Time Until First Rift Appears: 4 Years, 10 Months, 9 Days.
Sighing, Shin Lee stared at the schematics she had been poring over for nights on end. The edges were smudged with charcoal, marred by faint tea stains from rushed sips that now felt like distant memories. Her frown deepened as she glanced around the chaotic remnants of her obsession: discarded notes stacked haphazardly on the workbench, tools abandoned where they had last been used, and the flickering light of the obelisks casting a somber, almost accusatory glow over the mess.
Her shoulders sagged as she pressed her palms into the edge of the table, the cool wood anchoring her briefly in the present. Every muscle in her body throbbed with exhaustion—a dull, ceaseless reminder of how long it had been since she’d truly rested. Days and nights had blurred together into an endless stretch, her mind a jumble of half-formed calculations and unanswered questions. Even her thoughts dragged sluggishly, as if wading through thick, unyielding molasses.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying in vain to push back the headache blooming behind her eyes.
I need something to drink.
Scanning the makeshift lab—or perhaps "workshop" was a better term—she took in the storage warehouse she’d commandeered. Merchants typically used it when visiting the sect to trade their wares, but now it served as her sanctuary.
“Xieren! Linxin!” she called sharply, her voice cutting through the silence. The tone was harsher than she intended, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Moments later, her apprentices came scurrying toward her, clearly abandoning whatever tasks they’d been absorbed in. Ink smudged their hands, and Linxin had a couple of scrolls tucked under his arm.
“Yes, Lady Lee?” Xieren asked, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity. His eyes lingered on the dark circles under her eyes. Linxin, meanwhile, scanned the workbench, frowning slightly at the chaos.
“Could you fetch me some tea? Use the ginseng root—the one aged a hundred years,” she instructed Xieren before turning to Linxin. “And you, tidy up this disaster, please. I’ve... misplaced most of my notes.” Her voice faltered slightly, weariness threading through every word.
The apprentices exchanged a glance, their worry palpable. Linxin hesitated, then ventured, “Are you sure that’s—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted, cutting off whatever concern he was about to voice. Though touched by their worry, she had no time for it. Not when the obelisks still hid their secrets. “Just thirsty,” she added firmly.
Xieren nodded, hesitating only a fraction longer than necessary before dashing off. Linxin, without further protest, set to clearing her workspace.
Lee sighed, her gaze drifting to the twelve obelisks standing sentinel in the center of the room. They loomed like ancient guardians, their dark presence suffusing the air with an unshakable tension. A deeper weariness seeped into her bones as she studied them.
She had been working tirelessly on the obelisks ever since Rin’s... situation had come to light. Others saw the looming threat as an opportunity—to grow stronger, to ascend beyond their limits. But to Shin Lee, it was nothing short of a catastrophe. And Rin... her son...
The memory clawed its way back unbidden, a relentless specter from a nightmare she couldn’t escape.
In an instant, she was back in that suffocating room, the weight of Ryuha’s words crashing down like an avalanche.
“I didn’t know this could happen,” Ryuha had said, his voice calm but burdened with uncertainty. It should have worked. Even now, those words twisted her stomach into knots. She had felt the ground shift beneath her as the terrible truth dawned. Her son—her son—wasn’t healing, wasn’t recovering. Something had gone horribly wrong.
Her breath had caught back then, panic swelling like a tide that refused to be silenced. What did he mean, it should have worked? Horror had widened her eyes, and her voice had trembled as she demanded, “What is wrong with him?”
The desperation of that moment echoed in her mind. She had gripped the doorframe to steady herself as Ryuha explained, his regret heavy in every word: Rin’s body had rejected the breathing technique.
Rejected.
She had never thought that word could carry such devastating weight. It had felt like a death sentence. Even now, her heart ached at the memory.
“You said he was ready,” her past self had pleaded, her voice barely holding together under the crushing weight of grief. “You said his father’s lineage—my lineage—would ensure he could cultivate.” She had clung to those promises like a lifeline, but Ryuha’s answer had shattered them.
“It means he will never cultivate. Not in the way we hoped. Not ever.”
Those words had cut through her like a blade. In that moment, her world had crumbled. Never. Her son would never cultivate, never live up to the legacy they had envisioned for him, never reach the heights they had dreamed.
Even now, her chest tightened as the memory played out in agonizing detail. The tears she had fought to suppress, the crushing fear—her son, her precious boy, was slipping away. She had stood there, hollow and broken, as Ryuha explained the rest: Rin’s blood was different, his body rejecting the very power meant to strengthen him.
How am I supposed to tell him that his future... everything he’s worked for... is gone? She had asked that in a voice barely above a whisper, drowning in the enormity of it all.
And Ryuha’s reply still haunted her: “I don’t know how to fix this.”
That had been the final nail in the coffin. There was no fixing this. Rin’s future—their future—was gone.
But then, amidst the crushing sorrow, something else had stirred within her—something dark and unrelenting. I will find a way, she had vowed, her heart trembling with a determination that bordered on madness. Her son’s fate would not end here. If no solution existed, she would create one. If no path was laid before her, she would carve one herself. Nothing—nothing—would stand in her way.
And that was where the obelisks came in. She vividly remembered the man in the blue window, his voice calm and cryptic as he spoke of answers hidden within the obelisks themselves.
