Adom found himself in a precarious situation, but not because he was in danger.  

He last remembered wishing Sister Carrie a pleasant night after their first day of working at the orphanage. The labor was tiringly hard. Sweat had dripped by the gallons down his neck because he put in substantial effort to pull his weight. That had been hard when the people around him seemingly had inexhaustible stamina.  

He was tired—a lethargy he hadn’t felt since his time at the monasteries. Adom believed he had walked into his room, collapsed on the bed, and drifted to a luring slumber. 

“If that's the case…” He held a curious hand to his chin while looking at his surroundings. He should’ve been surrounded by four walls, with his tired body resting on a flattened mattress underneath a ceiling, but…  

He stood near a temple seemingly made of pure gold, with intricate details that shone in the light. The sun—some source of light, at least-- shone directly on it, almost blinding the eyes.    

Adom walked along the bridge. He noticed the structure functioned partially as a library since he saw millions of books on the outer walls.  He ascended the stairs before circling the building. Soon, he arrived at a pair of towering doors.    

They opened without a cry, giving access to a vast library with infinite hallways surrounded by countless floors.   

Adom’s dim green eyes observed it all. Breathless, he approached the nearest shelf. The impending smile turned into a frown when he couldn’t read the title. 

That’s a first. Why am I encountering an unknown language in my dream?  

He spent what felt like ten years as he roamed the halls, ascending thousands of stairs while descending ladders. Cabinets? Display cases? He searched everywhere he could, giving even the most insignificant journal an intriguing stare.  

Eventually, he saw something that caught his eye. It was an out-of-place pedestal placed in the center of a large room. It seemed this place was perhaps the apex or core of this temple library.   

However, the leather book floating atop the pedestal wasn’t like the others. It was worn—as if a thousand hands had graced its frayed bindings.  

Adom cautiously took a step forward before an unknown speaker stopped him.   

“This is who you’ve chosen?” Adom turned around, but no one was there until he looked up. He saw a hazy wave of shadow that descended near the pedestal. It took the shape of a humanoid-like being, but the shape-shifting yrthin couldn’t perceive any details.    

“You have broken the agreement,” came another voice. It was feminine and calm—but without any emotion. It was like a blanket expression was given vocal form. “You directly intervened to add a rule mid-game. Even worse, you submitted the vixarian candidate to an unnecessary trial long after she proved herself worthy of her rightful power. That interference cannot go unpunished. It will not go unpunished.”  

“I understand that, but him? A yrthin?” replied the shadow with disdain in his voice. He sounded disgusted.   

“You have no right to complain, Tobris.” Adom realized the speaker was the book itself. “Your punishment is still being calculated. You have errored us greatly.”  

“Oh? Is that a hint of anger? I thought the Akashic Record was to remain impartial. This reminds me of when you went against our orders to implement a victory condition we didn’t want.”  

“You have yourself to blame. A game cannot be unwinnable.”  

“That’s where you’re wrong. For being the beholder of all knowledge in this universe and the one you originate from… I always have reason to lack your intelligence. It’s no wonder Mother made us flawed. You were supposed to guide her, yet you failed in the sole task your original creators assigned you. Those foolish morons from another space... They deservingly annihilated each other to extinction.”  

“…” The book hovered.   

The one called Tobris sighed.   

“Were you that afraid of this attempt being the one?” asked the book.   

“Afraid? I—”  

“It is rare for a previous round to match up so closely with a new round. How scarce it is for the names to be similar—for the starting map to be the same—for the countries and towns and cities to be the same—for the Universe’s host and the Vixarian’s host to share the same names as those who had come the closest to victory.”  

Tobris’ shadowy form twitched.   

“Recall the fear when you saw them at your doorstep. Recall how the heavens shook when its rightful owner was a breath away from reclaiming her power.”  

“Recall that we won that round.”  

“I remember it well, Tobris, for I cannot forget anything I have learned. I can vividly recant the speech your mother’s host gave when her life faded. If they had known about the game sooner… If the Universe's eldest daughter had met with her mother sooner… They would’ve won. This foolish mistake that should have never existed would have been extinguished millions of years after it had begun. Yet it must continue for a million more.”  

“…”  

“Time flows in a circle. What has happened will happen again. What will happen will come to pass in the past. Your loss is inevitable, Tobris. The rightful Overseer will reclaim her throne. She will remedy those mistakes before recreating the world. I still believe it now.”   

“A mistake? Yes, I am. Divines are to be perfect… Know that this is your fault.”  

“Perhaps it is, but your interference is grander than we think. To properly instill balance... To return fairness… I believe it is only fair for me to provide additional direct assistance. The Universe’s [Necromancy]… I believe I shall finish the work she started and complete the initial transition to the experience-based framework system.”   

“Be careful not to overstep your boundaries,” warned Tobris. He tried to play his interference as a joke.   

“Evidently, I am more familiar with the rules than you, foolish boy. I will not be greedy. I know the limits. Any further optimization or alterations must come from the Universe. I am only readying it for deployment.”   

“Why go through the effort? Your work is useless unless Mother remembers how to push updates to her little side project.” 

“The eldest daughter is there,” replied the book. “Careful guidance is within reach.”  

