Whispers of Eternity: The Unseen Realms

Witness the grand design of existence and the intricate dance of souls. Uncover the cosmic chronicles and venture into the life that only death can bring.

Whispers of Eternity: The Unseen Realms
The Tree of Life surrounded by the Pillars of the World - Powered by MidJourney AI

As the Sub-Scribe descended the infinite staircase, a foul stench of death surrounded him. He knew he was not the first to enter these hallowed halls when he first set foot in the Temporal Library. He had never imagined that so many others had fallen prey to the void in their hunger for knowledge.

What was the Library trying to show him this time? What had happened here? Was there another relic waiting for him?

As he stepped deeper into the catacombs of time, the pungent odour consumed the very light around him, until all that was left to guide him was the cracking of bones beneath his feet.

He recognised some of the remains, they were human and Akaashiadi, his own people. Some seemed to be of the lizardlike creatures he had seen in his visions. Others were the skulls of gargantuan creatures, able to swallow an army of men in a single bound.

It didn't take long for the foul miasma to take hold of his mind and he began to collapse. Bones shattered beneath him, tearing through his flesh as he fell. As he looked down, he saw Death's cold gaze stare back.

Heart pounding, shivers running down his skin, he grabbed the skull and threw it into the darkness.

The Akaashiadian were a race of scholars. Their wars were waged against the ignorance of irreconcilable truths. Their battlefields were the artefacts of antiquity, the scribbles of seers, and the songs of sages. Such horrors he was not prepared to endure.

As the wounds took their toll, he gasped for breath, staring at the starry expanse above him. His heart began to slow and his sight grew dim.

As the stars drew nearer, their light began to shine down on the countless dead that stretched out farther than his eyes could see.

With his last breath, he begged for the one thing that gave him comfort: Enlightenment.

As his plea echoed off the bones of the dead, the light above him began to intensify, swirling and pulsing to the rhythm of his slowing heartbeat. He found himself drawn into the light, his body growing weightless, the pain of his wounds fading to insignificance.

A figure appeared from the starry mantle above, descending towards Luthoth. A spectral silhouette bathed in an intangible glow, its form at once ethereal and solid. In a deafening murmur that rattled the Sub-Scribe's mind, it announced its name as Irin. One of the silent watchers. With a mere gesture, Irin beckoned Luthoth to her side.

The two of them ascended through the planes of existence, traversing the unseen realms to a nexus of cosmic energy, pulsating with life. This was one of the many Pillars of the Earth, an invisible construct that held the fabric of the world together, invisible to the mortal eye. But Luthoth, under the guidance of Irin, saw it in all its glory.

The Pillar was a colossal structure of light and power, stretching up and down into infinity. Its surface was bathed in intricate patterns of light.

Around the pillar the air was buzzing with life. This was the source of the world's tempest, a vast atmospheric engine powered by the energy of the Pillar. The wind was an orchestrated symphony of forces, a delicate balance between creation and destruction, order and chaos.

Luthoth was shown the grand design of the universe, the underlying framework that held everything together as they moved from pillar to pillar. Inside, he saw the streams of energy intersect, forming a complex network of channels, a cosmic grid spanning dimensions.

In time, Irin led him to a place that resonated with a profound stillness. A realm of pristine perception and clarity of consciousness.

Before him stretched a magnificent expanse of shimmering energy, towering above and plunging below. Its form was that of a majestic tree. It was an infinite tapestry of light, spun from countless currents that swirled and twisted to weave a spectacle of breathtaking beauty.

This was the essence of life, the energy that pulsed through the universe, giving birth to stars, breathing life to planets and shaping the souls of all that lived.

This was the river of souls, a race of rebirth where the old gave way to the new. As he watched, he could see tiny motes of light, following the currents, rising, branching, and descending in an endless cycle.

Irin led Luthoth towards the Great Vortex. As they entered the flow of souls, Luthoth felt connected to every particle of the universe. It was an overwhelming communion with the very essence of existence.

At the heart of the Vortex he found a collection of energy formations, each unique, each pulsating to its own rhythm. The cosmic chronicles of every thought, action and event in the universe. Each one a unique signature of a soul's journey through existence.

As Luthoth read them, he saw civilisations rise and fall, stars born and die, the joys and sorrows of countless lives. He began to search for his own name, his own energy signature. Page after page he searched. His frustration grew with each passing moment. But his name was not there.

Just as the fear began to grip his soul, he felt Irin's hand on his shoulder. A soothing presence, a quiet reassurance. And then everything faded.

He was back in the Temporal Library. The endless staircase stretched before him. The familiar scent of ancient parchment and ink had replaced the chilling stench of death. The ghoulish remains of fallen scholars were no more, as if the gruesome tableau had been wiped from existence. It was as if the harrowing encounter and ethereal journey had been nothing more than a fleeting thought, a mere figment of the imagination.

With a deep sigh, Luthoth continued his descent. A testament to his lonely quest for enlightenment, each footstep echoed in the vast emptiness of the library. The brief moment of disorientation had passed. But it had left an indelible mark on his psyche, a seed of knowledge that would sprout in time.

So Luthoth sank deeper into his abyss, his mind wandering. The Sub-Scribe had yet to discover the true depths of his destiny, and his journey was far from over. Driven deeper into the labyrinth of time by his hunger for knowledge, Luthoth plunged into the depths of the Temporal Library, unaware of his unique place in the cosmic tapestry.