The Primordial Record - Chapter 1685: The Resurrection

Chapter 1685: The Resurrection

The Origin Land was vast. To an Old One, this place is infinite; even Rowan had not seen the end of this mysterious dimension because it was ceaselessly expanding.

Rowan could not even begin to harness the true power of this place, despite the power coming from him, because it was new, and everything he had been doing with it for so long was replicating the methods of his dimensional powers, but he knew that this was not the best method of utilizing this power.

In one corner of the Origin Land, Rowan had rebuilt the city of Sheol, a city that was so massive it could as well stand toe to toe with an eternal realm in size and complexity.

This city was to be the home of his children, and in time, he hoped it would become the bastion of life for all of existence. For something like this to happen, it helps that this city could continue to grow with every new life form that it collects. Sheol was alive.

Surrounding his city were nine hollow mountain ranges and nine chasms. After the activation of his three Origin Bloodlines, the interior of the mountains was filled with Essence, and the chasms became oceans of Ether.

From the city of Sheol, it would take a very powerful immortal to be able to see these nine mountain ranges and oceans, and if the immortal were to travel with the speed of light from the city of Sheol to the closest mountain, it would take them many billions of years to get there.

However, Rowan was still hoping that in the future, his children would grow strong enough to leave the city, cross the mountains and the oceans that surround it, and journey into the depths of the Origin Land, only with this method would they understand the vastness of his dominion and grow into powerful immortals.

Standing in the center of Sheol, it was possible to see another massive structure built at the edge of the city.

Rising into the clouds like a monument forged by Celestial hands, the Purgatory Gate stood as a threshold that separates all life that was not of Origin and those that were.

Its towering arches were crafted from an unknown radiant metal that glowed with an inner light, shifting between hues of dawn gold, twilight violet, and the purest silver.

The gate’s massive doors are inlaid with living constellations, their celestial patterns ever-shifting as if guided by the hand of fate. Above the archway was an inscription, but none of the souls standing before the gate could read it, because it was written in a language none could understand.

Before the battle with the Thrones of the Primordial, Rowan had moved all of his children from his dimensional flesh and soul into his Origin Land, but due to the unique nature of this place, his children, including those that were living and the dead who were nothing but souls could not enter, they had to first pass through the Purgatory Gate.

After crossing the Purgatory Gate then the new children of Origin could enter the city of Sheol and start their lives in a completely new Reality that was filled with endless potential.

The Gate was to do two things. The first would be to cleanse the bodies and souls of his children from all dimensional powers they held, preparing them to claim the power of his Origin Land, and the second was to weed out any unknown factor that might have ingrained itself knowingly or unknowingly in the bodies of his children.

If the Gilded Maw spell from the Primordials had taught him anything, it was that he should be careful of all his gifts, especially if they were linked to the Primordials.

Rowan knew that the heart of his children was loyal to him, but sometimes corruption could be sneaky, and if the Primordials wanted to plant a seed in the heart of his children, there were many chances for them to have done that. If he could fall, then his children could as well.

If Rowan had not been intercepted and killed by the Thrones of the Primordials, then, according to his plans, his children should have begun passing through the Purgatory Gate and entering the City of Sheol, but he had been distracted by other pressing issues, like gaining the Origin of Space, and Sheol was empty.

Sitting before the gate of purgatory was an enormous crowd in their trillions, all their eyes were closed as if in deep sleep, and all were waiting to be allowed into Sheol.

In the multitude were countless races, even sentient mountains, trees, oceans, and stars were here, all were connected to Rowan, and he called them his children.

Serathis and Prime should have taken the place of Rowan to begin the process of letting in his children, and this was a task that Serathis was eager to start, but she was held back by Prime, who still wanted Rowan’s final approval to begin this process.

And so, the actions of the Primordials had delayed this process, leaving the children of Rowan waiting outside the Purgatory Gate when they should have begun propagating across the city a long time ago.

However, on this day, something was changing. Inside the city, a new life was being born, and there were no watching eyes to see it.

Rowan, Serathis, Prime, Eva, the Serpents, all were outside the Origin Land, and something new was being born inside of Sheol, disregarding the barrier of the Purgatory Gate.

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The city of Sheol contained an immeasurable number of heavenly bodies, among them were countless worlds.

On one of the worlds, which was a frozen planet, a resurrection took place.

At first, the frigid wind that swept through the planet from pole to pole eerily halted in an instant, and the entire ice that covered the planet melted before evaporating into nothing, leaving behind a rich brown earth.

With no moisture left on the world, it transformed from a bright blue pearl into a sordid brown mudball, and its coloration seemed to hide it from the light of Sheol, and the world became hidden.

The earth parted aside, multiple layers of it, peeling like a fold from a book. The soil, black and glistening with the wetness of primordial creation, pulsed like a living thing.

From this unspoiled clay, something below the earth stirred. It had been waiting for a long time.

Then the movements under the ground stopped, leaving silence behind, and then there was a heartbeat.

It was not the quick, fragile rhythm of mortal life; instead, it was slower, deeper, older.

This was the kind of pulse that moved continents over millions of years, and would shatter the planet if it were quickened. The power behind this heartbeat was one that needed to be slow, or nothing could contain it.

The earth shuddered in response, a growing scream resounding in its bowels, but a voice that could silence an Era whispered,

“Silence.”

And the earth went still.

What should be noted was that this was the Origin Land of Rowan, where every single grain of sand was heavier than a mountain. Even the battle between higher-dimensional immortals would hardly stir the ground, and now the entire planet was on the verge of destruction from the sound of a heartbeat.

A hand silently erupted from the ground.

Not clawing, not desperate—but rising. Smooth and deliberate, as if the hand were merely pushing aside a curtain.

The finger of the hand was extended, elegant, the skin pale as moonlight marble, yet beneath it thrummed veins of liquid gold. The nails were dark, not with dirt but with an ancient magic that was nameless.

As if reaching for the heavens, the hand flexed and the air rippled, warping like heat over a flame, space seemed to recoil at the touch of the hand, and then the earth heaved.

The ground split open in a slow, yawning gasp, as if the earth was exhaling after holding its breath for a millennium.

From the fissure a figure rose, not covered in dirt, not ragged or decayed, but perfect, untouched by time.

The figure was wearing robes that were not fabrics but something between shadow and smoke, shifting with the colors of a dying star—deep purple, burning gold, and the black of the void between worlds.

Their hair was not hair at all, but strands of living darkness, twisting like serpents, whispering secrets in a language lost to all life, for they came from Realities that had ceased to exist.

Their face was neither young nor old, neither male nor female. It was power given form—eyes like smoldering coals burned beneath a brow of cold, regal fury. Lips, slightly parted, exhaled a breath that smelled of ozone and old parchment.

And when they opened their mouth to speak—

The world bent.

There was a reason why she was called the strongest and the wisest of all Primordials. After all, she was the First Thirst.

The first Primordial.

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