Morning in the Basin was never kind.
Rat woke in his alley nook with his ribs still aching and his lips cracked. The warmth he had felt last night still lingered faintly in his belly, like a coal buried in ash. He clutched it as if it were treasure.
The Codex's words came back to him: Your veins will crack, or your breath will align with the horizon.
"Cryptic nonsense," he muttered, rubbing his face. "But I'll take nonsense over being worm food."
He sat cross-legged and tried the breath again. Slow. Steady. The way the beggar had shown. The first inhale burned, but he no longer coughed blood. That was progress.
The woven book of the Codex hovered at the edge of his vision as if amused. Its numbers glowed faintly.
Vitality: 1
Qi Sense: 1
Comprehension: 1
Fate Entanglement: 3
Realm: Mortal Dust.
"Trash stats," Rat sighed. "But at least I've got a stat page. The other brats in this gutter don't even have that."
He scavenged through the market as always, trading mockery for scraps. Some mornings it felt like he was the Basin's entertainment, watch the rat scramble, laugh at his empty basket.
But today was different.
The air shifted.
A hush rolled down the market street as figures appeared from the northern gate. Two youths walked side by side, their robes pale blue embroidered with silver clouds. Their belts gleamed with tokens shaped like curved horizons.
Sect disciples.
The crowd parted instinctively. Merchants bowed. Mortals dropped their eyes. The weight of cultivation was visible even if unseen, an aura that made spines bend.
Rat had heard the tales. Open Sky Sect, the rulers of the Cloud-Piercing Mountains. Disciples walked where they pleased. Mortals who blocked their path vanished like smoke.
He should have looked away. Should have lowered his head.
Instead, his eyes locked on them.
The boy disciple carried himself like he owned the market. His chin high, his smirk sharpened like a blade. He glanced at the stalls with disdain, as though the entire Basin were beneath him.
The girl beside him was quieter. Her gaze was steady, sweeping, and when it landed on Rat, it did not move.
Rat's skin prickled.
She slowed, ignoring the boy's chatter, and came to stand before him. Rat clutched his basket tighter.
"What are you staring at, street rat?" the boy snapped. "Bow your head."
Rat raised a brow. "If I bow, you'll still look shorter from down here."
Gasps rippled through the market. The boy's face darkened.
But the girl lifted a hand, stopping him. Her eyes stayed on Rat. "I can feel it," she murmured. "The ripple of fate. Like stone dropped into still water."
Rat blinked. "I don't even have shoes, but sure, ripple of fate. Sounds like me."
She studied him closer. "Only those who brush against Beasts and survive carry such threads. You've been touched by death, haven't you?"
Rat's stomach twisted. He remembered the alley, the jaws, the screams. The Codex's choice.
He swallowed. "I saw… a page of thread. Right before I didn't die."
The girl's eyes widened slightly. "So you did."
The boy scoffed. "He lies. Mortals babble to impress. This one reeks of gutter filth."
But the girl reached into her sleeve and dropped something into Rat's basket. A copper coin, gleaming in the sun. To anyone else, worthless. To Rat, a feast.
"Attend the Open Sky Sect trials," she said. "If your fate truly tangles, the heavens will not ignore it."
Then she turned away, robes whispering across the stones. The boy followed with a sneer.
The crowd buzzed after they left, whispers thick with awe and envy.
Rat sat frozen, staring at the coin. His mind spun. Sect trials? He was barely alive most days. Sect disciples cultivated Qi, wielded treasures, and commanded mortals. He was Rat. The Basin's bottom.
Yet the girl had looked at him. Seen him. And the Codex stirred.
Silver threads unraveled across his vision.
[Codex of Strands of Fate – Status Update]
Vitality: 1
Qi Sense: 1
Comprehension: 1
Fate Entanglement: 4
Realm: Mortal Dust
[Appendix Unlocked: The Ladder of Cultivation in the Basin]
Mortals may step upon the path through stages of body and soul.
Mortal Dust: The foundationless masses.
Foundation Establishment: The first true step, where Qi veins open.
Golden Core: A cultivator's essence crystallizes, power vast.
Nascent Soul: The pinnacle within the Basin. To birth a soul of Qi, enduring beyond flesh.
Beyond this ladder, no cultivator in the Basin has climbed. Sects guard their knowledge jealously. Disciples are ranked: outer, inner, core, elder, sect master. To rise even one rung is to fight fate itself.
Rat traced the copper coin with trembling fingers.
Fate noticed him. That was never good news.