"But– wait, no, that doesn't make sense." Serpentine caught himself, taking a few deep breaths. He parted his lips to speak, but paused, and decided against it, an intuitive sense telling him otherwise. So, instead of speaking up again, he decided to take a breather, and ripped his gaze away from the El Dorado incarnate, from the wheel of faith, and the gravity of the matter, to simply look at the beauty above them.

The night sky stretched infinitely, vast and unyielding, a canvas of cosmic grandeur painted in hues of magenta, white, azure, and purple. It was a beauty that should have been awe-inspiring, but Serpentine felt only the weight of its immensity pressing down on him.

'This... brings back memories... Memories I'd rather forget.'

Here, at the precipice of the atmosphere atop the Golden Spire, the stars were no longer distant pinpricks but celestial sentinels, each blazing with a brilliance that eclipsed their earthly counterparts. They pulsed and shimmered like living things, their light unfiltered by atmosphere, raw and unrelenting. How could anything so beautiful be so... dangerous?

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. The cosmic light was blinding. He could feel the heat, the decay, the pressure pushing into his flesh.

Unbarred, unadulterated blaze barraged Serpentine. There was no ozone to protect him, or hydrogen to refract the light, or carbon to absorb the heat. Raw, unfiltered solar flares, radiation, and nucleic decay pressed down on him, the pressure no weaker than the depths of an ocean.

'Ah... I missed this.'

He had flown beyond the protection of the spire. Solar flares and radiation slammed into him, the pressure pressing down like the depths of an ocean, squeezing his chest. He could feel his heart racing, a primal excitement rushing through him.

But looking past the blinding fury of the heavenly spheres of blaze, gravity, and radiation, Serpentine's gaze pierced into the flesh of the cosmos.

Nebulae unfolded in delicate ribbons of color – violet, emerald, and crimson – spiraling and weaving through the cosmic void like the veins of god. Constellations shifted and reformed before his eyes, as if the universe itself bent to the will of this sacred height.

Planets hung close, too close, their surfaces etched with visible storms and rings, so vast and detailed, seemingly within arm's reach, yet infinitely far away. Moons orbited them lazily, their surfaces marred with ancient scars and craters, each telling its own story of cosmic violence and creation.

'...I see it now.'

It was here, that Serpentine found his answer.

His eyes still locked onto the sky, Serpentine spoke up again, not even bothering to look at the deific monstrosity, "It's not just Zero, is it?"

The Primordial did not react, his lips still pursued, as if waiting for Serpentine to continue. And so, he did.

"From the Void’s abyss, where silence sways, The First Breath stirred in formless haze. From shadowed depths where stillness dies, Chaos rose with wildest cries." Serpentine muttered, his tone not one of narration.

No... his tone was one of preaching.

"Time then followed, in steady beat, A silent march through dark deceit. Eternity stood, both vast and cold, A boundless watch that none could hold."

The Primordials were not common knowledge. Rarely would a creature, if any at all, learn about the existence of their beings. They are not known, they are not preached, they are not worshipped, and they are not understood.

"Betwixt their clash, a spark took flight – Life was born from breath and light. She shaped the world with vibrant grace, While Death lurked close, a pale embrace."

The Primordials were mere watchers, spectators of the sandbox they had crafted, rarely interfering with the play once it had begun.

"Not just to claim, but to remind, That all must yield to fate designed."

And yet... There was seemingly one exception to this rule.

"Then Order came with measured hand, To weave the threads, to rule the land. Creation sang, destruction sighed, Yet in end they unified."

The Primal Axis.

"In woven strands where paths align, Fate stitched the grand, eternal design. Each thread was placed, each line was spun, Yet Destiny whispered, The world’s not done.”

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A church that existed in a hub between all timestreams and dimensions, a temple of zealots built by Voidwalkers, visited by Time Travellers, and worshipped by Dimensional Travellers.

"But deep beneath, where stillness weeps, Fortune crawled, and Chaos creeps. Chance took hold with shifting reign, And Destiny’s song grew faint, then slain."

Until now, Serpentine hadn't thought much of them, or their prayers, thinking them to just be religious ramblings, but...

"Chaos surged with ruthless might, Fate’s loom now consumed by blight. The tapestry frayed, its colors bled, As light gave way to shadow’s thread."

'I see it all.'

"Yet from the void, a whisper came, A promise forged in ancient flame. For every end, no law defends... even endings must meet their ends."

...before his eyes, the answers were all clear.

His gaze wandered across the vast expanse of the cosmos, each of the pulsating constellations pulling at something deep within him – something ancient, something primal. Here, in the exosphere where the air was thin and reality felt distant, the stars seemed to realign, revealing not random patterns but designs of immense significance, each woven into the fabric of the universe itself.

Runes. Each of these patterns were a rune.

