He's trying to keep up, really he is, but the names of so many people and places and gods (apparently) end up being dropped in that it's hard to follow all of it. The magnet analogy sticks, but it makes him frown. A flat land, adjoined by another flat land, with a sort of repellent barrier between the two? Worlds shaped by the whims of gods, which he is always skeptical about, for in his life such apparent divine magnificence is the result of cruelty and extreme narcissism, such as Marie Geoise's spectacular moving walkways operated by slaves hidden underground.

Other worlds don't have to follow the rules he expects them to and maybe in some places there are beings that could perhaps acceptably be called gods, but he'll take the label with a grain of salt.

"I... can't say I completely follow," he admits. "But I won't assume to know better. I've learned so far in this place that the universe where all our worlds reside is much more varied than I would ever have imagined."