In his vision, there were countless strings of gold permeated over everything.
They covered so much and were so extensive that they may have overwhelmed him, stretching across distances that his perception had never been able to grasp before. They wove through the air itself, through the walls of the Palace, through the very fabric of reality in patterns so dense and intricate that a lesser being would have been lost in their complexity.
But his gaze turned heavy and imperious moments later.
He looked at these strings and broke them down to Mana!
And all that he could see became strings and dots of Mana covering everything.
The golden threads transformed before his perception, their essence revealed as what they had always truly been at the most fundamental level. Fate was not separate from Mana. Fate was not separate from The First Tongue. It was merely a differentiation, a specialization, a path that Mana had taken when THE Weavers had shaped it according to their will.
