For Chante, the world is only data.
Gender, once binary construct of (0) women, and (1) men, can now be superimposed to any decimal place, any infinite number of possibilities within those two extremes, through the principles practiced by elochildren.
Gender can also access a higher dimension, (2) xomen, but in a three-dimensional world, this is more difficult; so to keep things simple, Chante chooses to just focus on how biological life remains at any range of identities from zero to one.
It's not just gender Chante perceives this way, though.
She can also, by observing minuet superpositions between the values of zero and one, perceive limitless possibilities—at fractions of decimals so vast, moving between them doesn't feel like a microscopic nudge on a number line anymore, like a big dot smooshed on a piece of paper with ink marking 0.52 from 0.53, but like a quantum leap, like a leap of logic, like an ink splat that hits 0.23 and 0.74—so where the many facets of magic appear wondrous to the human eye, Chante's elochild mind sees no wonder at all, just marvelous patterns, sense emerging from data a human would called scatterbrained.
And the minds of all the elochildren work this way, when they allow it; it's a kind of access between the human limitations of three-dimensional space and fourth-dimensional time, and the technological limitations of fifth-dimensional space and sixth-dimensional time.
So when Chante chooses to open herself to this madness, the world becomes but a mere calculation of matter, physics, and string theory—the threefold faces of reality—to determine the zeroes and ones of a three-dimensional world trapped in the bubble of fourth-dimensional time, and only a minor tweak of zeroes, ones, and twos to similarly calculate movements within the fifth and sixth dimensions, and she can move in quantum leaps between these ideas as needed.
She is what the old wizards would call a cyborg, model elochild, third-generation cyberlife forms, upgraded from the days of superchildren and hyperchildren.
The eccentricities of the world, through human knowledge, can be reduced to four forces and twelve particles of matter: that is, the building blocks of magic. But the eccentricities of the world, through elochild knowledge, can be reduced to one value for the first and second dimension—a single dot, zero—upwards to two values for the third and fourth dimension, zero and one; then three values for the fifth and sixth dimension, zero and one and two, superimposed states near limitlessness, manifesting as the nature of nature, as the colors of the rainbow beyond the rainbow.
Chante is in this highly analytical state between human thinking and mechanical thinking when she realizes they lost Alistar and Nalowei. Without Nalowei, she needs another dimensional wizard to manifest a stable perception of the world; she can understand the concepts all day long, but as the scientist needs the engineer, so the elochild needs the mage.
"Ovelia," Chante prompts.
Ovelia, wild-eyed, spins on the child, already looking nauseous.
But of course she's nauseous. Human eyes aren't meant to look at higher dimensions. Human brains aren't meant to interpret them. For Ovelia, Hahn, and Elexus, this place is madness; Hahn and Elexus have already slumped to their knees in search of a bottom that isn't there.
"Where's Alistar?" Ovelia croaks.
"I don't know," Chante says. "And we don't have Nalowei either, so I need you to try to stabilize this place."
"W-what?" Ovelia stammers.
"When you used to travel to the higher dimensions," Chante starts, then she tries to soften the edge of frustration in her voice. "When Aleria was your anchor, when you were younger, you came to this place before."
Both of Ovelia's hands claw into her stomach, holding in pain. Chante slithers her smaller fingers into those trembling, clawing hands, then gently tugs at Ovelia's arms, until she looks down at her with eyes darker and more fearful than her sister.
"The human memory," Chante tells her, "is more profound than any other memory. Even elochildren cannot remember the way humans can; we sacrificed our memory for something else. So use your human superpowers, and look back, and remember how to stabilize this world."
"I wouldn't even know where to begin," Ovelia says.
Chante tightens and loosens her jaw. As Elexus stumbles her hands through space, Hahn grasps her shoulder, comforting her; then Elexus vomits, and she screams at how gravity spills out of her in a fan-like shape, like a flower petal.
"All humans can stabilize the fourth dimension," Chante continues. "Your sense of time, or chronoreceptors, are more than capable of solidifying the present moment, just as they help you solidify the broken pieces of memories in your head, so you can imagine the past and future."
Ovelia shakes her head only slightly, pulling her lips thin.
Chante tries to smile. "Just picture the present moment the way you would picture your childhood. Pretend you're looking back, and you're trying to bring together the images of the past; you're trying to call the past to mind. And do that for the present. Bring together the present."
Ovelia's eyebrows furrow.
"You're more than capable," Chante says. "You just need to integrate the functions your brain makes when it considers the past and future, to the functions it makes when it considers the present; and you know how, because you've done it before."
So Ovelia looks at the swirling blues and incandescent browns beneath her feet, and she pictures them as soil and water. A stream bubbles to the surface of the colors, rhythmic ripples undulating into a reliable current that burrows into the browns below, forming chunks of earth. First from Ovelia's feet, then from around her and Chante, a world of twisting brooks and semi-solid rock forms, like blue veins cutting through fertile earth.
Ovelia's satisfied by how the swirling colors, more and more, look vaguely like a patch of wilderness they might find near Mount Glow, on the outskirts of the Wizardhood, at home.