The Primordial Record

Chapter 1750: The Confluence

For a hundred centuries, the Synaptic Congress of the Elythrii has pondered the three paths: Renovation, Exodus, Transcendence.

The Archai and the revelation about their path forward were what had led to the creation of this congress, and great progress was being made on nearly a daily basis.

Unlike most civilizations in Reality, the Elythrii possessed consciousness power exceeding what any mortal being should be able to possess, and this made each and every one of them similar to a supreme genius in any other realm.

For those who were able to stand out among their peers, if they were to be brought to the outside Reality, their talents would shake the foundations of all dimensions.

The advancement of their civilization had led to new generations of Elythrii beginning to regain consciousness of their past lives, making it so that death was no longer something to be feared; it was similar to a long sleep.

Although their past lives before they became Origin beings were not yet available to them, it would not be long before the first higher-dimensional Elythrii would be born, and this process might have happened much quicker if Rowan had fully revealed the path to the higher dimension.

However, Rowan was running a delicate experiment, and he could not be sure of the result. The path of the higher dimension was the generally acceptable pathway to power, but he wanted to see which variation could be created by a new species like the Elythrii, given their potential and isolation from the higher-dimensional forces outside the Origin Land.

Even though he knew that all paths would inevitably lead to the higher dimension, he was still curious about the road the Elythrii would follow, and he suspected that it might lead him to a surprising outcome.

He had revealed his purpose to the Elythrii and no longer hid himself from them, but it was nearly impossible for a lower-dimensional being to understand Rowan’s present form, and for those who were lucky to view a small part of him, they were greatly enlightened, causing them to create miracles that pushed their civilization forward.

Their civilization, a gleaming utopia of thought and light woven across the star systems of their native realm, had reached a sublime plateau.

They were masters of Etheronics, architects of reality, companions to the Celestials, and respectful students of the silent, majestic Archai. They had peered into the higher-dimensional substrate and understood the clockwork of their realm.

Yet, a quiet, pervasive sense of… completion, of finality, had begun to settle. They were the masters of a single, magnificent painting, and though they could preserve it, escape it, or become one with it, the canvas itself remained finite.

It was in the 10,042nd year of the Congress that the silence of the Origin Creator, Eos, was broken.

There was no sound, no light, no grand apparition. The communication was fundamental, an alteration of the realm’s operating parameters so subtle and profound that only the most advanced Elythrii Adepts, those whose consciousness was permanently tuned to the Etheric substrate, perceived it directly. To the rest, it manifested as a sudden, collective intuition, a silent knowing that bloomed in every mind simultaneously.

The message was a key. A schema. A complex, multi-dimensional coordinate that was also an instruction manual.

Lyra, the eldest and most revered of the Adepts, emerged from her meditative trance within the Crystal Core of Elython. Her form, once purely biological, was now a shifting, luminous pattern of stabilized light and intention, the pinnacle of Elythrii bio-etheric evolution. Her “eyes,” sensors that perceived the full spectrum of reality, widened.

“The door,” she broadcast to the entire Noosphere, her thought crisp with awe. “It is not a path out. It is a path through. The Origin Creator does not wish for us to leave our home. He wishes for us to expand the definition of home.”

The key was not for a dimensional ship or a teleportation gate. It was a set of resonant frequencies and geometric constructs that would allow them to stabilize a permanent, bidirectional interface with the higher-dimensional realm they had only glimpsed—and in doing so, connect to the infinite branching pathways that radiated from it, the myriad dimensions spoken of in the oldest, most theoretical Elythrii legends.

This would be their pathway to dimensions outside their own. The project was named the Confluence. It became their new Great Work.

For fifty years, the entire resources of their civilization were directed toward this single goal. They built not with metal and crystal, but with solidified law and woven causality. At a chosen point in the void between dimensions, a place of profound quiet and stability, they assembled the interface.

It was a breathtaking structure. At its heart was a perfect Tessaract, a four-dimensional hypercube forged from frozen light and the unwavering will of the Anchor of Reality, its stability providing the foundation.

