Even as the undead fall past the event horizon of the hole in reality, I feel no relief. The zombies were terrible and unfeeling. And, incomprehensible as the Abomination that possesses them is, what I witness now is unlike anything I could have conceived of.

The black portal is growing beyond constraint. Absorbing chi, air, and matter in its expansion. And, I'm the one who unleashed this terror.

In my experience with the Dragon's Scream cultivation sessions, tears in reality formed from the violence of the energies of the Desert of Desolation meeting my own. But, those tears were as scratches before this gaping wound in space.

The aether, when condensed, is too heavy to stay in this world. At least, that's how it manifested with my amateur attempt to manipulate it.

While I'm caught up in thought, more zombies depart this world. The wind is picking up and, even at a distance, the tribespeople are fighting to keep their footing. I have to do something fast. But, seconds matter. And, I don't know what to do.

The only thing that makes any sense to me is to use the same aether that made the hole. But, I don't know how to do that without making the situation worse.

The thought strikes me that in my soul stone, aether and chi have found union. Spirit and space can weave together to create something greater than its parts.

I take a shaky breath and begin weaving a net of ki imbued with aether.

I feel the weak strands of breaking reality at the edges of the hole and begin creating a net.

While I work, I feel the Abomination watching me through the eyes of the undead. But, I can't concern myself with exposing my secrets right now.

The horde of the undead has diminished to a quarter of what it had been and I feel them marching under the winds of the portal. Their target is, of course, me.

I swallow the saliva in my mouth and focus on my task. The weave begins to intertwine with the fabric of reality and I realize that, while chi and aether represent parts of the natural fabric, other elements make up the weave. My shroud is only a lacking imitation of reality. But, it's working.

The hole begins to mend, slowly. And the zombies are much fewer than they'd been. However, they are upon me.

A handful of the undead reach out, trying to pull me into the abyss with them.

I extend out with my soul body, into the ground at my feet, propelling myself backward. The zombies lose balance for their lunging and are sucked up into the hole.

I'm breathing heavily, my anxiety reaching new heights. I'm losing ground as the tear expands.

Fortunately, the undead are mostly gone and I take the opportunity to focus on my task.

The labor is one I'm not used to. I've always folded chi to forge it into ki, my soul stone, swords, and spirit glass. But, this is a subtler craft. Reality is woven with strands of the elements.

It's a task that takes everything I've got. My soul stone was in shambles when the conflict began. And, the necrotic energies of the undead sapped my chi with every contact. Now, I have to mend a reality I've torn.

It's not a good day.

Minutes pass as hours and I see that the Abomination has turned from attacking me to merely observing me while I work.

I put the creature out of my mind and finally gain ground on the expanding hole. It's now a matter of finishing the patchwork and hoping that the fabric can hold up against the voracious consumption of the abyss.

Suddenly, I think that there are things that even the abomination cannot compare with in its hunger. It's scary to think that at any moment, I could open another hole in the fabric of space. Aether is not an element to be used casually.

Of course, the danger won't stop me from cultivating it. But, this is a lesson I will take to heart.

Finally, the last stitch in creation is woven into the fabric and I see a distorted vortex. It still sucks chi and air into it through the gaps in the weave. But, the hole's been patched to a state similar to the scratches that I'm used to.

The equilibrium even allows the abyss' aether to seep into Gaia like blood. Already, the hole is scabbing over. Yet, I wonder if another could tear open this hole anew. How large could it grow?

I resolve myself to continue weaving the bandage in the days that come.

My eyes turn to the gathering of half a dozen undead that avoided falling into the abyss.

The zombies have ugly smiles on their faces while they stand not far off.

I approach with my sword out before me. They shouldn't present much challenge at this point. But, I'm not about to let down my guard.

"HahAhAHa!" it laughs through the dead.

"GoOd!"

As the Abomination says its final word, the zombies collapse to the sand at their feet.

Uncertain, I approach and look at the corpses. By all appearances, the will that moved them has departed.

I manifest sword ki and rapidly dismember the bodies. The necrotic aura is gone from their forms.

