The Primordial Record

Rowan forgot everything around him and focused on the wings. There was nothing extremely fancy about these wings; it was quite the opposite, they looked extremely simple, almost primitive.

Any wings from his previous Angels or any Celestial were more perfectly designed, with every single feather and muscle made to achieve its purpose as perfectly as possible. These wings here felt like the first attempt by existence to create something that defied the norm, a power that gave a being the ability to touch the heavens.

Rowan found himself walking towards them, and only an intense force of will allowed him to stop his steps, and when he succeeded, he was sweating, his muscles were in pain, and his energy was spent.

Stopping his movements might seem simple on the surface, but Rowan had nearly failed, and he had to fight an intense battle with himself for the chance to not be drawn into the orbit of these wings.

He knew that the Aura from these wings and the silver blood that was still falling from its stumps had created every stone, shadow, and star in this place, if he allowed himself to be drawn to it without trying to hold himself back from it, then he would be like the Architects, their bodies becoming a part of it, and Rowan would not want this for himself, not when he suspects that these wings belonged to Enoch.

As his recovery ability began to heal his body and spirit, Rowan knew that he would have to touch these wings; he needed his answers. Truths came with their burdens, and he trusted his resilience enough to fight against whatever influence was within these wings to learn everything he could.

He stepped forward and stretched out his hand, and for a moment, he thought he saw another Rowan watching him and smiling. That Rowan sat on a throne of wood, surrounded by bones and blood.

He blinked his eyes, and a flash of realization went through his mind. The missing Incarnation that could no longer be contacted was he in a place filled with the power of End?

Rowan could see how thin his connection with his main body had become, and that meant he was far from existence, so far that even their unique connection that transcended space, time and dimensions was finding it hard to maintain that collection, but if the second Incarnation was deeper into End, so far that the connection was almost nonexistent, then it was possible that he should be able to began regaining that connection.

His eyes widened with realization when he saw that he could be the connection between this lost Incarnation and his main body. With this in mind, he began to reach towards the connection that should exist between all Incarnations, and he stopped when he recalled those yellow eyes peering from inside that cave.

Rowan knew the process that led to this present dilemma; he had invoked the power of his Final Form, which was the power of End that led him to devour the hunger of the Primordials, but at that moment, he was sure that he had linked with Enoch.

If Enoch was the one who controlled the power of End, and was in the dimension of End, then that meant that the missing Incarnation was also in that place. The fact that the Incarnation was not dead should not be only due to its powers, but because Enoch must have wanted something from that Incarnation so badly that he left him alive.

There was one thing that Rowan knew about Enoch, and that was he wanted to be free of whatever prison he was in, the same prison that the Incarnation had most likely found itself. Those yellow eyes that searched for him… should be Enoch's, and he should be careful of his decision to reach for his Incarnation.

If he could begin to sense that Incarnation, then that Rowan should also be sensing him, and if this was the case, Rowan believed that the other Incarnation should be the one to contact him because he must have more facts about their present situation and knew the dangers to avoid.

"A wise choice," a voice without a sound spoke to Rowan in his heart, "Your mind is too frail to hold the power of End without bursting, and he would have travelled through the hole you tore in it."

Rowan's eyes moved to face the wings. He had heard Enoch's voice, but it was different from any that he had heard before; it was not filled with the mad hunger or the whisper of corrupted realities, but just a boy. Young and curious.

"Who are you?" Rowan asked, while feeling that he had been asking this same question too much recently.

"Oh, you did not say what I am, well, I guess that is a plus for your character. I usually don't know how this would end, and in most of my experiments, your kind tend to be more… cold."

"You did not answer the question."

"Oh, forgive me, I get lost sometimes, it is hard to find anyone who can speak the language of the Luminious. I don't have a name, but I preferred to be called Lumen, and I am the last remnants of the Luminious."

Rowan blinked, and the wings, Lumen, chuckled, "It is strange telling you information that you should already know about, but that is the danger of stretching yourself across multiple dimensions, although you seem to be handling it better than anyone I have come across. Still, the effects are apparent, and you are lost, with your senses opened too wide to the dark; it is a wonder you are not yet insane. The mind can only take so much, even for someone like you."

The wings vibrated, "You want the truth, then the truth I can give you, but you must be willing to open your mind to madness. Are you willing?"

Rowan stepped forward, "This is my path."

"Ah, like you, he always wanted to fly higher," the wings whispered. "He thought if he left everything behind, he could reach something new. But without all that he was, he had no center, and so he could only fall. And falling… falling is just another kind of forever. Enoch does not see this truth. I hope you would be different."

Rowan stepped closer to the wings, and his hand hovered as a single feather, still golden at its root, detached and drifted down, and it landed on his palm.

It felt warm and alive, and Rowan closed his fingers around it.

"Lub Dubdub… Lub Dubdub…"

His heartbeat almost blasted his heart out of his chest, as he saw a man in front of him with long white hair nearly reaching his knees and two great white wings. The man was looking away, and in his right hand was a hammer, gathered from every concept in existence, because you could not break something in its entirety without understanding it first.

"He was a Luminious, called the White Child. His calling was a heart born to quest for change, and this hunger in him made him gather powers beyond what a Luminious should ever have, but this hunger did not bring temperance."