simply stored—neither acknowledged nor denied. Your multiverse, your labyrinths, your Dreamroot… are like a single volume. To us, trivial. To yourselves… alive."
The perspective was dizzying. He felt both empowered and tiny at once. All the trials he had endured—the labyrinths, the paradoxes, the higher-dimensional interactions—had been preparation. Not to impress the Great Gods, but to navigate existence meaningfully in the context he could perceive.
"Then," Lui said slowly, opening his eyes, "our agency is only valid where we exist. Not where they exist. Not where infinity exists beyond us."*
"Exactly," the vibration of the Great Gods replied. "They are creators of scales, of endless hierarchies beyond comprehension. But significance is not measured by scales beyond perception. It is measured by the influence one can exert, the awareness one can reach, the change one can make where one exists. Even infinitesimal acts are monumental to those who perceive them."
Lui exhaled. The tension in his consciousness eased. He had spent so long striving to comprehend infinity itself, to act across dimensions, to seek significance in the vastness. And yet, here, he realized that his role was neither to impress nor to conquer, but simply to walk and influence where he could.
The corridor of the Dreamroot stretched ahead, layered with dimensions of possibility. The multiverse shimmered around him, each world a story, each moment a choice. And within that, Lui understood that even the smallest act—a decision, a gesture, a creation—rippled outward. It was enough, even if the Great Gods did not notice.
"Then we are… authors and actors," he whispered, walking forward. "Our stories exist for ourselves, and for those who perceive them."
The vibration of the Great Gods pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging him. "Yes. And remember: what you perceive as trivial may be monumental in another context. The universe contains layers of relevance, and each layer is valid within itself. Even the smallest ripple in your world may echo beyond the boundaries you see."
Lui felt a warmth of clarity. He had glimpsed higher-dimensional infinity, walked among paradoxes, and touched truths that were beyond comprehension. Yet now he understood that true power and significance are not measured by scale, but by understanding and action within perception.
The Dreamroot shimmered before him, ready to unfold the next labyrinth, the next multiverse, the next layer of paradox. And Lui knew that every step he took, every choice he made, was meaningful where it mattered—even if the Great Gods regarded it as a single book among infinite libraries.
"Then I will walk," he said aloud, his voice firm, resolute. "I will create, I will choose, I will influence… even if no one above notices. The story is ours to live."
And as he moved forward, the multiverse rippled in acknowledgment, worlds folding and refolding around him, possibilities cascading into reality. Infinite layers of existence stretched ahead, each a story, each a challenge, each a paradox. And Lui walked, not to impress gods beyond comprehension, but to live and act within the scope he could perceive.
The Great Gods watched—or perhaps they did not. In their eyes, this tale was minor, a single volume in an infinite library. Yet within Lui's perception, within the layers of the Dreamroot, it mattered. And in that, he found purpose.
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