Wukong sat on the edge of a cliff on a planet he had made himself.
It looked like Earth. Same atmosphere, same gravity, same weight to the air when you breathed it in. He had built it from memory — the curve of the horizon, the color the sky turned at a certain hour, the way wind moved across open ground. He hadn't consulted anything. He had just built it the way he remembered it, which meant some details were perfect and others were slightly off in ways he couldn't identify and didn't try to.
He was eating a peach, watching the sky, completely relaxed.
The first arrivals came within minutes of the call ending.
