The Primordial Record

Chapter 1810: Sanctuary

Fury and the others were nearly torn apart by the raging storms of light as a billion Angels waged war against each other, and trillions of worlds and stars were crushed to nothing under their relentless wrath.

The Elythrii were particularly vulnerable to the higher-dimensional energies being flung around. Lyra winced as a wave of pure chaos washed over her. “It is too loud, their rage is too loud,” she gasped. “There is no harmony here, only senseless conflict. Why fight for a light that gives no warmth?”

They fled this place, their own spirits battered, and if not for the strength of their entire group working as one to escape, they would have all perished.

The revelation of Rowan’s presence was a double-edged sword, and they had seen both edges: paralyzing fear at Aerovah, and destructive, chaotic battle in this celestial domain.

They ran into the Passage of Time, uncaring about their direction, and their journey across a hundred different dimensions began.

After crossing a dozen dimensions, they began to near the realm of the Great Labyrinth, and they came across a dimension filled with silent monasteries, where monks had meditated upon the eternal nature of the Primordials for millennia.

Loud sounds, like earthquakes, pervaded this dimension, and they saw that the great stone tablets containing the teachings of these monks were being systematically shattered.

The monks, after shattering the tablet, chose to sit in silence; they forfeited all claims to life and would remain here until they perished, which might take a long time, seeing that they were all higher-dimensional immortals, with many of them even being Old Ones.

Their ultimate deity was dead, and their theology was dust.

It was a strange sight to witness, and the group was silent as they watched an entire dimension filled with many billions of lives, which chose to remain in silence until death took them.

Leaving this dimension behind, they continued traveling and came across an Eternal Realm!

These Realms, like Doom Star, were special because they were greater than any realm that could be created by an Old One, yet still less potent than a Primordial Domain.

This Eternal Realm was called the Forge-World of Hephaestus Minor, and there were great smiths who had crafted weapons for the Primordials, who were working tirelessly.

However, the focus of their forge had shifted; they no longer chose to work for the Primordials but for Rowan.

The word “Rowan” was never spoken, but his presence was felt in every newly tempered blade, every reinforced shield. They were arming for a war against a threat they couldn’t name, a shadow cast by a being they had never seen.

Their mysterious leader, Hephaestus, glanced at this group from afar, and they nearly collapsed under the weight of his gaze. They did not know why, but he dismissed them at a glance, and the group fled from this Eternal Realm.

They passed through a minor heaven, a far outpost of the Celestials called the Elysian Fields, and found it half-empty. Signs of the Great War had shattered nearly seventy percent of this place. Traveling through it, they came across many fantastical sights, almost impossible to describe.

“They have gone to the front,” a weary angelic sentry told them, his golden armor dented and scratched. “The infernal ranks are in disarray, but that makes them more dangerous, not less. They fight for scraps now, and our borders are the scraps.”

When asked which front, the angel just waved a hand vaguely at the sky. “All of them. The demons… us… There is madness in the air.”

After passing through several dozen dimensions, they came across an Astral Bazaar, a crossroads of a thousand dimensions and a great marketplace. The price of weapons, wards, and prophetic services had skyrocketed, while the price of art and luxury had collapsed.

The merchants of doom were thriving. A haggard star-trader, selling maps to “stable” dimensions, looked at their group with pity. “You look like you’ve seen it. The Great Abyss and the fall of a Primordial, I hear that more would soon fall, so you won’t find anywhere truly safe now. Just places where the fall is slower.”

In this bazaar, they spent time buying powerful weapons and enchantments to take with them on their journey, due to the many dangers they had faced along the way.

Leaving the bazaar behind, they crossed through to another dimension where they encountered a cult already forming around a distorted version of Rowan. They called him the “Unmaker,” and they preached a gospel of radical nihilism, that to achieve true freedom, one must first destroy all structures, including oneself.

Fury had to summon a wall of fire that scorched a million worlds to drive them back; his heart sickened. Among their numbers were tens of thousands of Old Ones, and he had to fight desperately to keep the weaker members of the group alive.

They had to run from this place because the cult was growing, claiming dimension after dimension, and if they did not flee, even Fury would perish.

The act of vengeance he had witnessed from Rowan was being twisted into a justification for mindless destruction.

Through all they were witnessing, the tension was a constant, humming note in the background of every dimension. It was the tension of a world holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The fear was palpable, a metallic taste in the air of every realm they visited.

But there was also hope. Not the bright, naive hope of before, but a grim, determined, and fragile thing.

They found it in a small, shielded dimension called Sanctuary, a world that had been established as a refuge for those displaced by the Reality-wide wars that had never truly ended since the dawn of the Primordial Era.

It was here that they saw the other side of the revelation of Rowan’s existence. A council of beings from a dozen different races—gods, mortals, and everything in between—was not arguing, but planning.

The group watched the meeting as it was being openly aired on the Aether around the world.

“Rowan is a fact,” a being of living crystal stated, its voice a clear chime. “Like a storm or an earthquake. We do not worship the earthquake. We do not curse it. We learn to build stronger foundations. The Primordials and he would wage war, and we must side with him. Their peace, which was really a stagnation, is over. We must build our own peace now, with his help.”

Another, a mortal woman who held an aura of immense psychic power, nodded. “The death of Primordial Demon has broken the back of the infernal empires. It is a crisis, yes, but it is also an opportunity. For the first time in eternity, we can negotiate with the demonic factions that desire order, instead of being subjugated by one that demanded absolute submission.”

It was in Sanctuary that the seven of them finally stopped, not as witnesses, but as participants. They were no longer crossing Reality, because they believed that, for the moment, they had found their place. If a war were coming, they wanted to fight it here.