My eyes turn up to view the tribe I'd saved from destruction. Many angry eyes view me. But, many more show absolute terror. Their eyes going from me to the location of the tear.

There's no appreciation for their salvation. I came too late for that.

With a dispirited sigh, I take to my flying sword and rise into the air. The dead, both fresh and old, litter the tan sand under the hot desert sun. They'll have to deal with the cleanup.

As I return to my ruined altar, I have many things on my mind.

The Abomination has set its sights on me. It's not surprising that I would be subject to its interest considering how my past life ended. The star, one among many, of the abomination falling towards me.

It seems that there is a destiny that ties me to the cosmic monster.

I begin the laborious task of building walls and as the days pass, I feel the tribe I'd barely defended depart. Their tribute being lost is not a matter that I concern myself with. But, it is bitter to be considered an inferior guardian.

Not that I ever desired the role. If anything, I'd like the other tribes to depart. But, as the days advance, the tribute continues to arrive.

One day, a week after the tragedy of the tribespeople, a form comes staggering across the dunes to my altar. Despite myself, I feel a smile come over my lips. It seems he survived after all. But, his condition seems bad.

I make no move to reach him. I just wait for him to come to me.

Finally, my disciple kicks the dust with every step as he comes before me and stands panting.

I look up from my glass-making and smile a not-quite insincere smile. His face is twisted, as though he were tasting something foul.

"Is she dead?" I ask mockingly.

He bares his white teeth at me in anger.

"I need help…. Master."

The resentment in his voice is directed at me. But, I know that I'm not the real cause for it.

"Sit."

He does as he's bid and I sit down behind him, both of us in the lotus position.

I place my hands on his back and project my soul into his own.

"Ah!" he cries out and tries to mobilize his soul to fight back against my intrusion.

"Do you want my help or not?" I spit.

He seems to be thinking, but relents. His soul succumbs to mine and I begin to feel what it is that has touched him with blight.

My face tightens as I recognize the necrotic energies that have infested his meridians. It's not so simple as just being touched with death. This is sorcery. A weaving of threads not unlike the fabric I covered the hole with. Only this weave is of death, not spirit and space.

"This'll hurt," I warn him.

He nods and I begin feeding chi into the weave, the energies of chi and necro negating each other like acid boiling over.

His meridians are seared as the sorcery fades away. Time and again, the young man screams like he never has before.

By the end of it, my disciple lies crying. But, he's cleansed of the spell.

I look down at him and feel sympathetic.

"Take this," I say as I give him a Heavenly Fortifying pill. The medicine will heal his meridians the same as it seals cracks in soul stones.

My disciple rises from the ground and looks at me sullenly. But, he accepts the pill.

With that settled, I turn to my glass-making.

In the days that follow, I leave the young man to his affairs. He comes and goes, visiting his tribe. I imagine he's still in pain. But, he never complains.

Eventually, he grows bored with watching me from a distance and stands near me as I finish the walls of the altar and move on to the floors. He's seen the complete structure, so he doesn't ask my purpose.

He never offers to help. And, I don't ask for it. Our relationship isn't warm.

Every few days, I return to the hole I made and touch it up. It's still an obvious wound on creation. But, reality is healing itself. Soon, my ministrations become unnecessary.

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Still, aether gathers more densely in this location. And, I come to feed on the element.

Days and weeks pass as a steady rhythm is built up. And soon, my walls and floor of pristine black glass are complete. I move onto the array once more.

This time, I won't be jumping to use the Dragon's Scream as soon as I reach a critical mass. Things could have been different if I had not been caught unprepared. And, now I know the sorceress and the Abomination are waiting for me to show weakness.

It's annoying to have a nemesis. I would be quite content to leave the sorceress alone. Though the Abomination and I seem fated for one another.

I suppose it's vain longing. I want what was never going to be allowed me.

In my pursuit of higher quality spirit glass, I've begun weaving aether into the folds of chi within the glass. Channels form like arteries through which the chi flows like water. All rivers flow through the array and into the central node.

