The Primordial Record - Chapter 1688: I Am Here

Chapter 1688: I Am Here

Summoning the black book onto his palm, Rowan immediately sensed the difference in the Primordial Record, and it was not because the book had changed; it was because it was Rowan himself who was different.

Previously, he was a child, and so he viewed the world as a child, where everything was simple and written in shades of black and white, and now he was no longer a child, and his eyes had seen countless secrets and horrors, and now he could see all the hidden colors of Reality.

Looking at the Primordial Record, he saw its true form for the first time, and Rowan paused in contemplation for a while.

The black book expanded until it fit his entire palm, and Rowan could sense a faint sense of anticipation from it, as if it was calling him to open its pages and reveal the secrets within.

It appearance was still the same as a black book, but Rowan could sense a yawning void in-between its covers, and he knew that it was the covering of the Primordial Record that shielded all of existence from its mysteries.

The reason he could keep such a powerful entity inside his soul as a mortal being was all due to the black cover of this book, which was so effective that he never sensed the dreadfulness contained within the Primordial Record until this moment.

Rowan brought a finger and ran it down lightly on the cover of the Primordial Record. The surface of the book felt strange under his finger, neither leather nor stone; it just reminded Rowan of something of great age.

Yet with his connection with the Primordial Record, he knew that this cover was made from an unknown material; it was only that it was so old, its name had become lost.

As Rowan’s finger traced down the cover of the book, hidden symbols etched upon it began to reveal themselves. Like living things, the symbols shifted between languages that were dead and those that did not get exist, between impossible geometrics that would scorch the minds of Old Ones, and faint whispers that grabbed unto his fingers, trying to take a hold of it but breaking away before his defenses.

Rowan was not distracted by these changes; his mind was furiously deciphering this unknown language, as he stretched his dimensional senses and capabilities to the limit, and when the meaning slammed into Rowan’s skull, he flinched and his eyes widened in surprise as a single drop of blood emerged from his nostrils.

Comprehending this language had damaged him!

Rowan knew he was not invincible, but it was always surprising when he came across powers that could hurt him, especially those that he could not have expected.

This language must be the oldest and most powerful language he had come across, but its name was lost, and Rowan understood that without his connection to the Primordial Record, it would be almost impossible for him to be able to decipher this language.

Shaking his head from the surprising ache that had begun to build inside his skull, Rowan began to trace the shifting symbols with his finger like a child learning to read.

“You have always been part of the Record. You always will be.”

Rowan’s eyes darkened, and he coughed; black blood poured from his eyes and nose. When he had coughed, he had expelled a large amount of black blood from his throat.

This black blood signified intense death energy. A part of Rowan had been killed so quickly and effectively by understanding this language that even his innate resilience and regenerative factor could not stop this damage, and the part of his body that died had to be expelled.

A bright white light flashed from his body, and all the dead matter was eradicated as Rowan regarded the black book in his hands with fresh caution,

“This is a warning,” he whispered to himself.

Opening the Primordial Record came with a price, and perhaps if he had a teacher when he was born, he would have been advised not to open this particular singularity until he properly understood the price for utilizing its powers.

But Rowan had no teachers, and everything he had gained had to be fought for with great risk. He did not have the option to consider what could be dangerous because he had no teachers and everything around him was covered by a web of deception and danger.

Rowan had to make moves, knowing he might be making mistakes that could lead to dangers that might end him or his loved ones. However, he knew that indecision and waiting for the correct answers would lead to his perishing much quicker.

In this life, he could either walk through a path filled with blades or swim in an ocean of acid. There was no right choice for him to make, and his only option was to pick his poison and live with it, even if it ends up killing him; at least he had been the one to choose how he would die.

The warning from the Primordial Record was simple: when he opened the Record, his Fate and that of the book had become one, and they could never be separated. Accepting this Singularity had bound them so tightly together that it was impossible for anything in creation to loosen that bond.

Rowan did not think that this was a bad thing. It did not matter the sort of dangers that would come from binding with the Primordial Record; he was determined to face them in the future.

Without the power of the Primordial Record, even his bones would have turned to nothing far back in the past, and he would not be here, on the verge of battle with Primordials themselves.

There was no hesitation in his heart as he pried open the cover of the Primordial Record, knowing that he was about to witness its true form.

The air around him thickened, as if Reality had congealed in place, and a sense of wrongness filled the space around him. Rowan could detect the castle shuddering in distress until endless waves of power from the New Light surrounded and isolated the space around Rowan.

Sending a mental note of reassurance to the castle and a wave of thanks to the New Light, Rowan braced himself and opened up his senses.

The first page was revealed, and it yawned open like an abyss—and then there were no pages, no book, no him.

Space convulsed. Reality around him dissolved into a screaming void where colors burned without light, where shapes moved in ways that defied dimension. Without the covering of the New Light, a supermassive void would have erupted from this position that could have shattered a third of Reality.

As it was, the New Light was being strained to the limits as she tried to keep the void in check.

Rowan did not know any of this; he was gone. Now one with the abyss that he had opened.

The book was no longer an object but an entity, an aperture into the unrecorded dawn of existence, before time was given a name, before the laws of form and void were carved by whatever hands had first dared to impose order upon the infinite.

Words unfolded inside his skull—not in sequence, but all at once, a chorus of truths so vast they shattered his grasp of language. He saw the birth and death of Realities not as events, but as a single, eternal scream. He beheld the architects of creation, faceless and legion, weaving and unweaving the tapestry of all that is and is not. And worst of all, he remembered—remembered the moments before his own birth, before the birth of Limbo, when he had been part of the endless, churning chaos beyond meaning.

His body was gone now, or perhaps it had never been. There was only the Record, and the Record was him, was everything, was the unspoken truth that lurked beneath all lies of order and sense.

And then—

—silence.

The void vanished, and Rowan reappeared, screaming. A single line was burned into his soul,

“You have always been part of the Record. You always will be.”

It was a testament to Rowan’s unreasonable mental resilience that he was able to regain his mental state to a level where he could think for himself after a few hours.

What he had seen and witnessed were so grand and impossible, the thought of it was actively shattering his mind.

A faint laughter emerged from his throat, which soon turned to a scream.

In the distance, the New Light watched him, faint emotions erupting from the depths of her eyes that should hold nothing but the coldness of a Primordial.

It was unknown when she came towards Rowan, and kneeling behind him, took her hands and wrapped them around his body.

A faint vibration that was sharper than razors tore through every inch of her skin, making them bleed divine light, but she did not let go; the New Light held Rowan even as he screamed his pain and madness.

“I am here.” she said, “I am here.”