“You would kill the horizon itself,” Dyndolod whispered. “Every mountain you see from afar. Every distant ruin. All would collapse into void.”
And so the god of distant views became a pilgrim. It walked beside Erik and Jenassa through every landscape, touching every tree, every cliff, every ruin. And as it walked, the duplicate lands faded. The sky smoothed. The flat billboard people vanished. And the world—the real, flawed, beautiful world—finally rendered at full detail, from the closest blade of grass to the farthest peak. dyndolod
In the center sat the god.
“You feel that?” he asked Jenassa, who was busy haggling a skeever-tail price down to something insulting. “You would kill the horizon itself,” Dyndolod whispered