Romans & histoires Primordial Man

This was entropy in its most primal state, the original chaos from which all forms of life, consciousness, and meaning had fought desperately to emerge like flowers blooming in the heart of a cosmic storm. Kai Jr., his young face etched with the weight of knowledge, called it the Primordial Chaos. "It's the raw entropy from which everything we are, everything we've ever been, struggled to escape," he explained, his voice barely above a whisper. "For eternities beyond counting, it has slumbered undisturbed in the deepest foundations of reality, content to remain dormant." But our light, the brilliant harmony we had painstakingly created across species and realms had inadvertently awakened som

I said, “but you no longer remember why it was written. You call me an anomaly because I do not fit within the cages you built. You call me dangerous because I did not forget what you wanted buried.” One of the ancients stepped forward, his form massive, his presence pressing like a storm. “Then speak it,” he said. “What do you claim we buried?” I exhaled slowly. “The truth,” I said. “About the beginning.” The chamber stilled. “Before packs,” I continued, my voice steady, “before councils, before titles and bloodlines, there were Primordials. Wolves born not of hierarchy, but of purpose. Keepers, not rulers. Forces shaped by the land itself, bound to it, not above it.”

I ask. Still peering at the river below, Shane shrugs. “The stories change with every generation. Some say the Primordials learned to speak like humans and eventually began shifting into them as well. Others claim they hunted men in return, their magic allowing them to take the form of every life they stole.” His voice drops a notch. “But one truth is constant across every folklore.” He pauses again. “The Primordials all died, or at least went extinct. Every last one.”

Gigi cursed under her breath. It had been afflicted for some time, and its appearances had begun to mutate into a non-gender-specific sludge. Its eyes were darkish, sunken eyes that were expressionless, and a bloated abdomen. Its skin drapes loosely on its body, and even though it was naked, the rotten was so malformed that I couldn't determine if it was a man or a woman. All I knew was that it had spotted us and that it was ravenous.

"It's old. And it's been trapped for a long time. I think... I think it's in pain." Something flickered in Eron's eyes. Recognition maybe, or understanding. "The Primordial was the first thing the Moon created," he said. "Before the races, before the world as it exists now. It was part of her, the shadow to her light. When she decided she didn't want it anymore, she didn't destroy it. She couldn't. So she cut it out of herself and buried it." "In my mother. And then in me." "Yes." He paused. "The Moon didn't cage the Primordial because it was evil. She caged it because she was afraid of what she'd have to become if she accepted it."

"I've been waiting to meet you properly." The Primordial smiled, and his teeth were too sharp, his skin too pale, his presence too vast for a single body. And I realized with horror that this was the one I'd ejected from myself. It had simply found another vessel instead.

It only made them want to be around the Prime the more. Heartbroken—I'm totally calling her that now—had tears running down her cheeks freely by now. Half of me couldn't believe her. The Prime Empire used girls for a living. They found it fun. Like a sport. They loved drama and stirring it. She must have been very blind to have fallen for their twisted shenanigans.

“Hmm,” “And I know there is still a lot you don't know yet about me, if there's anything you want to know you can ask.” He admitted. He wasn't wrong but I knew everything I needed to know about him. I knew he wasn't a bad person. Maybe other people would disagree that he was like the people he hurt and lives he took but after getting to know the Primordial, I realized he was kind and loved his pack. He was one of the good guys. “That's true… maybe we should play a game then, to make it fun?” I suggested, watching the green hue in his eyes soften.

"When you mentioned Enzo's name earlier, your father didn’t seem pleased. Why?" Sarge hesitated, a flicker of emotion passing through his eyes. "Enzo isn't just a normal wolf," he explained, his voice heavy with the weight of past burdens. "He's a Primordial, Elena. His bloodline is pure, untouched by external influence, and he's the last of his kind." The revelation hit me like a tidal wave. A Primordial? Enzo's strength and aura suddenly made sense. But Sarge wasn't finished.