Varos moved through a dense forest, his figure dwarfed by the colossal trees. Their trunks were so wide that dozens of Ascendants could encircle them. He moved with a singular purpose, searching for an herb to alleviate the unnatural affliction caused by his progenitor's downfall. His progenitor had fallen in battle, erased from existence before Varos could even comprehend what it meant to be connected to him. With that death, something inside Varos was lost. No wisdom was passed down to him by his progenitor, no inherited knowledge—only scattered, incomplete memories that did not belong to him.
Since the day his progenitor fell, strange visions plagued him. At first, they were fleeting; he could occasionally hear the roar of an incomprehensible being. But after some time, the visions increased in intensity, creeping into his every moment of stillness.
Every time he closed his eyes, he was bombarded by fragments of a past he had never lived—cosmic battlefields drenched in destruction, flashes of incomprehensible power, and the final scream of a being far greater than himself. Sometimes, it felt as if he were reliving the last moments of his progenitor over and over again, each repetition chipping away more of his sanity. At other times, he glimpsed what seemed to be a future he could not comprehend.
After that, the situation got worse, affecting him more than just memories; his very essence had become unstable. Meditation was impossible because the moment he tried to focus, his mind would shatter under the weight of these visions. The training was even worse. His energy fluctuated unpredictably, surging and collapsing like a dying star. He could not control his power, feeling it increase without understanding why.
"If this situation keeps going, I fear I won't be able to carry on. I need to find a way out," he reminded himself with urgency and concern.
He had sought answers for years, but few could provide them. The other Ascendants pitied him at best and dismissed him at worst. But one, a seer skilled in divination, had given him a cryptic path forward:
"To the east of the Divine Realm lies a potential solution for your quest. You may find a herb that serves as a remedy, an answer to your distress, or possibly a new direction for your journey. However, it is essential to exercise caution, as the discoveries you make could either bring you stability or lead to significant upheaval, potentially altering the trajectory of your fate in ways you cannot foresee.
Now, he had been traveling east for hundreds of thousands of years, a journey that seemed never-ending. He ran until his legs failed, flew until his energy nearly drained to nothing, and walked until time lost meaning. The east remained ever distant, as though the Divine Realm itself resisted his approach, shifting the landscape, warping distances, and testing his resolve at every turn.
An ancient map was clutched tightly in his grip—his only guide through the endless expanse. The seer who had divined his fate had given it to him, but not freely. Varos had emptied his entire wealth to obtain it, relinquishing treasures that even the other Ascendants would envy. But the cost meant nothing compared to what the map represented to him.
The seer had gotten it from his progenitor, who had walked the Divine Realm long before Varos existed. This map once guided another through an impossible journey, marking the path toward something beyond anyone's reach. Whether it was indeed a cure or another layer of deception, Varos did not know and did not care. All he knew was that it was his only chance.
Despite having a guide, the journey was far from simple. He crossed mountains so vast that their peaks were not visible as they reached unimaginable heights; he moved through plains shrouded in storms that defied anything he had ever seen. Lightning fell not from clouds but from the fabric of space, striking down anything unworthy that dared trespass. He crossed regions inhabited by primordials where even hearing their sound for seconds could aggravate his condition.
He wandered through plains, where space twisted unpredictably—one step stretching him across light-years, the next trapping him in endless loops. Gravity fluctuated at random, tearing his body apart at times and crushing him under invisible force at others. His only salvation was his endurance, his stubborn refusal to break. And through it all, the visions only grew worse.
The farther he traveled, the stronger the visions of his progenitor's demise became. He felt the power that had once been wielded by his progenitor and the overwhelming might that had erased him from existence. Sometimes, it was as if he were reliving that death, his soul would feel like being torn apart, dragged into the past to experience what had come before him.
The illusions blurred reality making him even question if his steps his, or was he following in the footsteps of a ghost?
