With all this knowledge regarding Chaos and Entropy and malformations, it all pointed to signs of Chaos truly being the most powerful.
But...there seemed to be more information he needed to obtain to better grasp this as he moved his thoughts elsewhere.
As THE Weaver of Existenc, he had many names, but he truly was a farmer at heart.
The task Absolutes had of purifying Existence and increasing its continued stability while they benefited from it was an act of cultivation and harvesting he would no doubt enjoy. It was not so different from tending fields or nurturing crops. You removed the weeds. You fed the soil. You reaped the rewards.
The scale was simply different.
Where a farmer might tend to acres, he would tend to portions of Observable Existence itself.
But as he received waves and waves of information, one singular ideology became abundantly clear.
Absolutes were a critical and glorious source of Weavings that Observable Existence very much loved. Otherwise, why would it mourn for the collapse of an Absolute? Why would the fabric of reality itself tremble when one of them ceased to be?
It was because Absolutes gave back.
Their very existence was a net positive for all of Observable Existence.
And now Noah understood why THE Secretive Eon had spoken of replacement rather than mere collapse. Why she had emphasized that when she killed an Absolute, nothing was lost.
Because if you killed an Absolute without replacing them, you robbed Observable Existence of one of its caretakers.
You created a wound that would never heal.
But at this point...
Noah sat upon the Throne of THE Weavers.
No.
The Throne of THE Weaver of Existence.
It was his now.
The three seats fused into one supported his weight with the recognition of legitimate inheritance. The golden threads that extended from it in all directions had turned blue-gold where they connected to his existence. The illusory figures of THE Weavers behind him continued their hymns, but the songs had shifted from mourning to something that sounded almost like welcome.
He tapped his finger on the armrest thoughtfully.
His body was surrounded by countless golden strings that pulsed with the rhythm of fate itself. Through them, he could see the endless waves of Corrupted Growths surrounding the many lines of Principles related to Fate. Green and obsidian parasites clustering around pure concepts, feeding on them, slowly transforming order into chaos.
He could express his Formless Depth upon them and purify them.
It would be simple enough.
But...
"I have claimed The First Tongue."
HUUM!
His voice boomed like a grand king making a command rather than a request.
The Palace trembled in response. The golden threads vibrated with recognition of his authority. The hymns behind him swelled with anticipation.
"I wish to observe and purify Malformed Authorities, Corrupted Growths... that permeate all across The First Tongue."
BOOM!
Blue-gold light erupted from him!

|But THE Weavers did not lay a Claim over The First Tongue, as they were limited to their domain of Fate, and you are not so limited.|
|Due to your current Depth and Immensity, paired with the access you gained by collapsing an Absolute, an unknown percentage of THE First Tongue and how it interacts with Observable Existence is free for observation and manipulation at the most basic degree.|
BOOM!
In THE Agora of Primordial Judgment, The First Tongue permeated through every factionโs territory like an invisible ocean that all beings swam through without knowing. The Glossarians naturally had denser concentrations, but even the Paradoxians and Chaosites and Existentialists utilized language. Even they spoke. Even they wrote. Even they thought in words that were derivatives of The First Tongue.

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