The Primordial Record novel Chapter 1814

Chapter 1814: To Hold All Of Reality In Your Mind

The gate of the Palace of Time opened in silence, and Vyraak stepped through. He took a couple of steps forward, and although he heard no sound or did not feel any breeze blowing, he knew the gate behind him had firmly closed shut.

At first, there was darkness all around him. Vyraak gasped as the Red Moonlight Blade exploded in radiance, and the Dragon God collapsed to his knees as information that should tear his soul to nothing streamed past him.

His consciousness was suppressed to a needlepoint, and he was dimly aware that if not for the blade in his hand filtering away nearly all the information he was receiving, then he should be dead.

Vyraak did not know how long he was on his knees, in this place; time did not seem to have any meaning, and a part of him silently died when a realization bloomed inside his consciousness that he had remained on his knees for many trillions of years; however, time remained frozen.

Warmth poured from the blade in his hand, and Vyraak could feel his connection with the blade growing deeper; it was as if a part of the weapon that had not been allowed to him before had opened up to him, giving him new eyes.

He gasped as he realized that he was kneeling on the solidified echoes of yesterday. This understanding was alien to his consciousness, yet still familiar when he looked at his surroundings through the blade, using it as his eyes.

Vast, crystalline pillars rose around him, and within their depths swirled the ghostly images of empires rising and falling, of stars being born and exhaling their last light in the space of a single heartbeat.

The air thrummed with a silent symphony, the collective whisper of every moment that had ever been, each note a life, a decision, a turning point in the gigantic web that defied all explanation.

Vyraak felt a pull from the blade as if there was something in the depths of the palace that called for it. The Dragon God knew at this moment that he could let the blade go and his task was completed, but there was no way he was going to be leaving his partner behind and allowing it to face whatever challenges were ahead.

"You have taken me through death before; surely you can take me through madness."

Pushing himself to stand, Vyraak began to walk through a palace where no Old One should.

He moved through galleries of frozen instants. Here, a single tear hung in the air like a perfect sphere containing the grief of a universe. There, a laugh from a forgotten god echoed in a loop, its joy now rendered meaningless by repetition.

Vyraak witnessed libraries whose shelves were filled not with books, instead the very experiences of beings, bound in leather that seemed made of living memory. To touch one would be to live a lifetime in a second.

There were whispers emerging from this library, and he knew that these whispers were the voices of ages, compressed from the beginning of this Reality to its end.

The sheer, crushing weight of all this history, all this accumulated existence, pressed upon his soul. His own ten thousand years felt like a single grain of sand on a shore that stretched into infinity.

He knew that if he were to remain in this library and learn, the extent of his growth would reach heights he could not imagine, but there was still more for him to discover.

This was not a place of power as he understood it. Vyraak could understand the brute force of a storm or the consuming heat of a star.

What this was is the power of context; it was the profound, terrifying knowledge that every act, no matter how grand or trivial, was merely a stitch in a fabric whose pattern was too vast to comprehend.

The arrogance of his godhood, already battered by the Arena, crumbled to dust within these halls as he understood that he was not a player on the stage; he was a flicker of shadow upon its boards.

A great archway, framed by the intertwined serpents of causality and chance, loomed ahead. Passing through it, the ambient whisper of the ages faded, replaced by a profound, focused silence. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

The chamber beyond was domed, with a ceiling that was a perfect, swirling model of many dimensions, its countless stars slowly turning overhead like fireflies. And in the center of this chamber stood a table.

It was not large so much as it was all-encompassing. Its surface was made from a material of deep, polished obsidian that seemed to drink the light, and etched on the table was a map?

Vyraak was not sure because to call this etching a map was to call the ocean a puddle.

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