The Primordial Record

Chapter 1872: Father And Son (1)

EOSAH’S REALITY.

Vraegar watched the sun rise for the seven hundred and twenty-fifth time in a single day, and with every sun that rose, he groaned in pleasure as he soaked under the rays they emitted.

He was transported to a strange dimension by the being who called itself an Archai and claimed to be an Anchor of Reality. When Vraegar had asked what Reality he anchored, the Archai had only smiled and said, “All of them.”

Vraegar was in awe of this being, and for a while, he could not even peer into the face of this being. It was not just the mental pressure of standing before a being whose existence defied all comprehension; it was also the fact that he knew that if he did not take a step that was impossible for the vast majority of lifeforms in all of existence, he would never reach the level of power of this being.

But all of that was going to change… soon.

Vraegar had been brought to this dimension a while ago and placed on the only planet that was within that dimension. It was difficult for him to tell time here when there was no night, only a single endless day that slowly grew brighter as more suns rose up into the skies.

By all rights, this planet should have long evaporated to ash under the heat of these many suns, but the presence of Vraegar had instead turned the entire planet into a world of ice.

All the light from the suns was drawn by the dragon, and if he wanted to eat the suns, they would have fallen, but Vraegar’s purpose was not to eat these suns; it was to wait and prepare.

Prepare to take the next step to become a Primordial.

Vraegar did not know how he should feel about this responsibility. When he was a young dragon, the prospect of becoming a Primordial would have probably sent him into a frenzy, and he would most likely have gone insane as he came to terms with all the power such a state of being would grant him, but he had changed.

Time was not supposed to change a dragon, and Vraegar, if he was anything, was a proper dragon. His lust for power was unmatched, and if not for the presence of his father, whose might had eclipsed every star that had been born, then Vraegar’s hunger would be known to all of Reality… no, time had not changed Vraegar, only loss.

Reality was filled with danger; his father had many powerful enemies, but for a long time, Vraegar could follow his heart as a dragon, even if he knew that it would inevitably lead to his death one day. There was no true ancient dragon; they all died more quickly than most immortals due to their appetite for destruction.

This was the reason he was the first of Rowan’s children to leave his dimension and enter the Great Darkness in order to fight and gain power. He did all of this because he knew that if he were to fall one day, there would be someone to take care of his father when he needed it, and that person was his brother, Andar.

It was difficult for a dragon to accept anyone else as their equal or claim a familiar relation with any individual who was not a dragon, but Andar had proven to Vraegar more times than he could count that he was a force of nature that could never be replaced. For a million years, they had grown together, fought, laughed, cried together, and Vraegar felt the flame of his heart cool when he heard about the death of his brother.

The Archai, floating a few thousand miles in the distance, suddenly turned towards Vraegar and bowed, and it was the only warning he had before Rowan appeared beside him, holding a sealed jar.

“My son, can I join you in your contemplation?” Rowan smiled, “Your mind seemed preoccupied.” he raised his hand, “I have got wine, and I have it on good review that it is a brew fit for a Primordial.”

Even though Vraegar had reduced his size, he was still as massive as a mountain, and Rowan still maintained his humanoid form. The flustered dragon rapidly shrank further until he was about the size of a small house, and he nodded to his father while sweeping the frozen ground with his wings as if to brush off any imaginary dust,

“Of course, Father, it is my honor that you are here with me, taking wine with you would be my…”

Rowan waved his hand in irritation, “Enough of that sort of vaunted speaking, Vraegar. There is nothing here but a father and son who are about to get drunk; your formality would spoil the mood.”

Vraegar grinned like a dragon, the fire in his heart roaring to life. He shrank further and manipulated his bones until he could stand and sit upright like a man. He created two small stools that were a little too close to each other, and he sat on one, looking over at Rowan, his eyes shining like a child’s.

Rowan seemed a little thrown back, and he laughed aloud and took his place on the second stool. Breaking the cover of the sealed jar, a pleasant yet incredibly complex scent emerged from it that made Vraegar almost swallow his tongue as stars ignited inside his eyes,

“What the fuck is that?” Vraegar whispered in awe.

“This?” Rowan laughed, “Is the magnum opus of Circe.”

“Damn, the blue-haired witch really did it,” his voice still emerging as a whisper, Vraegar could not help but bring his face closer to the mouth of the jar, while swallowing his drool. Just the scent from the wine took Vraegar’s consciousness to an unknown dimension, almost making him dizzy, “I feel I would transform into a goddamned primordial from just its scent.”

The dragon nearly dragged the jar from Rowan’s hand before his mind settled, and he looked at his father while swallowing, waiting for Rowan to take the first sip before he could, and his eyes widened like an owl when Rowan pushed the jar into his hand.

“But father, traditions…”

“Fuck tradition,” Rowan grinned, “My son drinks before me because he has earned it, and here we are equal, you and me, now take a swig before I drag it from your fingers.”

Vraegar laughed and bent his head backward and poured what he thought was a river of stars down his throat. His eyes, which were wide open, suddenly opened further and turned red when the first drop of this wine touched his tongue.

Passing the wine to his father, Vraegar was lost as a fat drop of tears rolled down his face; an explosion of aroma erupted from his body. The few sips he had taken had made the dragon drunk, but that was the least of the transformation happening inside his body.

The first drop that touched his tongue took Vraegar to the peak of reality, and he felt as if he was being crowned its king, his heartbeat became a war drum that should have been heard across dimensions, every pulse of his was a decree of his invincibility, and if not for the presence of the Archai holding everything down, this dimension would have shattered.

Even his shadow began to dance.