That divide between limbo and serene fluidity captivated him, and without fail, every rotation that brought Glacia to this sector excited him. He felt the Weave coursing through him with churning fervor, his skin detecting the slightest changes in electromagnetic pressure radiating from this astral pitch, his internal clock synchronizing with the irregular ebb and flow. His mind was clearer here than anywhere else on the ship. Those unfortunate souls who gazed into the void and blinked were focused on the wrong thing. This was not madness: this was comprehension. This was enlightenment. In these days, when others saw the murky maw of oblivion, 78471 found agency, and a universe that did not shirk him for his birth. Here, behind an abjurative glass canopy, 78471 felt seen. And so, for countless hours, he mindlessly directed his sailors as they scanned the Flow, his winding eyes studying every filament and wisp of the pearly sea. Out there, there were no gray ceilings, only the infinite.