"Me too! Pretty things are great!"

"The purpose of life is to be beautiful, and have beautiful things exist."

"...huh," he says, thoughtfully.

"It is the entirety of being a Lord. We make, and what we make is beautiful, or it is not worthy of permanence."

"That... makes sense," he says slowly. "I think the point of swords is something different but I think I can decide what the point of me is and I like pretty things a lot."

"I do not think I would be a Lord if I was not the sort of person I am," ze observes. "Or perhaps I would not be me if I were not the sort of person who is a Lord."

"...hmm." He smiles. "Well, I like that you're you."

"You seem a good sort of person to be you as well."

He beams.

Ze hands over the contact orb. "Do you have any other questions of me?" ze asks.

He thinks about it, then shakes his head. "Can't think of any."

"Then I will go, and begin my search."

"Okay! Have fun!"

Ze nods, shifts - 

And exits this part of reality.

Well.

He starts playing with architecture.

It's a lot easier than in the bird-demesne. The place is his, and - there's a sense as he goes that it's not quite learning, but developing along the lines of his aesthetics, like a groove being formed, easier each time he does it. It's not obvious yet how to make inhabitants for it.

That's okay, inhabitants aren't a top priority here. The top priority is elaborate fancy architecture. And doing lots of creatively pretty stuff so that as it figures out what he likes it figures it out properly and doesn't get stuck in too narrow a rut.

Elaborate fancy architecture!

...As the demesne gets into that groove, it becomes apparent that it's possible to in a way reinforce or even suspend in mid-air anything big or swoopy or precarious, that won't hold up under its own power, but things so reinforced are harder to move or change.

Hmmm! That has possibilities.

He devotes a particular wing of the structure to experimenting with this ability. He likes having most things support their own weight, but adding in a few blatantly gravity-defying elements in key places, like a tall arch with a massive teardrop ruby hanging in midair just below the keystone, with enough of a gap to make it very clear that there's nothing holding it up but magic. Or a cavernous hall with a vaulted ceiling that takes him hours to get right without cheating, lit by crystal chandeliers in a jagged asymmetrical natural style that float unsupported high above the floor. He experiments with these and other notions, testing the limits of his ability to argue with physics and win.

Arguing a lot with physics is tiring, both mentally and physically, but once he wins things stay where he puts them. Unsupported items are more taxing than tenuously supported items. Smaller items are easier to make unsupported. Items that glow are harder than items that don't. Items that move are more taxing than statics, and simple movements like spinning in place are easier than moving in patterns. Items can be made to change colors over time, but it's apparently considered a movement. He can make things respond to changes in the environment some, though it takes a lot of effort.

It's tiring but it's fun.

He gets better at it, and fancier. A long chain of those vaulted halls, all in different colours and materials, each with a lighting scheme more impressive than the last: the floating chandeliers, then rows of lanterns hanging from the ceiling that cycle through every colour of the rainbow and reflect off the glossy white walls, then a flock of glittering diamonds—he wants to make them do interesting things like move away from moving objects while maintaining a certain distance from each other and the walls, but he'll settle for something simpler and less responsive if he can't figure out how to set up complex emergent behaviours.

Complex emergent behaviors are hard, requiring a lot of trial and error and energy expenditure, but they're definitely doable.