312 The Garden of The Abyss
Regaining his breath, he lifted his friend onto his back once more before venturing inside the unknown domain.
What was strange was the fact that luscious flowers sprouted around the entrance to the ominous cavern, leading into it with walls of stone that had overgrowth seeping through cracks along with roses, spider lilies, and blue-petaled flowers flourishing.
Immediately, he found the cold being swept away as he walked into the blooming corridor.
It was a serene setting, yet ominous at the same time, hardly making any sense in its existence.
Each step he took echoed; the only sounds beyond his own breaths and the man he held were the resonance of his boots against the paved stone.
What is this place? He thought.
The mossy walls were inscribed with a language that stood foreign likely not by mere continents, but worlds, realms, and even eons of time.
At the end of the strange corridor, he found a door that was designed with the image of a grandiose tree, extending many branches outward. As he pressed his palm against it, feeling the cold steel of the archaic entrance, he drew in a breath of courage before pushing against it–
It did not open.
Huh? He thought, confused.
The new few pushes, with increasingly more strength behind it and desperation, resulted in the same, unbudging result.
Not opening was not an option; there was no way a trip back down the frosted path would be survived by his elven companion, and perhaps himself. This was without taking into account the sheer effort it took to even acquire the ability to access the snowy territory.
“…Open up!” He demanded, gritting his teeth.
He felt sick. A twisting despair swirled in his stomach as he laid his fist against the unmoving door, resting his forehead against it as he breathed out, feeling the weight of his unconscious companion on his back.
“Open…Please,” he desperately pleaded.
Slowly slipping to his knees as he leaned against the door, he felt like throwing up right then and there, wanting to cry as he felt just how weak and exhausted his body had become; it was as if everything he had endured up until that point fell onto his shoulders all at once.
Why? Why does it always feel like whatever can go bad, will go bad? What sort of bullshit is this…? I’m sick of it. I’m so sick of it, he thought.
pAnD a(-)n0ve1.com Naturally, that despair that would make one surrender to the fruitlessness of trying turned into something else for the Dragonheart; the blood in his veins refused failure–bringing him to stand back up and continue slamming his fist against the door, repeatedly hitting it with his knuckles.
“Open up…! Open! Not after all of this! No!” He yelled.
He threw his fist against the solid, unmoving door over and over until the skin scraped from his knuckles, leaving a trail of crimson liquid to seep down the branches of the etched door.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
There was no rhyme or reason to it, only pure desperation. Yet, as he pushed his bloodied knuckles against it this time, something changed.
–It began to open.
“Huh?”
For some unknown reason, it finally began to part itself, opening its large slabs of archaic metal to the side, revealing the chamber behind it for the perplexed young man.
Once more, he found the happenings of the After to simply be beyond reason; logic could not be applied to any cause-and-effect. Still, he found his heart flooding with hope now at the opened way, holding the unconscious elven man to his back before he stepped into the room beyond.
This is…He thought.
Onto a pathway of stone, he stood, gawking at the scenery before him; it was a garden that completely overtook the chamber as the walls were lined with veins, blooming with flowers.
The stone path that acted as a small bridge existed over a pond of abyssal water; completely black and nebulous in itself.
…A garden? He looked around.
Something about it was unnerving, however; crimson spider lilies bloomed along the bridge he slowly marched over. It was far too serene of a sight for the After, too full of life, yet there was a feeling that kept him wary, as if his stomach was in knots.
Crossing the bridge, he carefully set his unconscious friend down on the verdant grass before looking up towards the sight that drew his gaze the most.
In the center of the isolated garden was a prominent tree; it stood tall with snow-white leaves that subtly glowed. Connected to each branch of the seraphic tree were golden apples, glistening with a certain allure.
“Welcome, Emilio Dragonheart, to the Garden of the Abyss,” a silvery, masculine voice spoke, “or, do you prefer Ethan Bellrose?”
