The Primordial Record - Chapter 1753: The Silent Grove
Chapter 1753: The Silent Grove
Rowan watched the Elythrii leave the safety of the castle. It would not be long before they were thrust into the chaos of a dying Reality, and there was a single year left before his battle with the Throne of Primordial Demon.
This duel might seem simple on the surface, but Rowan knew it would be his springboard to the rest of Reality. He tentatively began to reach out to the lesser incarnations he had left inside Reality, while he plunged a part of his consciousness into Limbo.
This portion of his consciousness took the shape of a Death Crow because no one was foolish enough to implicate a Crow of Death or try to stop it as it went about its duties.
Rowan did not know how to navigate Limbo, or rather, he tried not to know, due to the fact that Limbo was a higher-dimensional space, and if he placed his consciousness into understanding its nature, traces of him would be left behind.
These traces might be picked up by the unknown denizens that prowled Limbo, and Rowan did not want the Primordials to know he was now able to freely access Limbo and its secrets.
Although he already expected them to know he was already capable of traversing Limbo, but like a child with a boat in front of an endless ocean, Rowan should not see the direction to row towards in order to find safety or shelter.
Limbo was true infinity, the kind a ninth-dimensional being could not encompass in a single glance, making it the last actual test of immortality.
So, Rowan did not try to understand Limbo; he just followed the guidance left in his consciousness by the Beast of Final Rest, and in the blink of an eye, the Crow of Death had crossed vast distances that would make Reality appear as small as a room before arriving in a strange new location.
The crow fluttered its wings before transforming into Rowan’s human body, and he looked around him in contemplation.
The place was not on any map, for it existed in the liminal space between the act of creation and the inevitable reality of its end. It was known as the Silent Grove.
Rowan understood that this place had manifested due to his presence and the power of Death that surrounded the area. He was getting used to the fact that his presence alone was enough to create something out of nothing, and when fused with the power of Death, this liminal space was created.
Here, the trees were petrified silver, their leaves frozen in an eternal fall, glimmering like a galaxy of suspended dust motes. The ground was a mosaic of white ash and obsidian, and a still, shallow pool reflected not the sky, but a swirling nebula of unborn possibilities.
The air was thick, silent, and heavy with the scent of ozone and forgotten memories. It was the perfect border between the song of life and the hymn of silence.
As always, Rowan represented creation and all of its infinite possibilities when he was before Death, because he knew that the Beast of Final Rest needed to be placed in a position where it could see balance, else with the nature of Death, he would be consumed before even saying a word.
In essence, Rowan had to show that he was worthy to be on the same playing field as Death. Although with the proof he had brought to this eldrith being, it should be more than enough to place him among the tables of the greatest in all existence, but Rowan always hedged his bets.
A ripple passed through the Grove. The motes of dust ceased their drift. The reflected nebula in the pool stilled. The primordial hum that was constantly emerging from Rowan’s body, even with this mortal shell, seemed to dampen, not out of fear, but out of profound, instinctual recognition.
From between the silver trees, it came.
The Beast of Final Rest.
It did not walk so much as manifest, each step a seamless transition from shadow to substance. Its colossal form, a stag woven from the fabric of the void, was both terrifying and serene.
Its antlers were not mere bone, but the branching, leafless architecture of fate itself, scraping against the silent sky. Within the twin voids of its eyes swirled not malice, but an infinite, patient understanding.
The chill of its breath settled over the Grove, coating the silver bark in a delicate rime of finality. Upon its back, a single crow perched, its head cocked, observing the god of beginnings with an ancient, knowing gaze.
Rowan knew that with a single crow, this was an Incarnation of Death and not his complete form, but it was still greater than anything most higher-dimensional immortals would ever get to witness.
Death spoke, “When you told me of your plans, I thought it was the foolish ambitions of youth, but a blink has passed, and you have given me a meal like none other. Eos, I am pleased.”
Rowan made a half-bow, “For our mutual benefit, I have to ensure that everything goes according to plan, but I had not expected that Nyxara would be this greedy and seek your name even before I was ready to tell her.”
The beast grinned, teeth like tombstones gleaming in the moonlight, painting an eerie sight that would draw chills down the spine.
“My embrace is ever welcoming, Eos, and one day, I am sure you would love to be inside it.”
Rowan smiled, “Just as long as you see all the wonders of creation I can bring to your door, then I have no reason to refuse your bounty. But, this is not why I am here.”
“Yes, you came for assurance,” the Beast of Final Rest replied as it stamped a hoof on the ground, showing Rowan a pale ring of glowing light resembling the echoes of a dream,
“I have the karma of her passing, and all her screams are mine. There is no way her true self can know what has happened to her. I trust you are handling the fallout within Eosah.”
Rowan was quiet as he peered deeply at the ring of causality held by Death, and when he was satisfied, only then did he reply,
“There are no issues from my end. Soon, my hunt will begin. Just be sure you can handle the consequences of Primordial slaughter.”
Death grinned, “I have been waiting for all eternity for a feast like this.”
Rowan smiled before extinguishing this portion of his consciousness. Killing Primordials had consequences, and it was a good thing that he found something that ate those consequences as sustenance.
If the main body of Primordial Soul had detected that its Incarnation inside Eosah had been destroyed, there was nothing stopping Nyxara from tearing this dead Reality to pieces and fishing out Rowan before consuming him.
During his communication with Death at the Bleak Gate, this issue had come up. Rowan could not simply kill the Primordials inside of Reality without fearing the consequences, not only the loss of one of the pillars of Reality, but the fallout that would arise from the wrath of their central bodies.
Death, seeing his dilemma, had struck a deal with Rowan.
