The Primordial Record - Chapter 1808: Be My Herald
Chapter 1808: Be My Herald
The Incarnation of Rowan looked at Eosah with discerning eyes. Even now, he could not see much, and although he could forcibly push his perception deeper into her essence, Rowan chose not to take this step because it might only lead to outcomes he was not yet prepared for.
“You know why I am here,” Rowan said, “You left the hints when you told me about your Singularity and reminded me I have come across it before.”
“Yes, I did, and I saw you figure out the answers even before you stole it from the mind of Nyxara. Although I am surprised you did not come to me much earlier, and you have never asked me one pressing question.”
Rowan squinted, “What question is that?”
Eosah gestured, and an image of the World Stele appeared before both of them, with the growing form of Thenos squatting upon it,
“You have seen Thenos and his Singularity, and you know what this Chimaera is capable of. Why have you never wondered why he is not like us?”
Rowan peered at the image of Thenos, and the eyes of Thenos blinked. This was not an image; Thenos had been in a still position without moving, and Eosah was showing him a current slice of Reality. Rowan idly wondered if her reach had grown to encompass all of space since the death of Primordial Chaos, but he did not allow his speculations to color his replies,
“Thenos is special; he is a Breaker, but before I met you, I had no idea Singularity was paired with Realities, and I had no idea I was a Reality at my core. Since that moment, I have been extremely… occupied. Certain thoughts have not had the time to be processed in my consciousness.”
Eosah nodded, her form flickering like a phantom, “Singularities are paired with Realities, true, but this is not always the case. At the beginning, it was considered impossible for a Singularity to pair with lesser life forms, but the Primordials happened… They killed so many of our kind that their Singularities, those that were not destroyed, began to roam across Limbo.”
Rowan frowned, “Wait, should that not be impossible? Singularities do not survive if their partner were to be destroyed.”
“Yes, but have you forgotten your case? You might be special, Rowan, but you are not unique. There are fringe cases where, with the destruction of Reality, a small fragment of them remains. This fragment is so small that it cannot make a Reality anymore, and so what results from the eventual resurrection of that fragment is a Breaker.”
Rowan slowly nodded, but he knew that Eosah was also wrong about him. His Singularity, the Primordial Record, was more special than any normal Singularity, because the Primordial Record had multiple owners in the past, and only with Rowan did it achieve complete fusion.
However, at this moment Rowan was struck by a terrifying thought, and only his present frame of mind gave him the capacity not to show his shock.
Eosah believed that his Singularity was paired with Rowan because he was a Reality, and she found him special because, although he was killed, he was able to resurrect to his previous self and even became stronger than he could have ever been.
But Rowan knew the truth: the Primordial Record was not born with him; in fact, it preceded all known history. Was it possible that he still had a separate Singularity inside of him that was not yet activated, or the Primordial Record pushed away or consumed this lesser Singularity inside of the growing Eos, and took his place, or perhaps something much more strange happened?
Rowan could never forget what happened to him during his fusion and ascendancy to his present state. The words of Enoch still rang out clearly, telling him the destiny of the one who fuses with the Primordial Record.
Still, it was not as if he was not aware that the Primordial Record was dangerous, but Rowan had chosen it despite whatever flaws it might have, known and unknown. There was no more time to change his path ahead, but this revelation nonetheless was concerning.
The Incarnation sighed, placing these thoughts aside, “Is there a possibility that these broken Realities can regain what they once lost?”
“Not possible,” Eosah said as she dismissed the vision of Thenos with a swipe of her hand, “what is left behind are just remnants of ghosts, their last obsession persevering beyond death, easy to destroy with the right tools. The Primordials should be keeping these Singularities alive only because their presence might be the source of a rare form of amusement for them; nonetheless, when they decide to consume a Reality, the Singularities found within are consumed as well.”