Even with just a single circle, I can feel the leap in efficiency. I find this new sorcery of mine quite promising.

My disciple looks to me expectantly when I rise from my night's cultivation in the spirit circle.

I shrug, "Go ahead."

He can cultivate while I work. It's no burden for me.

As more circles are added to the array, I think that he's cultivating rapidly. The cracks of his soul stone mend rapidly. But, his understanding of the dao is lacking. He knows power, not purpose.

"What's your name?" I finally ask after months of being with him.

He looks at me oddly, "Ishmael."

I nod.

"What is a dao, Ishmael?"

He looks at me, confused. "It means, way."

I measure him, "What is the way?"

He frowns, "It's where something goes."

"What is the way?" I repeat, emphasizing the word the.

He looks unhappy, "You tell me."

"The dao created the One,

"The One created the Two,

"The Two created the Three,

"And the Three created the myriad things.

"What does it mean?"

Ishmael thinks for a moment before saying, "The dao created everying."

"Hmm," I ponder. "What is the dao?"

The young cultivator sneers, "You just asked that. It's the way."

"How does the way create?"

He thinks for a moment, "By channeling something."

"What is that something?"

Ishmael crosses his arms, "You tell me."

I smile and ask, "What is the One?"

"I'm done with your stupid questions," Ishmael snaps. "Tell me!"

I shrug and return to my glass-making. His eyes sear my back for a long time before he approaches.

"Master," he says with resignation. "What is the One?"

I look at him and think for a moment before pointing to the sky.

He's confused for a while before he sighs and returns to the spirit array to cultivate.

As time passes, my disciple grows rapidly. He's never consumed the dragon's scream. And so, doesn't have a soul stone in as ruinous a state as my own. I don't give him Immortal's Ascendance pills, yet he's nearing ascendance.

Another year passes and I still haven't taken the Dragon's Scream. My soul well grows on a linear growth curve, impressive by all rights. But, it's quite boring.

I feel the change coming over my disciple. With the array, he's consuming the chi of heaven and earth on a level that common cultivators couldn't compare with. But, he's reached a bottleneck.

Cultivating is not just a matter of accruing enough chi to seal one's soul stone. The dao matters. The maturity of the soul matters.

Ishmael doesn't have an inquisitive mind, he only wants power. He wants the power to defeat the sorceress and free the desert of her undead army. And, though I try, he is resentful of my guidance. His patience is short.

Finally, his frustration wins over his resentment.

"Master," he says angrily. "Why can't I advance?"

I look at him. His soul well is quite profound. Most lower immortals couldn't compare.

"You don't understand the dao and thus you don't understand your own dao."

He grits his teeth, "Then explain it to me. Stop asking me pointless questions. Tell me what the dao is."

I smile. If only he understood how silly the request is.

I sigh, I'd thought I'd inspire some philosophy in him. But, it was all for naught.

"The dao, beyond comprehension as it is, is heavenly, earthly, cosmic, dimensional, elemental, and wholly original. It is something that cannot be understood in a lifetime, let alone a few sentences. The purpose of an immortal is not to understand it, but to learn through it.

"An inquisitive mind that seeks to decipher the meaning of that which can only ever be partially deciphered is what's necessary on our path. Only by contemplating a dao that is greater than your own can you ascend.

"Do you think that I understand the dao of heaven? Have you convinced yourself that I have, or ever could, fully define my dao?

"The dao created the One, heavenly chi.

"The One created the Two, the chi of life.

"The Two created the Three, earthly chi.

"And the Three created the myriad things.

"That which is all is created through the chi of heaven, life, and earth. All of which are defined by the way, the dao, into which they were created."

I feel frustrated, realizing how obvious my lack of understanding of the dao is. My words are a vain effort to define that which can't be defined.

"So," Ishmael says in contemplation. "It's just a matter of the types of chi; heavenly, life, and earthly."

I puzzle at the man. Just?

"Go meditate," I say in disgust.

He nods and takes up his place in the array.

I sigh and return to my labors.