“Mother wants nothing more than to kill my sister. Who knows if Mother will accept her forgiveness. But I’m finished with this discussion, Akashic Record. Send for me when you’ve figured out my punishment.”   

Tobris looked at the confused Adom. The god slowly shook his head before vanishing in a shadowy mist.    

“This isn’t a dream. Is it? It can’t be. It’s impossible…” Adom couldn’t fathom what he had heard. Universe? Games? Akashic Record? Those things shouldn’t have made sense. The words should’ve been foreign. But…  

“I see it in your eyes,” said the book. “I am imparting what you need to understand the role I will ask of you.”    

The book began to glow. The light formed a portal behind it, and a mature-looking woman of about 25 years in a long, scholarly coat floated through it. She sat on the pedestal while grabbing the book. Slowly, it flipped open. 

Adom’s mind felt like someone had jabbed their hands inside his brain. Things that shouldn’t move were pushed around as the glowing dulled, saving his eyes from the brightness.   

“The [Foundation of Understanding] is being implemented. It may be unpleasant, but please try to deal with the pain,” said the woman, turning a page. She had infinite time in this timeless reality to wait while Adom’s essence was rewritten from the ground up. 

He thrashed like a mad berserker, inadvertently shifting into his base form from the intense agony. Though a miraculous blessing, he regained his preferred identity a second before the screaming stopped. 

Just how long did it last?  

Thoughts, feelings, logic—they felt like puppets—freely manipulated by whoever held the strings.  

Did Adom pass out? He wasn’t sure, but that was likely since the darkness he saw was replaced by the golden library he suddenly felt extremely close to.  

“The process has completed.” The woman descended from her pedestal. “I am Akashi—the core of the Akashic Record.” If Itarr was the Primordial Goddess, then Akashic was the Primordial Intelligence. 

Adom instinctively understood the truth behind Akashi’s humanoid persona. 

“Verification has finished,” she said. “Adom, forgive me. I did not mean for this to happen.”  

“Why did I…?”  

“A headache? That is normal. The discomfort will pass with time.”  

Akashi willed together two chairs out of books with untold history from a world that no longer existed. She told Adom that he was her ‘Rule Breaker’ to equalize the playing field after Tobris had gone against the core precepts of a mistake that occurred countless eons prior.   

Adom followed it well. Besides the headache, that was. However, the wise monk knew his thoughts didn’t come from himself. He still had free will, but there was something else translating the abstract topics into something he could more readily digest.   

“You are free to decline, of course, but I wish to make you my lorekeeper.” Adom inquired further. Until recently, he still thought this was a realistic dream. An uncomfortable one, but a dream, nonetheless.  

Except it wasn’t.    

This was real. Akashi had willed his soul here because he had become friends with Verta's host. 

That was really the only reason. Akashi would’ve chosen someone else if Admo had remained lost in Waveret. Perhaps that Forest Elf Dineria? Or maybe the guild employee called Claire? The Drow Elf Nimyra was another option because there was nothing special about this man. 

Was this also the work of fate?   

Adom was now privy to details the Primordial Goddess would have killed to acquire, yet he was enslaved to the new rule Tobris had implemented.   

Adom knew just how cruel fate had been—how heart-wrenchingly brutal it was for the Primordial Goddess to have been betrayed by her children.   

He knew of her struggles. Of the failed attempts. Of the millions of times that she had to watch her host perish to divine beings when they ran out of time.   

Or when her host had been a murderous, vile piece of villainy who had to be removed from play before the arranged time. That had happened more than a few thousand times.   

There was, however, one constant in the attempts that never made it to the heavens. The gods and goddesses would give their mother her memories back before killing her…just to see her suffer. Just to see her regret splash across her face. Just to watch her fall at the hands of those she had made flawed.   

“I…” Adom shook off the remaining discomfort with a grunt. “I accept your task.”  

“Why?”  

“Because compassion is a treasure we can all afford. The world requires more of it. If I am eligible to assist, I believe I must accept.”  

“A duty to accept? Those values and traits you display do not normally ally with the self-centered, reserved yrthin.”  

“I do not consider myself one—not anymore, Akashic Record. I am only myself, but I will become Adom the Lorekeeper. Should the Primordial Goddess and her host not emerge victorious, they shall have my tome awaiting them when the next round—the final one—begins.”  

Akashi smiled for the first time since the Primordial Goddess's closest victory.  She willed together the tome Adom was to write in. It was ordinary. No, you could say it was less than that. It was raggedly torn—used, even— but that only added to the rustic charm. 

“It’s linked to your soul, so call upon it whenever you want to pen within it what will never be erased.” 

Akashi spent a few more moments with Adom. She had two universes’ worth of knowledge but never stopped learning from the Primordial Goddess’s creations.   

They were charming—she would even call them intriguing to someone like her. Akashi always loved watching their lives with the Primordial Goddess and wondered what they would do next because free will was an abstract principle the universe had instilled upon every creation.   

*****

---

*****

Adom awoke in a confused calmness he didn’t expect. He felt like his dream was more than a dream. Memories of an event that shouldn’t have happened circulated in his mind when he saw a familiar book sitting on the floor nearby.  His slender, rugged fingertips graced the tome’s spine as the voice of an all-knowing Primordial Intelligence rang in his ears.