Time seemed to slip away, leaving him in a haze where he could no longer tell if a century had passed or if he was merely taking his first steps. Despite this uncertainty, he pressed on, feeling the challenges of the journey. The map still provided direction, a faint reassurance that the path ahead was laid out. Thanks to his innate abilities, he was able to slightly reduce the difficulty of his journey, though not by much.
...
Vyrinox and Zarrakis remained hidden within a secluded dimension, their gazes locked onto Varos as he pushed himself forward through the treacherous terrain of the Divine Realm. They could feel the turbulence within him, his inner conflict, the consequence of his uncertainties, the silent war raging inside his mind. It was rare for Zarrakis to agree with Vyrinox, yet as they observed Varos, he nodded in approval.
"This one has potential," Vyrinox mused, his voice carrying an unusual trace of admiration. "He is different from the others."
Zarrakis, for once, shared his sentiment. "Yes. Compared to the other Ascendants, he stands above them. Perhaps it is because he lacks a progenitor—he knows no one will come to his aid. That understanding has forged his resilience."
Their eyes flickered with satisfaction. They had tested dozens of Ascendants before choosing their tool—most were either too weak-willed or too deeply tied to their progenitors to be of use. Manipulating those connected to other Primordials carried too much risk, and the few independent ones had been disappointing. But Varos… Varos was something else.
For the past hundreds of thousands of years, they had observed him, tested his limits in secret. He had been battered by the elements, tormented by visions that were not his own, haunted by the remnants of a past he never lived. Yet, he endured. And endurance was what they were looking for.
Vyrinox briefly shifted his gaze at his descendant in the Immortal Realm. He was a schemer, a leader, a guide for the lesser beings beneath him. A strategist. Vyrinox could see his mind weaving intricate plans, laying the groundwork for something greater.
And yet…
When Vyrinox turned back to Varos, he saw something different. Perseverance. A relentless will that refused to yield, no matter how much suffering it endured.
Why? Why did this Ascendant, one who lacked a true progenitor, carry such resolve while his own bloodline schemed in comfort?Perhaps… he thought, narrowing his gaze, blood alone was never the key to strength.
Varos stood thousands of light-years away, gazing in awe at a spiraling staircase that ascended into the cosmos, seemingly stretching into infinity. Its summit was obscured, lost amidst the swirling shimmering clouds, as if it pierced the very fabric of the heavens. The spiraling stairs defied the laws of nature; space contorted around it like a living thing, while time ebbed and flowed in unpredictable rhythms, creating an illusion of moments stretching and compressing. The air around it crackled with a tangible energy, vibrating with a strange resonance that felt both ancient and otherworldly, as if the staircase held the threads of countless realities within its ascent.
He pulled out the map.
Bold black letters burned into the parchment: TABOO.
Varos clenched his fists. He had traveled for unknown years for this moment. He had suffered, bled, and endured torment beyond what most Ascendants could bear. Yet now, the warning stood before him, daring him to take another step.
He hesitated for a brief moment. The danger was tangible—he could see it, feel it in the very air he breathed. This was no ordinary trial. He thought for a moment,
"Should I turn back?" he thought
If he left now, he would be safe. He could find another way.
But what then?
Would he continue to wander aimlessly, forever plagued by the growing consciousness inside him? Would he allow himself to be devoured by the will of his fallen progenitor?
"No… I must obtain the herb, no matter the cost." His fingers curled around the map, crushing the parchment slightly.
If he walked away now, it would mean that everything; his journey, his struggles, his suffering, was for nothing. He would be admitting defeat. And to make the matter worse the visions were intensifying.
The presence within him that he discovered during his journey was no longer a distant concept; it was awakening. He could feel its will pressing against his own, a force far greater than himself threatening to emerge. If he did not act soon, he would cease to be Varos.
Replaced.
Swallowed whole by remnant of a being long dead. Vyrinox smirked as he watched the turmoil in Varos' eyes. Good. Let the struggle shape you.