Thalia waved her hand.
A single small singularity of light drifted off her fingertips and crossed the space between them, unhurried, turning slowly, and Noah lifted his own hand and let it settle against his palm, where it sank into him and unfolded, and the whole methodology of THE Sovereign Genesis of the Weighted Origin flowed into his existence at once!
"Before you try, understand the shape of it," Thalia said, lowering herself back to a seat on the grass, one hand resting light at her wounded chest. "Because failure here is not a bruise. It is a beginning erased."
Noah held still, receiving.
"You cannot simply call down the weight of Existence and stand under it as one man. The art works because the weight must course through the anatomy of your Provenance itself. It moves the way a resource moves. Directed. Channeled. Placed. And you begin at the smallest possible place."
"A cell?" Noah said, reading it even as she spoke.
