The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1764

Chapter 1764: A New Primordial

He was not a sight or a sound. He was a knowing, a fundamental truth asserting itself into the fabric of the arena. The scent of loam, of blooming flowers after a rain, of the iron tang of blood, and the sweet perfume of nectar flooded every sense, real and psychic.

The fractal dust of the beach beneath his impossible bulk sprouted. Tiny, impossible forests grew and died in the space of a heartbeat on every grain of galactic sand. The air itself grew thick, heavy with the promise and threat of generation.

A form coalesced in the center of the arena, above the wound. It was not a body but a concept given temporary shape—a vast, swirling nexus of root, vine, muscle, petal, and claw—an alien fusion of tree and flesh. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

He was the first cell dividing, the predator stalking, the great tree falling to make room for saplings, the endless, desperate, glorious struggle to be. He was life, in all its beautiful, savage, unstoppable urgency.

Primordial Life had taken its seat.

To the lower life forms, he could barely view his majesty; he resembled a colossal tree that had no beginning or end, greater than the Arena, yet still able to float above it... his form drove the unwise to madness who sought to look upon the face of a Primordial.

The collective breath of the audience was a hurricane sigh. Beings of flesh and chlorophyll shuddered in recognition. Those of stone and fire felt a distant, alien echo of their own animated state.

The Celestial Hosts swelled with light, their harmonies gaining a new, fierce vibrancy. The Quietude of the Demon Lords seemed to absorb the energy, the life-force, making the silence around them even deeper and more profound by contrast, as in their own way, they fought the influence of a living Primordial floating above their heads.

Lyra felt a sob catch in her throat. To infiltrate this Arena, they had taken the form of an Eldar; however, even though this form had no roots, she was still affected by the Aura of Primordial Life.

A distant part of herself was shaken in horror as she felt that this Primordial was the essence of her people, and she was of the Eldar. This was the force they served. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and magnificent.

In this moment, when common sense seemed to be fleeing her body and soul, she understood why Vraegar had been evasive. To understand the power of the Primordial and call themselves his children was not an easy feat. It was to claim that this raw, amoral, magnificent force, as a "creator," was like a single leaf claiming a hurricane as its parent.

They were not worthy, and this knowledge of her failings made her ashamed. Inside her heart, Lyra began to hurriedly dismantle the cloak of the Eldar she and the Elythrii were wearing.... In the presence of Primordial Life, this was like seeking death, and if she still had on the form of an Eldar, it would not take long before she begins worshipping Primordial Life as their creator.

Before the impact of Life’s arrival could fade, the second Primordial manifested.

The swirling, chaotic potential of the arena’s wound... stilled. Not into silence, but into clarity. The shifting geometries froze into perfect, crystalline lattices. The light stopped its wild dance and became a steady, illuminating beam. It was as if the entire cosmos took a sharp, sudden breath and remembered itself.

Vraegar shivered. His massive draconic eyes were filled with fear and yearning. He could sense the presence arriving; after all, he had lived inside his body for a while as one of his Specters.

A cool, blue light emanated from a new point in the arena, and with it came a sensation of profound order. It was the feeling of a forgotten name suddenly recalled, of a history lesson that made sense of the present, of the absolute certainty of a mathematical proof. It was the archive, the record, the unerring chronicle of all that was.

Its form was a constantly shifting, infinite lattice of interconnected threads—some were timelines, some were stories, some were genetic codes, some were the chains of cause and effect.

It was a living library where every book was written in the language of existence itself. It was memory, not as a passive record, but as an active, defining force. The past was not gone; it was here, it was now, and it dictated the shape of what was to come.

Primordial Memory had arrived, and for a while, the heavens above turned to the color of gold, signifying the hidden and endless greed of this Primordial for treasure.

Vraegar let out a shuddering breath, a plume of frost that seemed insignificant next to this display. "The Keeper of the Ledger, the Holder of Treasure, Primordial Memory," he whispered, and there was a tone in his voice Lyra had never heard before: yearning. This was one of his patrons, the source of his drive to preserve, record, and consume.

Memory valued the past above all. The end of all things would be the erasure of its entire purpose, yet the nature of the Primordial was perverted by the endless hunger of his main body, who did not see value in the title it held, and only saw Memory as a means to an end.

If Rowan were here, he would realize why Primordial Memory appears to be the weakest Primordial here. It was because he was fighting his nature; the duality of his existence was weakening him on a level that only a ninth-dimensional being would understand.

Fury shifted uncomfortably as he looked away from the shifting form of Primordial Memory. He had barely glanced at him, yet his head nearly exploded. "Ugh. Always gives me a headache. All that looking backward. How can you create anything new if you’re always worried about how it fits with the old? Still, I can feel his hunger; it is fucking unnatural."

By the side, the white haired man chuckled, "You have no idea."

Fuey had no time to understand what this stranger meant when the third arrival was announced not by a scent or a light, but by a scream.

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