A dying Immense One wanted to back him.
Noah sat on the mat with that thought. He was being offered protection to go and uncover mysteries he could not even begin to fathom yet. The cold that had grown teeth. The door that had shut in Minerva's face. A Night that was never supposed to be obscene, tainted by something no Immense One should have had the power to touch.
And he had his own questions too.
Every second that passed, his attributes grew heavier. THE Osmontian Inscription of THE Dreaming Hour pressed and pressed at him, one passing second worth an entire day, compressing his Provenance down tighter and tighter, and he was climbing. He could feel it. He was walking toward Immensity one packed second at a time!
And existence had just made it perfectly clear that nothing was allowed to become Immense.
He wanted to understand that. He wanted to understand it very badly!
