This is not Idaia's closet.
It's something weird.
That could be either a really good thing or a really bad thing.
She probably wasn't going to succeed at what she needed to succeed at anyway; worth the gamble.
She steps inside.
"That might not fence out places like Materia where the universe itself, which isn't necessarily an 'anyone', has opinions on conflict resolution."
"If there are infinite universes I'm not sure comparative absolutes are a valid targeting parameter."
"And balancing the combination would be awkward... Parameterizing 'no gods' is probably doable, I just don't immediately know how."
"Seventeen going on eighteen years and no fucking clue except 'several millenia' respectively."
"No idea how that works, but the planet's round now and basically completely mapped and Valinor's nowhere to be found."
"One part of a multi-part plan to maneuver Feanaro into pulling a sword on his half-brother."
Rumil turns and looks at Feanáro. "I love you," he says, "and I think that you were not creative enough and that you can do better and that sometimes you think there's only one way forward, and it could have gotten you killed in Materia and in this world it killed a lot more people than just you. I am not mad. I want to fix it. But it was a mistake, which I am pointing out so you learn from it."
"I'm going to be epic, I won't need to steal boats."
He smiles at him exhaustedly.