The Primordial Record - Chapter 1833: A Decision To Make
Chapter 1833: A Decision To Make
Rowan’s Incarnation stood at the threshold beyond the fourth level of the Origin of Time and awaited Eosah. She did not take long to arrive.
Although he was now a frequent visitor, the presence of Eosah still drew his curiosity, because he state was highly unusual. A soft resonant hum surrounded her, which Rowan likened to the sound of a universe dreaming.
She was neither dead nor alive, and Rowan suspected that the power of this place that sustained her was changing her into something new. He did not know what Eosah was becoming or if she would still remain a friend in the future.
At the highest level of existence, there were few seats left, perhaps only a single throne ruled over everything, and Rowan understood that at the core of every immortal at their level, there was a thirst to sit upon that throne.
In many cases, it did not matter the reason; power was available, and it must be had.
Rowan’s arrival in this space created a tiny shift in its harmony, like a stone thrown into a still pond. Even as an Incarnation, his presence was unshakable, as his Will exerted dominion over everything around him.
When he appeared, Eosah seemed to be peering deep into the unknown layer of existence, and she did not regard him for a while, and then she suddenly turned towards him, and cocked her head to the side,
“How do you do it?” she asked, her tone filled with a wistfulness that spoke of great age.
Rowan blinked, “How do I do… what?”
Eosah gestured to his Incarnation, “Despite knowing the secrets that lie behind me being the greatest prize in all of existence, you do not bring your main body here to peer at the truth, even after gaining the strength to kill Primordials, you have made no effort to find out if you can push open the door behind me.”
Rowan’s Incarnation peered behind Eosah, to the place of mystery behind her. He would be lying if he said he was not attracted to the mysteries that promised the answer to everything, but as powerful as he had become, Rowan also learnt caution.
He had been successful so far, but it only took a single mistake, and everything he had worked and suffered for would be gone. The deaths of so many of his children haunted him, a potent sign that any wrong decision he made could lead to consequences he could not punch his way out of.
That door could lead to the greatest of mysteries and conflicts; until he was sure of his stand, Rowan would not take that risk. He just had too much to lose.
So, Rowan just smiled, “When I am ready, I will come for it, and not a moment before.”
The harmony that surrounded Eosah trembled, a note of sadness coloring her immensity, “Ah, I understand you have touched that sadness that chokes the mind and makes the hand tremble… oh, Eos, existence does not deserve your pain. Still, you have come to me for something else. I can feel your trouble, the flow of you; it is solid, but it feels jagged, like a river forced to flow over lava.”
A weary acknowledgement touched Rowan’s expression, “Your perception remains sharp, Eosah. That lava you sense is the path ahead of me, but my feet are tender,”
With a thought, he painted the air between them with light, weaving a vision of a magnificent, spiraling ladder, a structure of interlocking realities, each rung a law of existence. “To ascend, to become what I must be to protect all that I have become, I need to root my being in a foundation beyond challenge. I must anchor myself in the one place that is absolute.”
“Ah, now I see your dilemma. Only one place is timeless and fundamental enough,” Eosah replied, her voice low, as a ripple of disquiet passed through her form. “The silence before the First Word. The realm of the Final End. Limbo. To reach the ninth dimension, you would have to build your house at the edge of the cliff.”
“It is the only cliff strong enough to hold the weight of what I must become,” Rowan affirmed. “But I cannot.” He shifted the vision, and the base of the luminous ladder darkened, revealing a grim sight. The grey stillness of Limbo was now marred by a glistening, sickly web. The Primordials have poisoned the well. To root myself there would be to let their lies become part of my foundation. But this is a truth that you should already know.”
“You cannot build there. Your path as a Reality is strange and convoluted, but the truth still stands.” Eosah concluded, her light dimming with shared frustration. “A tree that drinks poison grows twisted. Its fruit is death.”
“And without that root, the ladder of my ascension has no purchase,” Rowan said, the vision fading. “I can see the Ninth Dimension, Eosah. I can feel its potential, a symphony of existence beyond my current reach. But I am trapped. I am powerful, but local. Finite. To stand against what is coming, I must become a constant, not just a passing storm.”
Eosah was silent for a long moment, her luminescence swirling in deep thought. “The foundation is poisoned. You cannot use it. So you must create a new one.”
“A new foundation in the oldest place there is?” Rowan’s tone was skeptical, edged with a hint of despair. “How?”
“You think of foundations as places,” Eosah countered, her voice gaining a new, resonant certainty. “Soil and stone. But what is more fundamental than a name?”
She did not wait for Rowan to reply; instead, she drew closer to him, her light forming the semblance of a vast, closed book bound in a material that was neither leather nor light, as her voice went low, almost a whisper. “You must go to the Cradle of Enoch. I can show you the path. There, you will find the Cosmic Record. It is the source of all histories. Every name, every soul, every reality has its truth inscribed there. It is the template of existence itself.”
“The Cosmic Record…” Rowan murmured, a flicker of ancient memory in his eyes. “I have heard whispers of it. I thought it was a myth.”
“It is the only truth,” Eosah insisted. “To inscribe your name there is to define your own essence for all eternity, beyond any rewriting, beyond any corruption. It is to state, for all of existence to bear witness, ’This is what I am.’ If you can write your true name there, you could then carve a space for yourself within Limbo, a pocket of reality defined solely by your ratified existence, free of the poison of Limbo. A place from which your ladder could securely rise.”
Eosah gestured and showed Rowan a vision of her birth; it was a still image, showing the moment before she opened her eyes and became who she was.
“Every Reality is born at the ninth dimension, and we cannot change that fundamental part of ourselves. Your case is special, being the first to reach your level without writing your name in the Cosmic Record. I had believed it meant you would be the first Reality to become truly free, but the curse of Limbo would not allow you to build your foundation without the help of the cradle. This is your only choice.”
