The idea of being unkillable was a unique one.
With a Primordial Civilization, such a thing was possible. It was like being killed, only to rise up eons later while claiming that yes, you were dead, but not really. The foundations of what you represented persisted even when your active existence did not, waiting for conditions that would allow resurrection to begin.
At this moment, THE Endless Dream was experiencing such a phenomenon in its most accelerated form.
She sat upon a sandy silver-gold throne while looking toward Achilles with astonishment that she could not suppress despite eons of practiced composure. She felt her Way of Dreams being stitched back together as the very cracks and damage that had proven so difficult to heal across countless years of careful cultivation now rapidly melded and disappeared.
