[ In his mind, it only makes sense that the core of how magic functions is the same. Harnessing it might differ, but Chaos is Chaos—regardless of what it's called. Especially, he considers, if what they're told is true. About the Singularity being the source of it. He's yet to decide how much of that he believes.

Traversing worlds, though. He listens in silence, turning over her words in his head. Studying the illusion she paints in the air.

Feels like he's attending a lecture on theories of universe. ]

Your paths are still open. Crossing it whole is the problem. [ There must be some meaning to why she continues to call it a shard. As though each sphere is one piece of a whole. The term sticks to him, puzzling, but he sets it aside for now. Instead, he reaches out to drag a finger through the stream of light, disrupting the path. ] For us, the ability to cross is not in question. It's that we can't leave.

[ Not that it makes a difference anymore. After all this time, few would remember ever having been from elsewhere. The only ones old enough to do so would be the rare elf or vampire. ]