At first, he couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from, perplexed by hearing his former name being spoken, but then he saw it: forming from a mass of shadows that gathered beneath the tree, “something” became visible.
It stood twice his height, at least, possessing chalky-white skin as if devoid of color completely, having the face of a man, but five arms, all of which were of varying sizes, shape, and muscularity.
“You’re…the Progenitor?” He managed to force the words from his throat.
Though frightening and inhuman in appearance, the entity spoke with a soft voice, constantly moving its arms that extended unnaturally, tending to the garden as they watered flowers, plucked fruits, and stored them, “A title in the sea of names that eons have imposed on me. I suppose the name I was given while a human would prove sufficient for you: Adam.”
“You…What’re you? You wrote that note, didn’t you?…That I can escape this place?” He asked.
Difficult, it was, to dig the words out from his throat in the presence of the entity that transcended mortal perception. Even as he stared directly at “Adam”, his eyes couldn’t understand what they were truly looking at.
“I am as you’ve heard; a ‘Primordial’. Though, for the time being, you may consider me a ‘helping hand’,” Adam told him in his smooth, yet jarring voice, “From the moment you perished and entered the After, I guided you here; the path was paved by my will, and you walked it perfectly. Well done, child.”
It was a challenge to properly absorb the words being said to him as his brain was working overtime just to bear the presence of the primordial entity, yet he latched onto what was told to him nonetheless after taking a few moments to settle it in.
“…You guided me here? But why? I don’t get it…What do you want with me?” He asked.
Adam lacked eyes, or at least, ocular organs in the sense that the young man was used to; hollow, black sockets stared down at him from the entity that sat beneath the nebulous tree. Before responding, the chalk-skinned figure briefly stopped tending to the abyssal garden with his many arms, leaning forward.
“That’s the question of the hour indeed, child. So many oddities occurring in your path, from the very moment you were reborn; you were suspicious, but never certain, I presume. “Why does it always happen to me?”, “How can an artificial world be this cruel?”–such thoughts are natural. But, surely, you’re special then, no? You’re not entirely unaware of it though, are you? You’ve come into contact with the ‘Disgraced One’, haven’t you?” Adam asked, though certainly already knowing the answer.
The lengthy monologue that slid from the lips of the being that transcended time itself filled his mind, sinking deep into his being as Adam articulated exactly what he had felt over his journey.
“‘Disgraced One?’ Who’s that? And about that…Arcadius…Is it artificial or not? I’ve always wondered that,” he asked.
He hadn’t even realized it until he posed his questions, but he was sitting on his knees; without sensing it, his body naturally lowered itself as if subservient to the weight of the Primordial’s existence.
“Careful now, child. The moment you begin asking such questions, the moment you will begin needing to pay for them,” Adam said, raising a single finger to him, “Primordials do not operate under selflessness; contracts exist as our main influence with mortals. So tread carefully with your tongue; I am not one that operates under monetary exchange; what you pay will be a grand cost of your very being.”
The warning was etched beneath his skin, engraved in his bones as he felt it to be a dire condition indeed, keeping his mouth shut to carefully craft each word.
If I ask questions…he’ll require a payment? Some sort of contract? “Grand cost of my very being”–what does that mean? My lifespan? My limbs? He questioned.
Fortunately, the Progenitor continued after a moment, returning his outstretched limbs to their dutiful work of tending to the secluded sanctuary.
“I’m sure you’ve figured it out yourself by now, child: Arcadius is indeed a real world. I will not explain further unless your curiosity urges you to exchange years off your life for the answer,” Adam told him, “–The ‘Disgraced One’…Ah, perhaps they would withhold such a name from you. You might know them as “The Faceless One”; they have contacted you in your dreams, yes?”
Hearing the figure he had been visited by in past dreams be brought up made his heart skip a bit, always half-and-half if he was experiencing maddening dreams or something real.
“…Yeah, I’ve met them…A few times, actually,” he nodded.