The figments hung in the air, like suspended motes of dust. Unlike the world of Xantheaa—which seemed so concrete and physical—the land before was occupied within minute bubbles of causality.
It looked like nothing more than a speck in the distance, but once you walked up close to it, the colors changed against the angle which you observed them. It was almost like a portal to a land that stood within the same space that you occupied; invisible and intangible.
Occasionally, a collection of four or five appeared in close proximity to one another; and if you positioned yourself juuuuussst right, you could line them up in such a fashion that they exposed a large breadth of land behind them, like puzzle pieces. Keep that image in your head as you approached in a straight line, and the objects within that void stayed put.
It grew like a normal window in space should, locking its contents within space as soon as you passed through the space the tiny bubble would have been. Inevitably, any path toward the accumulation of several of them would satisfy all these conditions. Before you knew it, you would be standing on the surface of the world that you saw, all surfaces suddenly physical and not imagined.
You could turn your head and look away, but it would remain there, forever; a stain on the whiteness of nothing. The borders were so smooth and circular that it would cut off any geometry unlucky enough to be caught on the edge. Branches hung in the air, suspended from trees unseen beyond the boundary of what was once visible.
The collected visuals together pointed to the destination as some sort of garden. Green grass, rolling hills, and all manner of flora abound; in fantastic form, and unthinkable splendor. Trees grew large and imposing, their roots spiraling together naturally to form edging for the massive cultivation of wildflowers around their bases.
Vines hung from the naked branches of shrubbery, overladen with an abundance of grapes and strawberries in all manner of exotic variance and flavors never seen before or ever since; the bushes themselves sporting hardy glowing baubles that drew in the eye, and lit the imagination of those who consumed them... the antidote for exhaustion.
Golden pathways snaked lazily between the shade of overhanging branches above; like archways. The shade was soothing, but not dense enough to feel chilling. A slight breeze was the final icing on the cake to frame the entire experience.
There was only one word for the idea it posited—Paradise.
The world seemed perfectly designed to harbor all the hopes and desires for the ideal state of humankind. It was a place fit for the Seat of all Creation to come down and intermingle with His pride and joy; the one beings He cared enough to craft with His own hands, in His own image.
It was a place to display His unfathomable love. It was a place of bottomless peace.
Why, then, did Thrall seem so completely unenthused in the sight of such great and magnificent design?
Why did it seem like he was looking through the place, to something even deeper within? Something was inside of this Garden of Eden, that troubled him to no end. A memory haunted him through its eloquence.
They continued to explore deeper, and deeper into the lands, until the specks grew numerous enough that wading through them became common enough that the entire world was painted in one solid picture of glory.
Xantheaa was moved to tears by the sight. There was surely nothing in her world as brilliant and blissful as this. Really, all the world could have gathered its greatest treasures, and it wouldn't match the beauty of precision—the sheer unthinkable efficiency of the world's systems. It all just made so much sense!
Instead of a gaseous sky above the trees that slowly leaked into the vacuum of space, there existed a firmament of water, suspended by minuscule filaments that circulated the heat from the sun evenly across every inch of the planet's surface. There was no need for rain; that necessary evil of her domain that brought both the tragedy of natural disasters and the life-giving vehicle of water to distant places inland. The earth itself was nourished by a dew in the early morning.
She wondered why her gods had never thought to create something like this. It seemed so obvious!
Perhaps it was the very act of dividing the power of godhood between different uncooperative figures that was holding them back from the full capacity of their divine prowess.
A million other impossible perfections lined up successively to identify exactly why Thrall considered this to be the One True God, and the only One deserving of the name. He had no such limitations as inexperience and selfishness. There were no division between wisdom, power, and compassion; as is so unfortunately frequent in her reality.
All of the beings with the desire to act with the benefit of others, were those born without the power to actually carry out that will. She imagined if Elektra were able to extend her domain to all of the world instead of merely the winds and storms, it might be a bit more like this here; the ideal.
