The Primordial Record

Rowan scrutinized the tens of billions of his lost children, at this moment all of them were frozen in place, he was not manipulating time, he had only sped his perception to such a high level that a second of time could as well be an hour.

He was making a bold move, but dragging the entire Blood bound from this realm into a single location would draw immediate attention that he did need at this time, but when he was done with everything he wanted about their situation, their lives would have changed, but on the surface, only a single second would have gone by.

This would mean that for an instant all the Blood Bound would vanish and be returned a beat later, it would draw suspicion and scrutiny, but that was the best he was capable of doing for now. In another world, a group of people disappearing for a second would be a cause for alarm, but in this realm, this matter would fade in little to no time, there were too many pressing things to focus on.

Frozen alongside the Blood Bounds were the Blood Slaves, who numbered in the hundreds of thousands, all of them looked to be in their prime but the air of age hung around them like a cloak, the youngest here should be at least two thousand years old. It was always amazing how such a small group could influence the lives of so many given the right circumstances.

It was a harsh reminder of how trust could be twisted to the advantage of those with nefarious intentions.

Rowan's anger that was simmering below the surface began to bubble, this group of people had truly exploited the Blood Bounds for so long. Everyone hated traitors, especially the ones who came to you with a smiling face, but with daggers hidden under their tongue.

However, he knew of all this, what he was looking for was the source; the point where it all changed, where these lost children went from protecting their people to suppressing and exploiting them, and even coming to luxuriate in their cruelty.

With a gesture, all the Blood Slaves appeared before him, and Rowan's right hand began to contort, bending unnaturally, before exploding into thousands of long strings made of flesh as fine as a spider's thread that shot forward and pierced through the eyes of thousands of the Blood Slaves, and he touched their soul and began to read them.

If he wanted the real truth, this was the place to find it.

Rowan's eyes were closed as he focused on his task, and behind him space silently parted with no single indication and something massive came through. It silently regarded Rowan with cold, calculating eyes, and patiently waited.

Memories of the lives of the Blood Slaves flooded into Rowan's consciousness and his heart went cold when he saw the atrocities committed by these slaves. They had developed a sick method of gaining pleasure, acts so depraved that cannibalism and even the eating of children were among the least of their crimes.

These were acts that were closer to the sick pleasures of the gods of Trion, the only difference was that these Blood Slaves had not yet had the time to refine their sick desires to the height of those cruel gods.

He understood battle, understood the pleasure of seeing your skills, no matter how nasty, working for you in the way you intend, he understood standing over the body of your broken enemies and knowing that if you were less skilled or less powerful, it would be you on the ground.

Rowan understood matching wits and guile against scary opponents and matching and exceeding them. He understood standing against perfection that had been refined for endless years and coming out on top... he understood challenges because for him that was what made life worth living.

What he could not understand or accept was glorifying the torture of the helpless. It went far beyond his bottom line.

The Blood Slaves had gained an appetite for cruelty in their short and pathetic lives, and every one of them here had only reached this position because they had been the ones who enjoyed these acts the most, anyone of them who had become appalled at the way they treated their kind had been slaughtered in brutal fashion that made the rest not even think of considering doing the same.

Rowan broke past numerous memories of atrocities, looking for the root of the madness and he found it. Jerediah, the first Blood Slave, was born three hundred thousand years ago, this strange man went out into the wilds, into depths unknown and when he returned he became the first Blood Bound to become an Ascendant.

He returned to the Resistance a hero, but the fruits he brought with him were poison. He spoke of immortality and power, but such powers came with a price, one that would change the lives of everyone who ever touched it.

With this dream of immortality and escaping the bounds of their bloodline, Jerediah began to twist the cause of the Resistance, and he slowly took out the pillars that had held the Resistance to their ideals, corrupting the rest and giving them the moniker of slaves.

Jerediah had promised them that like him, they would all be Ascendants, but for so long, none of them could reach this position, and dissent had begun to brew inside the ranks of the Blood Slaves.

After years of living like ravenous beasts that fed on the despair of others, any trait of honor and nobility was gone from their minds and the only thing they pursued was power. Jerediah kept them in check with the promise of great power, but after so long he had not yet delivered on his promise, and the Resistance was on the edge of splintering into many small factions until Jerediah came to them and said he would be delivering them his long-held back

promise.

A treasure that contained all the power they needed to become Ascendants and more, but the price of unlocking that treasure might mean the death of every Blood bound in the continent. He did not need to ask twice, the lives of those above were meaningless in the pursuit of power, all the Blood Slaves agreed to follow their messiah to unlock the secrets of immortality and power, and that had led them to the bracelet of Rowan.

'Well, this is so familiar, for a long period in my life have I not been living like these Blood Slaves?... Well, not like them, but the end results turned out to be the same. Even though I don't go out of my way to enjoy them, I have committed numerous atrocities and I always seem to have a justification for them.'

'I say to myself, this is a reality where the strong eat the weak, but I can choose to live above my baser instincts. Fighting against the heavens is a goal worth pursuing but not if it is built on a foundation of corpses. At least this is what I would love to think, but is it ever that

simple?'

The memories of the Blood Slaves had given him the perspective he needed to balance the growing wave of compassion that having a soul was bringing him. He could be compassionate but he could not be weak.