There was nothing.
Not darkness in the way darkness exists in a room without light, where the absence of photons is still a space with dimension and boundaries and walls you can reach.
This was different.
This was the dimensional interior of the storage token, and the storage token had not been designed by anyone who anticipated a person being inside it as a conscious observer rather than as stored contents.
Lin Yi floated.
Not floated in the physical sense, no gravity operating on him in the conventional direction, no surface below or above or in any determined orientation. He existed in the dimensional space, the accumulated depth of an endless dimension that had received thousands of items and multiple human beings and the amplified drops of every hunt since the Jianghe wilderness, and none of that gave it walls or floors or any reference point that a floating consciousness could use to orient itself.
He was suspended in pitch black.
