The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1734

Chapter 1734: The Genesis Moss

Rowan’s main body opened his eyes and looked at the shimmering thread in his hand, which represented the Origin of Souls.

A lot had happened as he explored this Origin, but barely three weeks had gone by in real time and twelve thousand years inside his Origin Land.

In twelve thousand years, a lot had changed. With the passive regenerative capabilities of his Origin Land paired with the powers of his bloodlines, the chaos that arose from this battle was slowly being cleansed.

Rowan had to make sure everything was going well with the Origin Land before he plunged into the Origin of Imagination.

He opened his eyes to see a flourishing sight of endless forests with trees that reached for the heavens. Life had unexpectedly bloomed, his hair had become the nest of massive birds the size of mountains, whose numbers were in the billions!

Rowan was sitting in the center of a sea that reached his waist, and he could sense that countless lives had made his lower body their home.

Serathis had planted tiny seeds across the Chaos, and the blood of Rowan, an Apex Omniversal Titan, and Nyxara, who was the Primordial of Soul, was the best fertilizer.

These seeds were nothing special, and all the numerous batches she had brought in were consistently destroyed for thousands of years when Serathis introduced them into the earth, but with her power to influence probability and the aid of the the intense vitality of the Origin Land, a single shoot had erupted from the ground, and it grew into a tree and this tree became a forest.

It began as a fragile, six-petaled flower, the color of a forgotten sky, and it pushed its way through a hairline crack in the obsidian. It was not a plant as once known; it was something new, a child of the cataclysm

Serathis had called this first green the Genesis moss. Prime nearly threw a fit as he tried to explain to the excited Serathis that this first tree should not be called a moss, and Genesis Tree was a better name, but Serathis could not change her mind when it was already made up, leaving Prime to depart in a huff as he focused on healing the heavens.

As it grew taller, the Genesis Moss began to affect the land. Where it grew, the glassy stone softened into rich, dark soil, fertile beyond imagination.

Following the moss came the Sun-Vines, which climbed the shattered cliffs, their blooms not merely reflecting light, but generating their own soft, golden luminescence, pushing back the eternal twilight.

Prime had been the one to name these new plants, and he was proud of his naming sense.

The land itself began to remember what it was to be alive. Pools of collected rainwater, infused with cosmic residue, became Lakes of Potential. Their waters shimmered with a billion points of light like liquid galaxies. To drink from them was to be healed, to be altered.

Strange, graceful beasts emerged from the surrounding forests—stag-like creatures with antlers of woven light and coats that shifted like nebulae; birds whose feathers were made of solidified music, leaving harmonic trails in the air.

If Rowan had been here during their formation, he would have been stupefied by these stags’ sheer resemblance to Death, whom he had seen at the Bleak Gate.

Life sustains itself on the abundant ambient energy, the light, and the song of the world itself.

A deer of crystalline flesh might pause to let a motelike creature of pure spirit rest on its flank, both sharing a moment of perfect, silent understanding.

At the heart of this newborn paradise lay the Wound Sea—the vast, calm crater where the final blow had been struck. It was not a sea of water but of solidified peace. Its surface was flawless, mirror-like obsidian that reflected the new, brilliant stars above, but to walk on it was to feel a profound, soothing warmth.

At its center, two great trees had grown intertwined—one of burnished gold, leafed with silver, the other of deep obsidian, dotted with flowers like tiny white stars. They were the World-Sigh, a monument to the end of conflict and the beginning of something infinitely more precious.

These trees grew behind Rowan, and his body had unconsciously rested on them during the time inside the Origin of Soul. Rowan sighed in relief because he saw that the birds that had made his hair their home could easily migrate to the World-Sigh when he chose to move.

Rowan was astonished by all of these changes. This was no return to a former state. It was an evolution. The Origin Land, in its infinite resilience, had taken the scars of its near-destruction and woven them into the very fabric of a new paradise.

The silence was no longer the silence of death but the deep, contented silence of a world healing, growing, and dreaming better, more peaceful dreams than any that had come before. The battle between two Primordial entities was over. The age of paradise had just begun, Rowan hoped. This was the greatest gift he could give his children: peace.