Serpentine glanced down from the sky at The Primordial, before his eyes trailed toward its back, at its halo – at The Wheel of Faith itself.

His gaze shifted back to the sky.

Each of the patterns formed by the constellations... were the exact runes on The Wheel of Faith, each of the runes representing a different Primordial.

'All eight of them... and more.'

He shuddered, a terribly cold chill freezing his veins, and yet, his ears and eyelids burnt red as his face flushed, the blood starting to boil red down to his chest and throat.

Was he excited? Anxious? Jubilant? Scared? Enraged? Or simply in shock?

He did not know, and he did not care.

To his left, the void stretched wide in the form of The Northern Crown. The river of stars wound sinuously across the sky, descending into an abyssal chasm, as if inviting him to follow it into the dark side. Its serpentine flow led nowhere, and yet, it felt as though it encompassed everything. The void’s abyss, formless and boundless, finds its home in the delicate, incomplete circle of Corona Borealis.

'The Primordial of Void.'

Nearby, The Clock, pulsed faintly but steadily. Its constellation marked the slow, unyielding passage of time, each star pulsing with a rhythm too vast for human comprehension. But Serpentine could almost hear it – time’s steady march captured by the Horologium. Its stars, though faint and silent, imitated turn the relentless flow of moments.

'The Primordial of Time.'

Above him, brilliant and defiant, the constellation of The Immortal Bird blazed across the heavens. Its wings unfurled in a symphony of fire and light, a celestial ode to eternity. From its ashes, it would rise again and again, The Phoenix beyond the fleeting moment in which he stood.

'The Primordial of Eternity.'

To his east, Libra stood as a beacon of Order. The Scales hung perfectly balanced in the void, each star a point of symmetry and precision. In its delicate equilibrium, Serpentine sensed the universe’s desire for harmony – a cosmic energy seeking to impose structure upon the forces of chaos. Yet even this balance was tenuous, always on the edge of tipping, a fragile reminder that order and chaos can easily be swapped, masquerading one another, never to be found out.

'The Primordial of Order.'

But Orion, the Scales, hung nearby, trembling in the void. Its delicate balance shifted with every breath of cosmic wind, a reminder of Fate – capricious and impartial. Each star seemed to weigh the possibilities of countless futures, tipping the balance between fortune and ruin with an invisible hand. The hunter’s imposing stance and carefully aligned stars reflect the predetermined paths and threads woven into the cosmic tapestry.

'The Primordial of Fate.'

His eyes drifted, drawn to the unmistakable form of Sagittarius, the Archer, urging souls to find their way. The archer aims for the stars, a symbol of the pursuit of purpose and the freedom to carve one’s own path amidst the grand design, as if destiny incarnate, a reminder that some paths, once chosen, could not be altered, just as an arrow once shot cannot be withdrawn.

'The Primordial of Destiny.'

Beneath Sagittarius, the vast form of Cetus coiled through the sky, its body stretching endlessly. Serpentine's eyes were drawn to the monstrous form of Cetus. The Sea Monster writhed against the night, its shape shifting and contorting with each passing moment. It was chaos made manifest, a quiet and silent threat, mirroring the nature of chaos itself – corrosive, contaminating, and corrupting.

'The Primordial of Chaos'.

Beneath the celestial expanse, Virgo stood radiant, the Maiden of life. Her form was graceful, outlined in soft, nurturing light, each star in her constellation a seed of growth and vitality. She cradled the cosmos in unseen hands, the promise of renewal and abundance woven into the fabric of her being. Around her, the heavens seemed to bloom, as if her very presence beckoned creation to flourish, even in the void.

'The Primordial of Life, and... nevermind.'

But where life thrived, so too did its twin. Scorpius crouched low on the horizon, its tail curled in readiness. The constellation exuded a cold, foreboding light, its stars sharp as daggers. It resembled a Scorpion of death, ever-present and patient, waiting in the shadows of existence. For a moment, Serpentine felt its gaze upon him, and felt a shudder snake up his spine.

'The Primordial of Death.'

Nearby, the twin stars of Gemini flickered playfully in the dark. Entropy danced between them, the two figures both alike and distinct, shifting in their celestial positions as if engaged in an eternal game of chance. Each star shone with the unpredictability of the universe’s whims, a reminder that fate was often dictated by the roll of unseen cosmic dice, a probable chaos that plagued all.

'The Primordial of Probability.'

Serpentine exhaled slowly, the enormity of his realisation pressing down on him – the Void, Time, Eternity, Order, Fate, Destiny, Life, Death, Probability, Chaos.

These weren't just constellations. These were cosmic forces, the Primordials in the flesh. And the prayers of The Primal Axis... perhaps, they held more truth than he had first anticipated.

'Damn it all, Livia.'

His last lover had really sent his thoughts on a wild goose chase all this time.