With every breath he took, the damaged Chamberd slowly healed, and the bleeding from Knowledge Well gradually eased as it began to remake itself anew, what he had been forging would have killed hundreds of gods and Archmages with the mental load, but Rowan could mend.
That portion of his gifts would never leave him. He could heal even from death, and soon if he succeeded and ascended a few more Circles, then death would become a footnote he would be leaving far behind, his troubles would now be different.
Yet even while he rested, the remnants of his consciousness did not stop exploring the possibilities he now had access to as a Nascent Primordial. His Empyrean Sight was slowly transforming and Rowan knew that sooner or later it would become Primordial Sight.
Like an immature limb, his broken consciousness waded through space, time, and matter. Every moment was a learning opportunity for him.
It was hard to describe with words. Rowan knew if he was a Dominator, then this level he was in would be a Pyre Lord, at this step, one would begin gathering knowledge of the mysteries of the elements that were suited for their bloodline.
A Tiberius Family Dominator would focus on the flesh, uncovering the mysteries of it, as they strive to strengthen their bodies and their understanding of how to make it perform exactly the way they wanted.
A Boreas family Dominator would delve deeper into the mysteries of ice, lightning, wind, and so on, if they gathered enough knowledge into their Pyre, the flames would converge and transform into a rudimentary form of Intent, at this level, they would become Earth gods, only a step from Divinity.
Rowan was different. His status as a Nascent Primordial with the Sheol bloodline meant he had a perfect understanding of the elements.
This was the gift that was awakened in him when he reached this level. If he wanted he could wield lightning and flames, but that did not mean he could control it. What it meant was that he could easily master any power that the universe he was inside contained, without any limits.
Yet as a Nascent Primordial, his true path lay in the power of Dimensions. This was a unique power that even the gods, demons, and archmages had no power over until they reached a certain level.
Rowan knew the direction of his growth was the sturdy of Dimensional powers, that was the only way to truly combat the top powers, and every other thing was fluff.
The next Dimension that occupied his thought was the fourth Dimension, which was Time.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain wrecking the entirety of his being as he concentrated on mastering Time.
A sense of deep awe had arisen in the hearts of everyone present here. Rowan was a force of nature. This was the least of the methods you could describe him with.
His every move was made with perfect confidence and sheer power that stunned everyone who came in contact with him. He was like a massive wave that swept everything along with him, and anyone here would gladly follow him till death.
This was clear when dozens of Scribes perished a short while back, none of the rest felt any faltering in their Spirits, and they acknowledged that they were all serving a great one.
However, what had been happening for the past few months, especially the last three weeks, shocked them to their core.
They could not feel the pain of the strain that Rowan was going through because part of the purpose of the Formation was to filter all that sensation away from their fragile mind or else they would run mad, but they could…understand a fraction of it.
The tenacity of Rowan was both scary and humbling. They saw his body crack and break to pieces a million times, and a million times he pushed himself forward, his eyesight was fixed on his goals, and suffering and pain could not hold him back.
In their hearts, they all exclaimed, "This was their god! This is who we worship! Who is like unto you?"
Eva and tens of thousands of Angels began ferrying massive numbers of materials from Vorpal Essence to Beryllium Crystals, they were stacked in mounds the size of small moons, and with the aid of tens of thousands of Angels, Eva in addition to Lost could only manipulate a dozen Arcane Runes and continue the forging process.
They were inefficient, using hours to accomplish what Rowan could have done in a fraction of a second, but their intervention meant the Forging process never truly stopped and gave Rowan the time he needed to rest and heal, what came next would be far more dangerous.
During his many simulations using Knowledge Well, Rowan's success rate was 75%, on the condition that he was able to survive what was coming next.
Rowan breathed in, and his gaze flashed at the growing storm cloud overhead.
"My boat could not go far, not one, this one can take me to the edges of eternity and back, oh why did I not find you before now?…"
A shadow with the body of a sleeping woman curled up inside its smoky form whispered. The position of the woman inside its body was almost like an infant in the womb of the mother.
The Third Prince was now devoid of any flesh and blood, and the only thing linking him to this material plane was the body of the Empyrean of Life Elura.
His body appeared to be made of smoke, the four eyes that resembled cubes on his chest flashed in a weird synchronicity that would have made an Archmage run mad if they stared at it for too long, and his face had two eye holes that were eerily white, against the darkness of his shadowy form, the Third Prince resembled an abstract painting.
When he spoke, the position where his mouth sounded lay was filled with countless needle-sharp teeth.
"It's times that makes me recall the past… I should not be doing that, but I find myself doing the things that I should not do… things that go against my nature… I have lived for too long, and it's beginning to show."
"I am falling to pieces, woman, and there is no way to stop it. I cannot hold back any longer. Hahaha, and to think I thought I should hold on for a couple more Eras, perhaps enough for him to break his chains… why does Fate always fucks me without mercy? I hate… I fucking hate everything Elura, even myself… I have failed…me, too many times. I hate… I hate… I hate…"
They sailed through the endless desert and the Third Prince deftly maneuvered the boat through the great sand storms. His concentration however was not on the storms, terrible as they were, they were not the greatest threat.
Those came from below.