The Primordial Ch

Ch.

That form from which all we know is distilled, a dark and hidden secret enshelled writhing and pulsating in the depths of our world, the unwilling clay sculpted into rocks and trees and us from the infinitely wise light of the Architect. I make no moral prescriptions for something so beyond my understanding, Architect being as it is, but the less understanding might look at this arrangement and feel a pang of sorrow for the tormented form of chaos.

It's hard to know what it feels beyond some kind of unrelenting, tempestuous rage; the rage it wields in desperate resistance to the Architect, though it gains little ground. Befitting of its very nature is its wily and unpredictable whims, assigning to seemingly random individuals enormous power and dragging others into the depths. An extremely long study, started by my ancestors and continuing on beneath me and my brother, finds that the only connective thread between its decisions is an extremely general shared understanding of right and wrong.

Ch knows not the nuances of ethics, only numbers and charts that swirl in its head; a person has killed many, no matter whether in the furor of war, the throes of rage or the pursuit of pleasure, and so they are bad. A person has supposedly helped many, and so their manipulative personality, conniving behavior and unwavering pursuit of power can be ignored, and they are worthy of power.

Whether it has an innate sense of morality or is simply trying to earn the favor of those created of it by bestowing power upon those it thinks we would regard as worthy is up for debate, but there is a clear moral 'arc' to its decisions that can only be discerned with the careful study and recording of each and every person who visits it and requests something of it.

Whatever the case, I have suspended my studies into this particular matter, if only temporarily, for a much more important and pressing concern. I have noticed that it grows restless; although it once rose and fell like the tide, careful measurements make clear to me that it is growing. It expands, and contracts, but each time it expands it expands further, and each time it contracts it contracts less.

My brother, perceptive is he, noticed shadows lurking in the caves, previously unrecorded creatures of primordial mass seemingly assembling themselves from the Ch, prying their forms free of it to some unknown end only to eventually return to it willingly. I have ventured to the surface a few times as of late, and the locals have told me that the primordial rains have become more frequent, and more torrential. I was caught in one, and nearly lost my arm to a stray drop before I could get under cover. The black tide shifts back and forth with far greater force than usual.

Together, with locals in Osivyver, last night, I witnessed a black circle in the sky. It was too far away to make any sense of. But it was pitch black, as black as the depths of the primordial sea, and everyone was rapt with its presence. It stayed still, and simply vanished after a period of time; when it arrived, it was about noon, and by the time we were freed of its thrall and it disappeared, the sun had set and many of us felt nauseous.

I worry for this world.