[ "The premise upon which this reality is made" is a mental mouthful for Matt. He wonders if the entirety of Kenos--tree, floating islands, rapacious shadows--was willed into existence purely for the purpose of serving as a staging ground for this conflict. That wouldn't be totally unprecedented, mythologically speaking. When you have enough power, and-or you occupy the right vertex of the cosmos, all you have to do to create a world is say the word.

The waving gesture made by his companion draws Matt's attention first to his hands, then his posture, and at last to his face. He recognizes something--different, perhaps? But it doesn't strike him as uncanny. If anything, he's fascinated. Matt has a soft spot for the physical details that set a person apart. ]

Weeks. [ The word "revented" he parses as possibly synonymous with "reinvented," but in any case, that's not the part of the sentence that makes him feel like he's on a seesaw. ] That sounds like not a long time to me. And I know there are people here who've been here for generations? But it's hard to square that with this whole ... cosmic project. It feels like the kind of thing that should be urgent.