High above the veils of mortal comprehension, beyond the fabric of stars and void, two indistinct beings stood in the silent expanse. Their forms flickered between light and shadow, their words echoing across the vast cosmic sea.
"Soon," one murmured, voice carrying the calm weight of eternity, "it will be time again — for those who have reached the Dao Expansion Realm to descend and seek their lower worlds for subjugation."
The other presence pulsed faintly, like a dying star reigniting. "Another cycle begins already? The last one barely settled."
A slow ripple of laughter resonated through the void. "Do you recall the last era? The cosmos birthed nearly a Octillion worlds across its boundless reach. Of those, septillions nurtured life strong enough to awaken thought… to grasp meaning… to seek power."
"Ah, yes," the second voice replied. "Sentience — the first mark of qualification. Only intelligent creatures can comprehend the Dao, can hear its rhythm when it's spread by those of the higher realms. Without awareness, there is no faith… and without faith, no subjugation."
Silence fell for a time, filled only by the whisper of drifting spiritual tides between galaxies.
"Do you ever wonder," the first asked softly, "how many will endure this time?"
"Endure?" The other mused. "You mean — how long will it take for all of the new worlds to be subjugated"
"Exactly. The pattern never changes. High level worlds are already formed. All new world are subjugated by various high level civilizations like ours."
the first said with faint amusement, "Yes it had been thousands of eras since last high level world arised."
The second voice dimmed, thoughtful. "Then let us wait and watch."
The two presences vanished, leaving behind only ripples of power that crossed eternity — unseen, unfelt, yet shaping destinies untold.
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Arin's world
The world had changed again.
Ages had passed — continents shifted, forests rose and withered, and the balance of spiritual energy settled into its grand, layered pattern.
Near the sea coasts, humans built small tribes. The air there was gentle, spiritual energy thin and harmless. Their lives were short, but simple — marked by hunting, gathering, and firelight stories under the night sky.
But far inland, where the density of spiritual energy grew thicker, strange things began to occur. Trees there grew taller than mountains. Beasts gleamed with scales like metal and eyes filled with eerie light. And among the humans who wandered too close, some began to change.
Their wounds healed faster.
Their senses sharpened.
They could feel something — an unseen flow beneath the world's skin, whispering through air and stone.
At first, it was nothing more than instinct. A hunter who survived a deadly fall and claimed "the mountain blessed him." A child who sat beside a glowing crystal and felt his heartbeat slow until he could hear the pulse of the earth.
But soon, those scattered instincts began to form patterns.
In the deep jungles near the inland lakes, an old man discovered that when he sat still and breathed in rhythm with the wind, the pain in his body faded. The youth who followed him called it "Listening to the Breath of Heaven."
Far to the north, in a region where rivers shimmered faintly at night, a woman learned to draw energy through her skin. Her body hardened, and her strength tripled. Her tribe called her Spirit-Touched.
Unknowingly, they had stumbled upon the first primitive forms of cultivation.
Their methods were crude — no guiding scriptures, no diagrams of meridians or dantians. They relied on intuition, ritual, and imitation of nature. Yet, their efforts bore fruit.
Some among them lived longer. Some grew stronger than any beast.
And some — a rare few — began to see the flow of energy itself.
They called it many names — Heaven's Breath, Earth's Blood, The Whisper, The Invisible Fire.
But it was all the same: Spiritual Energy, the breath of the world Arin had once seeded.
As generations passed, the first tribes grew into small settlements. Primitive knowledge turned into lore, then into tradition.
Tribes with members who could sense and use energy began to dominate others.
They learned that the glowing stones found deep underground — the spirit crystals — could amplify their power. Warriors who carried such stones became the protectors, leaders, and eventually, the first chieftains blessed by heaven.
Inland, where energy density was greatest, entire tribes were born with natural strength and sharper minds — the Bloodline Blessed.
Their bodies already brimmed with latent energy, the result of generations evolving under high concentrations of spiritual force. To them, controlling energy was as natural as breathing.
And so, the world split once more —
the common humans who lived near the gentle coasts, living mortal lives…
and the gifted tribes, who dwelled deeper inland, closer to danger and divinity.
Over centuries, the gifted would become the ancestors of cultivators.
They recorded the flow of power through the body using marks on stone. They named the paths of energy — Heart Vein, Earth Vein, Sky Vein — crude but accurate descriptions of the meridian system.
They learned to temper the body by bathing in rivers dense with energy, and expand the mind by meditating near the crystals that sang faintly in silence.
The first "techniques" were born not from enlightenment, but from trial and death.
It was an age of discovery — and of awe.
At night, as humans sat around fires watching the stars, stories spread:
of the Man Who Became Lightning,
of the Woman Who Turned Stone Into Fire,
of the Child Who Spoke With Beasts.
Myths were born — but myths built foundations.
And those foundations would one day become the world's first cultivation systems.
Far away, in lands still untamed, the inland jungles glowed faintly blue from energy-soaked flora.
And somewhere within that glow, an ancient tree pulsed with light —
its roots drinking deeply of spiritual veins flowing beneath the earth.
The world was preparing.
The age of mortals had begun to shift…
into the Age of Cultivation.