"Not nearly as much as I should," he admits. He remembers what he was, infinite, or capable of being infinite, here reduced to formless drifting. "The minutiae is easiest. Atoms, what goes on a, uh, molecular level. And - I can see the Rift. Or sense it." His form's expression frowns, and it's almost pained. "All the time."

Containing something meant to circumvent all methods of containment, made to exist beyond certain boundaries. Space and time are certainly malleable concepts, but despite every effort he remains tied, weighted, moored to this patch of world. The Rift is - clearly metaphysical to some extent, something larger and more powerful than anything else he's known. Stronger than Anubis. Stronger than the Ancients.

Stronger than him. Whatever he is.

"It's difficult to explain." Daniel gestures vaguely at his shape in a sweeping, vertical movement. "It's like an itch. Or being - trapped in the wrong skin."