The walls have been expanded out, the array growing to over 2,000 feet in diameter. A whirlwind of chi rises into the sky over the center of the array. Mortals wouldn't see it. And if anything the whirlwind is calming the chi storms across the dunes.

The Abomination and its sorceress haven't acted on me in all this time. Whether it's because they are waiting for me to slip up or have changed focus, I'm grateful for their absence.

Ishmael goes back to his tribe from time to time, but he never bothers to share news from beyond the array with me. Fortunately, I have no interest.

My spirit glass crafting has grown tremendously in its complexity, the lessons in sorcery finding constant practice. I find that weaving chi and aether together is more effective than trying to work solely with the dangerous aether. This spirit space isn't simply space filled with spirit. But rather a fabric of reality defined by the element of spirit.

With spirit space, I find comprehension of the rare cosmos ring.

In a cosmos ring, aether is not present. It is more akin to a spirit body or spirit vessel into which nonliving objects can be placed and hidden.

The thing that separates spirit space is that the space created can, theoretically, contain living things. The spirit of the living can exist, rather than being rejected, in this space.

Much practice remains to be performed before I can come close to creating the equivalent of a cosmos ring. But, the applications could be profound.

Another year has passed without the sorceress attacking. I imagine she's still a terror upon the desert as Ishmael remains adamant about growing in power. But, she hasn't bothered me since. And I'm in my third year since coming here. Probably close to four years since I regressed.

All I've done is pursue power. I wonder what I could do to affect the course of events. It'll still be decades before the daeva and immortals go into full-blown war. And, as I read the heavens, I see that things are moving at an accelerated rate.

One night, as I cultivate under the chi whirlpool, I witness something alarming. A constellation is falling.

One wing of light and the other dark. The Goddess of Order and Chaos, Vritas has left her place in the heavens. But, she's not falling to Gaia. Her stars fall on the heavens above.

Aion.

The daeva have their goddess.

I feel my breath catch and I have to remind myself to breathe. This never happened in my past life.

The Abomination falling on Gaia brought terror to my heart. But, the daeva gaining a goddess in anticipation of the war is no less intimidating.

Gaia is a realm of immortals. There are no gods for us to hope to save us. It's both a blessing and a curse.

We're free from the tyranny of a god who feels entitled to our world. But, Gaia is also prime real estate for the covetous gods to seek to conquer.

Now that Vritas has left the heavens, I won't be able to read her story.

My eyes turn to Lok, the infernal god. At least he's still there.

I look at the knight as he dances in confusion. Will he too fall from his place in the heavens? Will he come in search of the Abomination?

As the stressful night ends, Ishmael is oblivious to the change. I can't help but feel that I'm an inferior teacher. But, he seems content to develop his dao of power under his own efforts.

At least I thought so.

"Master," he says one morning when we trade places. "I know you have the means to ascend."

I look at him curiously.

Ishmael looks into my eyes, "I know you have your reasons for not ascending to the next stage of immortality.

"But," he continues. "I am not content to remain in this state.

"Master….please, help me ascend."

I look at the man in shock. He's never said please before.

He looks embarrassed by his words. But, his eyes are earnest.

The tan-skinned man with black hair and dark eyes is frustrated by his inability.

I think for a moment, "On one condition."

He bites his cheek and nods.

"You will be responsible for the protection of the tribes I've been guarding."

Without hesitation, my disciple nods his head and I feel some level of relief.

Despite my relief, I know that cutting corners, while one's dao is still immature, is a reckless thing to do. But, it's what he wants.

I pull out one of my superior-grade Immortal's Ascendance pills. It would be like a drop in the bucket for me to consume it. But, his soul stone is just a few cracks shy from being flawed and not cracked. He'll have a long way to go to attain a flawless soul stone.

I pass him the item and motion for him to enter the array.

His expression is determined as he takes his seat as he has so many times before. This time though, he will ascend.

The pill goes into his mouth and I watch as his soul begins to power up. The tornado of chi can't be consumed fast enough as it is used to mend his last crack.

The process takes some time. But soon, the whirlpool of white chi that surrounds him mellows.

