The Primordial Record - Chapter 1762
Chapter 1762: New Arrivals
First Blade,” Elara whispered, her voice shaking as he pointed a trembling finger upwards. “Look.”
High above, in a tier of the arena that seemed carved from solidified virtue, was a host of beings of light. They were radiant, beautiful, and terrible, their forms singing a harmony that made the Elythrii’s hearts ache with longing. They shone with the warmth of nurturing suns, the gentle strength of growth, the perfect order of a sublime melody.
What caught the attention of the Elythrii was a faint connection these beings had with the Archai. They could sense a sort of relationship and could not understand its origin.
“The Celestial choir,” Fury said, following their gaze. His voice was uncharacteristically flat. “His fan club. I saw countless others like them in his court. What is funny is that today they do not celebrate his victory but his loss. So you see, when I tell you that creation is messed up.”
“He lies to you. The Angels of my father never lost faith in him; they were his strongest companions, and they all perished in his service, and not a single one of them faltered. Fury does not know everything.” Vraegar stated.
“They have a child’s understanding of a bar fight,” Ignis retorted, but without his usual heat. He looked away, towards an opposite section of the arena, a domain of swirling, negative energy and profound silence. They were the Lords of the Abyss, Demon Lords with unfathomable strength; most had not been seen in Reality before. “And that’s his cheering section. The Quietude. Not much for chanting. More for… ominous staring. They would only cheer when his head is cut off.”
The contrast was chilling. On one side, a radiant, harmonious host filled with light and song. On the other, a shifting, dark multitude characterized by absence, silence, and a patient, hungry stillness. The very air between these two factions crackled with antipathy, a silent war already raging in the stands.
Yet, they were both hoping for the death of a single person. Even in their division, they all craved the fall of this unknown Creator.
“And… which side are we on?” Elara asked, her voice small.
Fury and Vraegar looked at each other. For once, they didn’t argue.
“We,” Vraegar said, his voice final, “are on the side of the narrative. We are witnesses. We observe. We record. We do not cheer.” Then the dragon grinned, “At least not yet. Not until my father showed all of Reality what it means to define an epoch.”
“Speak for yourself,” Fury muttered. “I paid good star-wine for something profoundly shocking and hopefully very bloody to happen.” But he didn’t elaborate on what he meant by this statement.
They finally reached a relatively secluded ledge, a protruding tongue of black rock that jutted out over the seething chaos of the arena floor. It was empty, as if shunned by others. The view was horrifyingly perfect. They could see deep into the wound in reality, see the laws of physics break down and reform in endless, violent cycles.
“Home sweet home,” Fury announced, plopping down on the edge, his legs dangling over the infinite drop. “Best seats in the house. No screaming zealots, no dripping ooze monsters… well, fewer of them anyway.”
The Elythrii remained standing, huddled together, unable to relax. The tension was a physical thing, a coiling in the air, a drawing of breath from a billion throats. The countless conversations, arguments, and psychic broadcasts began to die down. The frantic energy of the crowd shifted to a unified, anticipatory silence.
Inside the Arena, the echo was gone. Replaced by a profound, absolute stillness.
It was the calm before the storm of all storms.
Lyra looked out at the two factions, the Celestial Hosts and the Abyssal Lords. She looked at the countless other races, some there for wisdom, some for power, some for the spectacle, some simply because the gravitational pull of the event was inescapable.
She thought of Fury’s words. “You’re fighting a war just by existing your way.”
Was that what this was? The ultimate expression of that war? Not a battle of good versus evil, but of creation versus entropy, of song versus silence, of the desire to nurture a garden versus the necessity of making space for new growth?
The fear was paralyzing. The excitement was undeniable. The tension was a wire stretched to its breaking point inside her soul.
They were here. They were insignificant. They were afraid.
And on the ledge overlooking the end of all things, surrounded by the mad, infinite, glorious zoo of existence, they waited for the mad gods of this realm to dance.
®
They remained in silence for a while before it was broken by the arrival of several unknown immortals.
The first to arrive was a lady who was seemingly made from silver. She announced herself to be Ghribba, the Silver Queen. Then, she went silent. She sat and briefly observed the Elythrii before looking away. Fury and Vraegar did not turn her away. Lyra thought it was strange, but she remained quiet.
Next was a pair of mages, a young man and a woman, and from their faces, it was easy to discern that they were siblings. Lyra felt a brief shadow of connection with the man, who introduced himself as the Seeker of Origin, but the woman was silent, her eyes dancing between Ghribba, Fury, and Vraegar.
Lyra could see the light of fear in the Magus’ eyes, but the hands of her brother held her steady, and his eyes kept drifting towards the Elythrii, a potent glow inside of them almost similar to lust. It was apparent who wanted to be here.
Not too long after this, a draconic god wandered into the gathering and found a place to sit in silence. This time, Vraegar turned his massive head to look at this god, his eyes crinkling in irritation and a bit of amusement before he looked away.
Then Lyra felt a chill on her spine as a heavy weight descended on this area. A man with long white hair and a beard walked up to them. His eyes were white as if he were blind, and his body was tall and heavily muscled, yet he walked with the grace of a dancer.
His empty eyes turned to the Elythrii, and he spoke loudly, “Strange, you have the verdant Aura of the Eldar, yet you are not one… fascinating. Is this all he has to offer, mortals?” he looked away and turned towards Fury and Vraegar,
“So, this is what his entire dominion has been reduced to. How pathetic.”