It was by definition the greatest thing physically possible. No death, no hatred, no infirmity, no shame, no inequality—Everything worked in perfect harmony—but Thrall still looked unsatisfied.
His ambition burned brighter upon the sight of his surroundings, in all the precise clockwork machinations of a being who literally knew the best. He wanted more.
No, his gaze peered even deeper than this.
Xantheaa was overjoyed to experience such a place. She marveled at every fantastic new object that seemed too blissful to exist. All the impossible aromas, all the inconceivable flavors, all of the paradoxical sights and sounds that skirted along the very edge of existentialism, she drank in without a single reservation.
"Look at me!" She sang, while flying circles through the rivers of suspended petals. One could simply pluck them out of the air; where they stood in place enticingly.
"What's in here?" She wondered, peering into a deep hole that had approached near their path. Her head entered into the hole, and came out iridescent and pristine; her feathers aglow with the sheen of expensive oils and decadent perfumes.
"A bath house!" she gasped, and quickly dove right in. When she emerged, she was the very vision of respledence. She had never dreamed of such a complete and thorough cleaning in her entire life—and she wasn't even wet!
Thrall hadn't even noticed. He was several fathoms ahead, and she had to rush to catch up to him.
Now, Xantheaa knew that she wasn't homely. As a form of siren, her entire race was designed to be alluring to mankind; especially that of the opposite sex. If anything, she vastly underestimated just how gorgeous she was. There were far more attractive harpies in her own brood, after all. Therefore, it was with much disappointment and frustration that she danced around him in happy hopping circles, in order to get his attention.
"Try one!" She proffered, shoving an electrifying sweet fruit in the shape of a teardrop. A single bite made the down underneath her feathers stand on end. That one was the most disappointing of all, as she really wanted to see his face as the shock overwhelmed his traditional composure.
It didn't make sense. What was she doing wrong? Why wouldn't he even look at her? Does he truly loathe traveling with her so much?!
She thought he was mad to leave such a place, but he would not listen to reason as he pushed onward through the light vineyards and healing arbories and endless flowing plains of rapturous music. He continued in a straight line, never resting for even a moment. His pace only grew more urgent, the more he saw.
Xantheaa, he knew, was too codependent to be completely tempted by the allure of safety. All she needed was the presence of another creature to thrive, and as soon as he left, she would be more than happy to follow. She didn't understand how delicately he toed the line between hope and complete defeat.
This was a battlefield—One of willpower and mental fortitude—and he knew this was a battle he was fated to lose. If he rested, if he even paused for a single second, the sensation of indescribable peace and glory would overwhelm him, and he would forget his sacred duty. His willpower was barely enough to survive it all... only just barely.
With every chance Xantheaa begged and pleaded to remain; to rest their tired legs and wings, for only a moment, he grew closer and closer to that ultimate breaking point.
As they crossed another gorge of encrusted jewels, they approached a spring of crystal clear waters, and she begged him to stop for long enough to take a single sip.
"Please! We have been traveling for weeks on end! I do not understand why you are being so unfathomably stubborn! What have I done to deserve your ignorance? Will you at least speak to me, but once?!"
"Shut up!" he screamed. "I am at my limit with your incessant complaints. If you want to remain here so badly, then be my guest. I cannot remain, and that is all that you need to know!" Her lack of social maturity had been his undoing. He couldn't help it. There was no time. He had to get out! He was desperate for it. Any energy spent on her would be wasted.
She jumped at his words. Fright and terror and sorrow filled her to the brim. She had relied on him so much. She had given him everything she had, in hopes that it would repay the massive debt she felt, but it seems to him it was still not enough.
He still saw her as a petulant child, who needed to be disciplined. He took her for granted, and she could do nothing but prove him correct, as she closed her mouth and pressed along behind him, meekly.
"I'm sorry."
The dynamic was suddenly crystal clear. She needed him, but he didn't need her. Maybe, he already had what he wanted from her, after all.