His soul is serene without a mote of chi escaping once it has passed the threshold. His power is fully his own and not shared with Gaia.

He opens his eyes and looks at me for a moment. An amused smile crossing his lips.

"I'm more powerful than you now," his words have an edge to them.

"You are," I say evenly.

He seems to be debating something with an ominous smile on his face.

"I suppose this means you're no longer qualified to be my master."

I feel myself chuckle, earning an angry look from him.

"If that's what you want, ascended immortal. I cannot bind you to me."

He stands and looks at me dismissively.

"I will honor our agreement."

I evaluate him pensively.

"Go, then."

His eyes linger on my array before departing.

Once he's gone I abandon thoughts of refining spirit glass.

My disciple may be content to allow me my array for now. But, as is the way of immortals, he will come to covet it. And, he's not the kind to honor the master-disciple relationship. At least not for long.

For the day, I prepare. I will scream tonight. And, come tomorrow, I will be gone.

I know not where he's gone off to. But, I don't bother watching the skies. I only consume the chi of heaven and earth until, at night, I take the Dragon's Scream.

The tempest I stir up this night is less like a tornado than a hurricane. It's almost peaceful in the eye of the storm. Except when the tendrils spread through the massive array and rip the hurricane asunder, its pieces forced into my small vessel.

The aether flows like a river as it bleeds into this realm and I start to worry about a repeat of the experience with the abomination. Such concerns don't manifest and, as the screams end, reality begins to heal itself.

I look out on black sand for miles. I can feel the effect I've had on this region.

The spirit glass sand has made an array of its own. Life energy abounds in this holy land. I think that even without my array, my former disciple will be able to cultivate very well here.

I look mournfully at what I'm losing. This had been a very beneficial space for me to cultivate in and I think that, if not for the tribespeople, I could have stayed here for a long time.

I evaluate my soul well. In three years, I've gained a soul comparable in raw power to what I achieved in many more years on Fire Island. And, more than that, I've cultivated the aether, an element I'd never known before.

The aether has become a profound part of me, coloring my soul purple. I wonder if any other immortals have cultivated elements other than spirit. What colors would their souls be?

Another benefit of my time here is the abundant desert herbs in my cosmos ring. I have most of what I need for the pills I intend to craft. Now I just need a safe space to cultivate.

I bring out my flying sword and take to the sky.

Before I get far, a figure flies at me with great speed.

I rest on my sword while Ishmael floats freely, swimming in the chi that pervades the world.

"So," he says disapprovingly. "You decided to leave. You are a coward after all."

I sigh, "I merely seek to follow my dao, Your Excellency."

He's angry now.

"You could have ended things years ago!" he screams. "You had the power that I wanted. But, you just built your palace and broke it over and over. And over!"

I wait for him to stop panting.

"Have you ever heard the adage of the frog in the well, Ishmael?"

He looks at me with disdain.

"Another of your riddles, Rook?"

I smile bitterly.

"Not a riddle. Just think of a frog trapped in the waters at the bottom of a well. To the frog, the well is the universe. The highest heaven it knows is the little circle of sky high above.

"What does the frog know of the world, or power, of the dao?

"Between you and I, Ishmael, who's more like the frog in the well?"

The dark-skinned man seems somewhat enlightened. "What are you talking about?"

"If you thought I was powerful, now you realize that I'm not. If you think that you're powerful, you're not."

He bites his lip. He seems to be mulling something over.

Ishmael is fighting with something that he does not want to express.

"….Then stay."

I look at him for a long moment. And then, I shake my head.

"The desert is your home, not mine. Take care of it. And, don't get arrogant. You might have ascended, but I have no idea what tricks the sorceress has up her sleave."

I look down on the black sand that patches the endless dunes of the desert.

"I think you'll do better than most young immortals."

He follows my gaze and I see something in his eyes, greed.

"Go, then," he says bitterly before flying down to the shadow on the landscape.

I smile sadly and turn to my flight.

My journey will take me South to the Jungle of Blooming Paradise.