It didn't take long before the entire first Inversion no longer resembled what it once was.
Well, saying the entire Inversion might be inaccurate, as they simply didn't feel the need to compete with a land that kept expanding alongside their senses.
For at least a light-year in every direction from the Bastion, the first Inversion seemed more like a paradise than a void.
Towering walls soared thousands of feet high, black as the abyss yet streaked with molten gold that pulsed like living sunlight.
The walls rose a light-year from the original Bastion, forming a vast, perfect ring that encircled the reclaimed land like the calm, protective embrace of a sleeping god.
Their surfaces were flawless, impossibly smooth, traced with golden runes that drifted lazily like constellations composing their own prophecies.
Nothing would break them; the walls simply existed—a barrier of pure being, untouched by the black lands beyond.