“Now that this mystery is out of the way,” Eosah gestured, bringing forth the present state of the heavens above, “you want to talk about the safety of Reality. I know you understand, even if my defenses are multiplied a million times over, I will only be able to delay them for a few seconds in real time.”
“You don’t need to hold them back forever. I will soon be cleansing Reality of the infestation that had plagued you for so long. I shall be killing those who have defied your glory for all these years. Preparations are already in place for their silent extermination, but something might go wrong, and their main bodies would be alerted. I need to make sure that I have the freedom to kill the Primordials within and the time to plan for the extermination of the ones without.”
“Well, if that is the case, then I can help you strengthen the walls, but the heavy lifting has to be carried by you. I am dead, and I have no Destiny or Fate to channel towards my Aegis, but with our connection, I can make it possible for you to strengthen them.”
“Thank you, Eosah,” Rowan bowed towards her, “I shall not forget the graces and favors you have given me.”
Eosah smiled; the radiance was enough to give life to a million dead dimensions. “Do what you will, and when it is time, I shall show you how to strengthen the walls.”
“How do you strengthen the wall?” Rowan inquired.
“My Singularity,” Eosah replied, her tone not unkind, but final. “The Aegis was not built; it was grown. It is a manifestation of consensus. Of life believing in its own reality, believing in me. The Primordials, by their nature, are the unbelievers. They see our laws as suggestions, our existence as a temporary whim. It makes them our perfect predator, but I wonder why their poison does not seem to work on you.”
“So what do we do? Encourage prayer?” Rowan’s voice was tight with frustration. He tried to ignore the last part of her statement that Eosah almost said in a whisper. “Hold a reality-wide pep rally for causality? Except for the very few, most do not know of your existence; how can they direct any belief towards you?”
A ghost of a smile touched Eosah’s lips. “In a manner of speaking. But not prayer. Story. The Aegis was woven from the first stories told around the first fires. ‘This is how the world is.’ ‘This is why the sun rises.’ It is narrative that gives reality its texture, its resistance.”
She gestured, and in the air between them, a miniature reality bloomed—a single planet, teeming with life. “We must seed the cracks with new narratives. Not grand, universal truths, for those are brittle. But small, stubborn, local truths. A story of a farmer’s loyalty to his land, so potent it makes the very soil reject the formless. A song of a love that defies reason, creating a pocket of such intense, personal reality that the Primordials cannot gain a foothold. From these, my wall can be rebuilt and made stronger.”
Rowan watched the tiny world, skepticism warring with hope. “You want to fight the architects of your destruction with… folklore?”
“I want to fight a conceptual invasion with a conceptual defense,” Eosah corrected. “The laws of physics are the skeleton of this reality. But story, myth, memory, destinies… that is its flesh and blood. The Primordials have no stories. They simply are. That is their strength, and their ultimate weakness. They cannot comprehend why a single, fleeting life would matter enough to alter the fabric of everything.”
She turned her full attention to him, and he felt the weight of continents in her gaze. “We need anchors, Rowan, not of energy, but of meaning. Find me the tale of the soldier who stood against the tide not for victory, but for the comrade at his side. Find me the memory of a mother’s lullaby that quieted the chaos of the storm outside. We will weave these into the Aegis. We will make the wall not just a barrier of ‘what is,’ but a declaration of ‘what is worth preserving.’”
Rowan was silent for a long moment, studying the cracks. The non-color leaking through seemed less like an invading force now, and more like a void waiting to be filled. He understood. You couldn’t fight the abyss with a louder shout. You had to light a candle. However, the methods did not seem dependable at a glance, but he understood that this was the magic of Realities; he, on the other hand, was taking a rather divergent path forward.
“It’s fragile,” he said finally.
“It is the most durable thing there is,” Eosah countered. “An idea. A truth that is true because it is felt. The Primordials can shatter a star, but can they shatter a legend?” She placed a hand, cool as moonlight, on his shoulder. “Go. Be my scribe. Be my herald. Find the stories that are so real, they make Reality itself stronger.”
