The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1945

Chapter 1945: The Journey Through Limbo (Final)

As Rowan journeyed through Limbo, a part of him began to pray that it would end. He had thought he had exceeded the mortal failings of having any limits. Still, it seemed he had finally seen something that his infinite endurance could not bear.

They came across a vast stretch of space. Rowan saw that this place was quite special because not only was it incredibly expansive, but the structures he could see were among the most intricate he had ever come across, and if there was time, he would have loved to walk through its endless halls and see all the prosperity of the past, but even from a distance, he had seen enough.

The Archai called this vast and broken domain the Library of Ended Stories, because that was what it was... a library.

Sometimes in the past, a great power must have gone to the farthest corner of Existence that they could reach, and they gathered knowledge from all those places, bringing them into this massive library.

This place could once be regarded as infinite. Now every book has been torn in half at the exact moment of its climax. The loose pages orbit the wreckage like white blood cells trying to close a wound that will not stop opening. Some pages still have readers clinging to them, tiny figures that were made from crystallized ash after every life and vitality inside them was taken away.

They were frozen with one foot in the margin of the book of their choice, forever about to turn to a page that no longer exists. Their eyes follow Rowan. Their mouths move in perfect silence, "Remember us,"

Rowan acknowledged them; he would remember everything.

The Primordials, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor. The only reason all of these places were allowed to exist in the state that they were in was to feed their ego and to place the wickedness that they enjoyed at the fore.

He left the library behind, and after a while, he came across another place that shook his heart. A part of him knew that this place, among the countless scenes of endless devastation, was connected to him.

The Archais glanced at him, for even they could see that this must be one of the places that the Primordials had researched one of the "weaknesses" of Rowan, but this did not stop them from giving this place a name that did not stray far from their weird naming sense.

They called this place the Mountain of Mother Rises.

This realm was made from every mother who ever stood between her child and the end. The sight was shocking because it showed the deliberate design of the Primordials, who reached across Existence and plucked countless mothers to create this awful mountain.

Their bodies have been fused into a single peak, arms outstretched, faces turned toward the direction the Primordials came from. Their eyes were still open... Their mouths were still screaming. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

The scream has become geology, layer upon layer of fossilized sound that forms strata visible from nine dimensions away. At the summit, a single cradle made of petrified lullabies rocks in a wind that has not blown for longer than time.

Rowan’s wings falter for the first time, and he forces them to beat again. The Primordial did not know love, and so to understand it, they had done rigorous testing; they had to ensure that the mother of their target, him, did everything they wanted of her.

After passing through this place, Rowan’s heart grew weary, and he no longer wanted to see the misery as close up as possible. So he began to fly higher, where the devastation became almost abstract.

But he saw that this did not spare him from the madness; instead, it revealed another layer of it. The Primordials had structured Limbo in such a manner that the horror unfolded in layers. It did not matter how high you flew or if you decided to walk through any of the streets inside these Realities or check any of their homes, you would find their touch within.

At this height, he saw a cluster of Realities folded into origami cranes and then unfolded wrong, their dimensions inverted so that, inside, they are forever bleeding out.

Of course, Rowan knew that if his suspicion that every Origin in Existence was gathered inside the Primordial Record, then the Primordials seemed not to want concepts like mercy among their collection.

Rowan soon saw that his conjectures were correct. As he became closer to the Cradle of Enoch, he could see several crucified concepts: Charity, Patience, Kindness, Humility... These were the concepts he saw crucified, and he was sure that if he kept looking, he would see more.

These were the rejected concepts that the Primordials deemed to be useless. Rowan wanted to stop and free every one of these concepts; without them, Existence had become bleak, and he knew that, if not for their flickering lights, which still find a way to touch the hearts of all life in Existence, the end would have come much quicker than anyone would ever anticipate.

Rowan flies above it all. He does not stop, no matter how much it hurts him to leave behind all these concepts. He did not land to observe their stories, nor did he touch their fading light.

He simply bears witness from a distance that is both infinite and intimate, the way a scar remembers the blade without needing to bleed again.

The mission he had was more crucial as the Cradle waits ahead, and now he could see it. The Cradle resembled a single golden point no larger than a tear balanced on the edge of everything that was ever lost.

Rowan adjusts his course, and his wings beat once more. The devastation falls behind him like a cloak he will never be allowed to take off as the memory lingers in his heart.

He flew toward the only light left that had not yet learned how to be afraid. Or at least he hoped this was the case.