Even the threat of his fading lifespan was easier to bear for at least he could see it, although he ended up misunderstanding the numbers, but at least he survived.
But if he were to grasp something he could not properly comprehend, he would have to make sacrifices and push his mind to perform tasks he had never done before, he had to evolve to become a player as a pawn.
So, he played the game.
Ever played a role so well, you became the thing you played as?
It was an important distinction to note that, while the memory of the prince was still blurry, he was sure there was a reason for that… His own, however, was not.
It could be argued that habits and characters are created from memories, and if you carefully scrutinize the life of the reincarnated Rowan, you would find that he had little reasons to fight for those around him.
At the moments before his transmigration, he had given up on life, the future was a bleak prospect, with nothing on his horizon but endless backbreaking work, and of him dying in a small corner, with his corpse probably left to rot for weeks, before the smell drive people to bury what was left.
He really had such a fatalistic mindset, where he saw no satisfaction in life, but Rowan accepted this part of him. He did not deny his warped worldview or hypocritically claim he was perfect when he was not.
Not only that, but he simply made a list—Called it, The List of Glass. Inside he kept all the sh*t that would break his spirit, he kept all his pains and suffering and just… continued with life.
He had been hurt terribly, physically and emotionally, he had been broken, betrayed, and he just kept it inside the list. Every day, he would arise at the break of dawn and continue with his existence until the sunset.
He did not complain or argue with the card life had dealt him, he had tried that before, and it did not work, complaints only brought him pain, so he just kept carrying on as best as he could, and as far as he knew, it was him against the world, either he breaks or the world does.
His memory returned to the moment he unlocked the Ouroboros Bloodline, the vision of an Empyrean tearing apart a planet, and although he did not admit it then, he suspected it was his world.
The Primordial Record could only create a Record for something intrinsically connected with the life of its host, or in his case, the death of its host.
So, in a manner of speaking, his previous world broke first before Rowan did.
This strange world would not break Rowan, and so, with the tiny snippets of information he gathered, he began building a mental folder of those times when he felt he was not in control of himself, and as his spirit increased it became easier for him to spot and understand those moments.
He played along, and slowly came to become the role he was playing, and he would have fallen off, if not for his weird soul which kept him in balance.
The first time the Third Prince held him, and he began to cry, he had felt the leash around his neck, when he awoke and Maeve told him about the world of Dominators, he had felt the leash tighten, when the infestation of the Abominations started, it tightened again….
When he was given the Axe…
The hopeful cries of the people…
Maeve’s care and devotion…
The valiant spirit shown by those who had lost so much…
The Sigils he came to discover did not affect just him, although he was the primary candidate, it also affected the people inside the Nexus in various degrees, it could create within a realistic sensation or emotion that it was difficult to tell the difference between what it fed to you and what was your true self.
It was as if everyone inside the Nexus was a puppet, with most not aware that they were dancing on a puppet string. But these were real people with real emotions and no matter how distorted their beliefs had been channeled to uphold the agenda of the wicked, it does not take away from their sacrifice.
Although he could not tell if their every action was done willingly, he would accept their care, he would be a hypocrite if he could enjoy the benefits of their goodwill, while spitting on their faces.
Even as a powerful Empyrean, it was an uphill battle to isolate his true feelings from the influence of the Sigil, talk less the mortals.
Reaching the blue stone, he nudged it with his leg, turning it over to reveal the rupture. The weight was lighter than he thought it would be.
The fumes it released made him gag, it was so strong that he knew it would be poison for any mortal or first Circle Dominator.
Rowan felt a constant tingling all over his body, and understood it was because he was rapidly healing from whatever toxic substance that this broken stone was giving out.
Something inside the stone was quivering and pulsing. There was life inside of it!
Rowan bent and seized the edges that were cracked open by the fall and pulled outward, barely holding back the intense sensation of nausea. This was not just a physical sensation, the smell was like a rot that could stain your soul, something utterly disgusting was inside this stone.
Looking closer, the stone looks more like an egg. And the yellow fluid draining out resembled the yolk. He applied more pressure and the crack slowly extended.
When the crack was wide enough, something slimy flowed out of the stone, covered by a yellow husk. The pulsing was coming from inside the husk. Rowan could not help but notice that the husk resembled a cocoon covered with pus.
A feeling of dread came over him, knowing that this feeling was coming from the Sigil, but it was still so intense he felt like he was the one feeling it.
Tired of this game, he shook his body and the sensation broke around him and flowed away. With the passing sensation came the faint feeling of intense hunger from the Primordial Record in his chest.
Rowan touched his chest, the Primordial Record was sensing something it needed inside this cocoon. The other end of the Sigil was buried inside it.
The pulsation from the cocoon increased as if it had sensed the desires from the Primordial Record, and a noxious stench of fear and malice radiated from the cocoon in unending streams.
In a moment, it filled the entire temple and the yellow crystal that brought light inside the temple began to dim and die out. The crystal cracked in pieces and fell.
The moment they cracked and fell apart, they released a blinding silver glow, which made Rowan recognize that these crystals were Ellium. A rare stone that grows in clouds, they drew their light from the stars, and they glowed with a bright light for centuries.
Poets and lovers used it as a symbol of love, for Ellium would glow forever unless they were plucked from the cloud, and yet their light would still abide for centuries. Until the moment they gave out their last light, it would never dim.
Rowan was fully aware of the tales and lies that could be woven from something like that. It checked all the boxes for sappy nonsense.
Yet, their lights were never supposed to dull, only quench. But the darkness and corruption of whatever was inside the cocoon had dimmed that light, and finally, it was killing it.
Watching the dust of the falling Ellium shards, Rowan clenched his fist. Darkness began to cover the entire temple.
The falling shards are almost like a premonition.
The last light went out, leaving Rowan and his Serpents behind with the dull throbbing of whatever was living inside the cocoon.