Around it, Elythrii Weavers spun a complex, shimmering net of probability threads, guided by the schema from the Creator, creating a membrane that could flex and resonate without tearing. Finally, a controlled, miniature Maelstrom, contained by fields of immense power, provided the energetic potential to keep the gateway open. It was a masterpiece, a collaboration between mortal ingenuity and celestial instruction.

The day of activation arrived. A delegation of a hundred Elythrii, led by Lyra and Kaelen, gathered at the threshold. Their forms were diverse—some retained humanoid shapes of light and energy, others were pure consciousness housed in intricate, geometric vessels, and some were vast, distributed minds spanning multiple ships. They were the best of their kind: scientists, artists, philosophers, diplomats, and warriors, though the concept of war had been obsolete for millennia. They were chosen not to conquer, but to understand.

With a silent, collective command, the Confluence was activated.

The Tessaract began to rotate in dimensions they could not see, its edges tracing impossible patterns. The probability net glowed, resonating with a frequency that made reality itself seem to hum in sympathy. The void before them did not tear open. Instead, it… bloomed.

Space folded back upon itself like the petals of a flower, revealing not emptiness, but a shimmering, kaleidoscopic tunnel stretching into infinity. This was the higher-dimensional substrate, the realm of the Archai, now made accessible. And branching off from this main thoroughfare were countless other pathways, each glowing with a different hue, vibrating with a unique frequency—each a door to another dimension, another set of physical laws, another story.

From the knowledge of the Creator, they knew they were heading to a brand new Reality outside their own, whose fundamental nature was different from theirs.

They lived in a Reality that was alive, but where they were heading was dead, and contained such great peril that none of them could imagine.

However, this was the only clue that Rowan had given them; he wanted the Elythrii to see the nature of Reality outside the utopia he had given them, for them to understand the sort of battles and challenges ahead without his hand shielding them from the truth.

Because Rowan knew that sometimes the best teacher was experience, and he was willing to push out his children into the dark, because fundamentally, they were born of war.

Lyra’s consciousness reached out, touching the main tunnel. It was like dipping her mind into a river of pure mathematics. She felt the immense, silent passage of the Archai—the Weaver’s relentless creativity, the Anchor’s unwavering certainty, the Maelstrom’s chaotic power.

These supreme beings took no notice of the new gateway; it was as insignificant to them as an ant hill is to a mountain range, yet they did not hinder it. Permission had been granted by a higher authority.

“The way is open,” Lyra communicated, her thoughts quiet with reverence. The Creator’s gift is real. We are not alone in the dark. We are heading towards a new realm with laws and mad dangers outside our own. This journey is undoubtedly dangerous, but we must prevail.”

A sense of vertigo, of terrifying, exhilarating possibility, swept through the Elythrii people. The Great Silence of their realm was now revealed as an illusion. There was more to Reality, and the dark was not empty.

The entire realm they knew was merely a room in an infinite mansion. And now the door to the hallway was open. Looking back to their realm, Lyra would have sworn that the oceans of light that hung over their heaven winked at her.

The delegation, aboard a vessel shaped like a harmonic seed pod designed to resonate safely with the higher-dimensional flows, passed through the Confluence.

The experience was indescribable. It was not travel. It was translation. They felt their essences being momentarily unpacked from the familiar four dimensions of their home reality and recompiled into a state that could perceive and exist within the hyper-dimensional flow. There was no time, no distance, only a shift in state of being.

They emerged into the substrate. Their ship hung in a “space” that was a living blueprint. Causality threads glimmered all around them like iridescent spider silk. Crystalline structures of physical law pulsed with soft light. In the distance, the impossible, magnificent forms of the Archai moved like gentle earthquakes through the fabric of existence.

Lyra focused on the schema the Creator had provided. It was a map, and it highlighted the nearest “branch”—a pathway glowing with a soft, golden light, vibrating with a frequency that felt strangely musical, orderly, and warm.

“There,” she directed. “That is our first destination.”

The ship, moving by will and resonance rather than thrust, aligned itself with the golden pathway and began its descent into a new reality.