“Oh, everywhere,” Strange says, and there’s something respectful in his voice for once, rather than that habitual flippancy. This is one thing he does take seriously. The toe of his boot nudges the edge of that mirrored artwork in the dead grass.

(That was what the multiverse looked like, he thinks. Panes of glass layered over and over and over each other, and all you had to do was smash through them in a clatter, ringing in your ears.)

“In short… You know how rifters come to Thedas through rifts? I once did a similar sort of travel here. There are uncountable other universes, and the boundaries between them aren’t as solid as they’d seem. There are entirely alien worlds, certainly, but there would also be other versions of your own world where the past played out differently. Every single decision anyone’s ever made could spawn another universe, another possibility. Alternate selves. Roads not taken. I’ve visited a couple of these.”