Tao clenched his fist, feeling the faint remnants of the dark light still pulsing within him. The sensation of the Dao of End lingered in his mind. It was vast and unknowable. He turned to his father, his gaze firm.
"What was that?" he asked.
Dai Long, still seated upon his throne, studied his son in silence. His red eyes, ancient and wise, peered into Tao's very soul. Then, he exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable.
"You are too young and too weak to understand."
Tao's brows furrowed, but he did not argue. His father was not one to lie or waste words. If he said Tao was not yet ready to comprehend it, then it was the truth.
Still, Tao looked at his own hands, flexing them slightly. He could feel it—the change within him.
"I didn't receive a Qi cultivation manual," he finally said, looking back up at his father. "But rather… something else."
Dai Long nodded, satisfied. "Correct."
He leaned forward slightly, his deep voice carrying authority and wisdom.
"Dragons within the confines of the Dragon realm, no matter how low, cultivate differently than many other races in this world, Tao. Unlike humans, beasts, or demons, we do not simply refine Qi and break through realms. We cultivate the main source that is power in this cruel place."
Tao remained silent, absorbing every word.
"From an early age, a dragon must choose their Dao— their guiding path. We cultivate it as the foundation of our power, just as humans cultivate Qi. Every technique, every ability, and every advancement we achieve stems from that Dao."
Dai Long raised a single finger.
"However, we do not stop there. A dragon's cultivation is built upon one main Dao—our true path—but we also supplement it with minor Daos, ones that refine and enhance our strength. This method of cultivation is much slower than that of humans, demons, or other Qi-cultivating races…"
His blood-red eyes gleamed.
"But in exchange, we are superior in the same realm. The power of a dragon who has cultivated thoroughly and correctly is unmatched."
"Our Bodies naturally absorb the Immortal Qi in the wide universe. And whatever Dao path we choose helps us direct the usage of said Immortal Qi. It's why our bodies are so highly coveted by others. And it is why Dragons from below wish to ascend by all means."
Tao slowly nodded.
So that was the truth.
Unlike humans, who simply gathered Qi from the world and refined it to increase their cultivation, dragons chose a Dao and cultivated it as their foundation. It was why dragons were so feared—their path was slower but far stronger.
Dai Long smirked. "It also helps that our vitality is the greatest among all races in the wide world. We can afford to cultivate slower than others because we live far longer and grow far stronger."
Tao absorbed this final piece of information, his mind expanding with newfound understanding. Dragons of their caliber did not rush. They did not seek quick power. They refined, they tempered, and they perfected.
And now, he had chosen his path.
The Dao of End was his own road to walk on.
Dai Long observed Tao's contemplative silence before speaking once more.
"You have taken the first step, but now comes the true beginning of your journey."
Tao looked up, his glowing white pupils with dragon slits narrowing in curiosity.
"What do I do next?"
Dai Long leaned back in his throne, his expression calm yet firm.
"For the next week, you will do nothing."
Tao blinked, slightly surprised. "Nothing?"
His father nodded. "Your mind and soul have been through a great ordeal. You must rest—truly rest. Do not train; do not force yourself to cultivate. Simply let your body, mind, and spirit adjust to the changes you have undergone."
Tao exhaled slowly, understanding the wisdom in his father's words. His awakening of the Dao of End was no small matter. If he rushed ahead without stabilizing himself, he could very well harm his foundation.
Dai Long then continued, "After that week of rest, you will meditate upon your Dao. Then and only then will you absorb the Immortal Qi within the world. Only after that will you truly step into the realm of Qi cultivation."
Tao's eyes sharpened.
Dai Long's gaze turned imposing. "Your Dao will shape your power, and you must shape your Dao. That is the most important key to your future. Do not take this lightly, Tao."
Tao nodded, fully aware of the weight of his father's words.
"Once you absorb the Immortal Qi, we will begin gathering the necessary materials for your sword." Dai Long added. "Only then will you be able to forge a weapon that is truly your own."
Tao's fingers curled slightly, anticipation growing within him.
Rest, meditate, and then begin his Qi cultivation.
And then…
Then, he would finally step onto the path of a true cultivator.
....
Back inside his room, Tao lay down on the bed, the soft rustle of fabric barely audible beneath him. The sheets were woven from some exquisite blend of cloud silk and beast-thread, cool and smooth against his skin, with a weight that pressed comfort into his weary limbs.
It was a luxury few could afford, yet he barely noticed it.
His eyes slowly drifted closed, not out of intent, but inevitability. He didn't even realize how tired he was—how the tension of everything he had witnessed so far had built up within him like a quiet storm.
His body ached, his mind throbbed with the echoes of too many thoughts. And yet, it wasn't his flesh or thoughts that resisted sleep—it was his soul.
The body had its limits, and the moment he allowed himself stillness, the world dimmed around him.
Tao dreamed.
He dreamed of emptiness—not a void, but a hollow absence, a place where even memory had withered. The world had ended in silence, and he was the last echo. There was no sky, no ground, no horizon.
Only him. Only entropy.
Darkness clung to everything, not oppressive but inevitable, like a truth long denied. All life was gone. There were no stars, no wind, no sound—only the quiet hum of nonexistence.
Yet scattered around him were faint specks of light. Small, glowing fragments that hovered in the distance. Some were pale and blue, others warm and gold, but all of them pulsed with fragile rhythm, like dying hearts. He moved toward them, instinctively. Each one pulled at him with aching familiarity—memories, maybe. Or dreams. Or people.
But every time he reached out—every time he touched one—they withered into ash, vanishing before his eyes. No warmth remained, just the empty dark.
He stood there, surrounded by what could never be touched, what must never be held.
Alone in the end.
Alone forever.