The Primordial Record

Going back to Forging after nearly a million years was far more enjoyable than Rowan remembered, and there was the added challenge of his present state of being.

Rowan had transformed into one of the strangest Ascendants in existence, and for a while, he marveled at his new form and he did not know whether he should laugh or cry at his body.

Well for one, unlike other Ascendants his present form did not take the form of shadow and light as a normal Ascendant usually takes, it was the opposite, he became solid… too solid. Rowan's body took the form of a golden mountain that from afar resembled a spear.

His present size was dictated by the number of children he had below who had a piece of his Natal Treasure inside all of them, and Rowan situated himself at the center of the city, from where he could monitor everything around with a glance.

Without arms or eyes but with his powerful soul and spirit that was free to roam, Rowan was not delayed in his pursuit, and every single moment was spent in preparation.

He completed the building of this city two months back, and a week after he allowed all of the Blood Blessed to awake from their slumber.

The experience of falling asleep in a blighted land and awakening in what could be considered paradise was certainly entertaining, especially for Rowan. He had expected that the impact it would have on the Blood Blessed would be monumental, but he had still underestimated the fervor that would grip them all.

After suffering nearly a million years in hell, suddenly being brought to heaven would shake even the coldest of hearts.

After reaching a point in his life where miracles were as easy for Rowan to achieve by just thinking about it, the sheer awe in the hearts of his children as they awakened into paradise made his soul gladden. There was a purity in their happiness that had slowly been stripped away from the lives of so many in all of reality, both inside Doom Star and outside of it, and Rowan found out that he wanted to protect this purity.

The joys of billions of individuals washed over him and he partook of this happiness, and the flames of his soul thickened.

The worship that he had enjoyed as a creator for so long was wasted because he had no means to harness this dimension of energy without a soul, and now it was distinguishable.

The happiness he was experiencing from communing with his children was different from what he had previously experienced because at those moments he was simply connected to them, making their happiness his own, but this time, although he still had that connection, he now had a distinct feeling of happiness that was all his own.

The evolution of his soul continued, and in a short while the power of his soul exploded again, reaching a new realm, as the flames of his soul resembled a white flame before began to gain a shade of gold.

Rowan remembered the precise moment the first Blood Blessed had opened his eyes, it was a man of about eighty years old who had lived most of his life in the mines and had suffered catastrophic injury over the course of nearly sixty-eight years of endless labor.

He had buried three wives and seventeen children over the years and had been living life on autopilot, awaiting the day when the serpent calamities in the earth devoured him or the countless other atrocities that plagued the people of this cursed land.

When the changes began, he was one of the very few who was extremely skeptical, thinking that perhaps this might all be an elaborate ruse from the Ascendants to torture them with false hopes and then dash them. They had done worse before.

The feeling in his heart when he heard the voice of their creator was distinct, and even though in his heart he knew that everything he felt was true, the years of suffering had made him disbelieve any sort of warmth in his life, for he was among the few who had believed in hope, it was one of the reasons he could get married so many time and have children. He wanted more to this life than one of suffering and death.

Yet reality had scrambled his expectations, as one by one, all of his wives and children died.

Seeing his hopes and dreams dashed again and again could break anyone, and he was broken, although the voice in his heart gave him the first hint of warmth he had not felt for a long time, it was not enough to break his doubt, and he knew that to do that he needed the power to fight for hope.

Power was the currency of reality, and if his awakened bloodline could give him that power, then he would believe in this miracle.

He became one of the first miners to unlock the first form of the star in their heart to become a golden giant and when he fought Storm Hammer alongside his people he saw the sight of a god, brought down and humbled by the power of their bloodline, for the first time in a long time, the hope that had died in his heart bloomed.

The endless potential in his veins frightened and humbled him, and the warmth he felt in his heart whenever he lay his palm against his chest comforted him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

When everyone began to collapse into slumber at the sacrifice of Storm Hammer, he did not despair, instead, he had faith and hope that what came next would be better than anything that he could imagine.

He never knew that even in his grandest dream and wildest imagination, he still fell short of what he saw as he woke up.

It was a city and a land that was so beautiful that it staggered the mind, shining down on it and its people were seven golden suns that resonated with their bloodline, filling him with a constant influx of strength. The path forward became simple in his head as if he had known it all along, if he could conquer the seven pointed star in his heart, then one of the golden stars above would be his to claim.

He bent down to smell the ground and tasted its divine soil and he began to cry. He was not the only one. Soon the Elders began to form groups of millions apiece, to first give thanks to the Creator and then to begin the organization ahead to spread over the city and understand the task that would be given to them.

That was when he decided to give himself a name.

Among the Blood Bound, it was not a common thing to have names, for it was seen as an exercise in futility. Names signified a unique identity, a sort of continuation of the will of that individual, and all Blood Bounds had known that their destiny was death. To take a name was not frowned upon, but it was generally known that it would only lead to more pain in the end.

It was better to pass through and do what could be done for the next generation without leaving a sign of their failure behind, and so few took a name, except the stubborn and the hopeful.