To Shin Lee's dismay, however, the white obelisk that had descended was only one of many. It was weeks into her obsessive study of it that she realized there were others—each distinct from the one her sect had received. Not only were these obelisks different in color, but their shapes and markings also varied wildly. There were twelve in total each of them a different color one was as black as midnight a other was as blue as the clearest cerulean sea there was one that had the color of bone that was laid out in the sun to bleach as if to show its harshness.
It took some maneuvering from her side to collect the twelve obelisks that were available to her many of the sects and kingdoms were hesitant to relinquish their respective obelisks as the thought of collecting the jewel that showcased that unbelievable power and of course some of the more enterprising sects and kingdoms sought that incredible strength so they started trying ways to breach the obelisk to get to their prize but the ingenuity of the race or maybe races foresaw this as obelisk had its own defenses against peoples sticky fingers it seemed the greed of people was a universal problem and it didn't take long for those said defenses to make them self known
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Shin Lee could not recall the what the sect or clan it was that triggered it but the subsequent explosion was so violent that the surrounding area around the obelisk was totally obliterated it was as if a sect elder or very powerful elder used their most destructive technique and to add to the mystique of the obelisks the said obelisk did not so much as have a scratch on it after word spread of the tragic event it became much easier to acquire them.
Shin Lee could not recall which sect or clan it was that triggered it, but the explosion had been so violent that the surrounding area was obliterated. It had felt like the unleashed fury of a sect elder’s most devastating technique. And yet, despite the utter destruction, the obelisk itself had remained unscathed—not a single scratch on its surface. The sheer mystique of the event had turned these enigmatic pillars into objects of reluctant reverence, whispered about in cautionary tales across the land. Ironically, this tragedy had worked in her favor. With most cultivators unwilling to risk further calamities, acquiring obelisks had become easier. Much easier. Or, perhaps, just slightly less impossible.
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The difficulty wasn’t in acquiring the obelisks anymore, but in understanding them.
Shin Lee let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the sound echoing faintly through the quiet hum of her makeshift workshop. Her gaze swept across the dozen obelisks arranged in a loose, chaotic formation. Each stood tall and unmoving, their towering forms exuding an unshakable sense of purpose.
Despite months of relentless work, she felt no closer to unraveling the secrets they held. The obelisks seemed to defy logic itself, their markings an indecipherable script that shifted and flickered just enough to give the impression of meaning—only to vanish like a cruel joke the moment she thought she understood.
She had tried everything: ancient texts, modern theories, brute force, and delicate precision. Nothing worked. The obelisks refused to yield. Why leave behind answers that no one could decipher? she thought bitterly, gripping her chin as her eyes traced the patterns on the nearest obelisk. Or were they just answers meant for someone else?
Doubt clawed at her. What if she had been wrong to pin her hopes on this mystery? What if she was chasing shadows while Rin’s future slipped further from her grasp?
Her fists tightened at her sides. No. She wouldn’t allow herself to think that way. The answer was here. It had to be. The man in the blue window had been clear: the truth was etched into the obelisks themselves. It was only a matter of looking at them the right way—or maybe in the right moment.
That didn’t make it any less maddening.
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Her thoughts swirled like a storm as her apprentices worked diligently around her. Xieren had returned with a fresh pot of tea, which now sat untouched on the edge of her workbench. Linxin was tidying up the scattered remnants of her previous notes, occasionally glancing at the obelisks with cautious fascination. Shin Lee absently ran her fingers across the smooth wood of the workbench, her mind tangled in half-formed theories and unanswered questions.
The faint sound of Linxin humming a tune drifted to her ears, momentarily breaking her concentration. She glanced over her shoulder to see him crouching to collect stray scrolls, his ink-stained fingers carefully avoiding smudging their contents further. Xieren, meanwhile, was inspecting the black obelisk with a cautious reverence that reminded her of a child handling a priceless artifact.
She let out a weary sigh and turned back to the obelisks. The room was heavy with their presence, the air around them seeming to hum with a faint, unearthly energy. She found herself walking among them, her fingers trailing lightly across their cool surfaces. Each one was distinct in its texture, its markings, and the peculiar energy it seemed to radiate.
The white obelisk—the one they had first received—stood in the center like a sentinel, its faint glow casting a halo of light around it. Nearby, a black obelisk loomed, its midnight surface absorbing the light as though it hungered for it.
Shin Lee paused, her brow furrowing. The obelisks were deliberate in their design, that much was clear. But why did they have to be so enigmatic? What am I missing? she wondered, staring at the intricate carvings that seemed to shift just beneath her gaze.
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The sound of a light thunk snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned just in time to see a young girl—barely more than a child—stumble against one of the obelisks. The girl, clearly one of Linxin’s assistants, scrambled to regain her balance, her small hands brushing against the pillar’s surface as she straightened herself.
“Careful!” Shin Lee barked, her voice sharper than she intended. She strode forward, her frustration bubbling to the surface. What was a child doing so close to the obelisks?
Before she could reach the girl, the unthinkable happened. The obelisk the child had bumped wavered slightly before leaning into the one next to it. The second obelisk, as though responding to some unseen force, tilted as well, its surface grazing the edge of a third. Within seconds, the dozen obelisks had shifted, leaning against each other like precarious dominos frozen in motion.
Shin Lee froze, her reprimand dying on her lips. Something about the way they leaned against each other caught her attention, a faint spark of recognition flickering in the back of her mind.
The girl stepped back, wide-eyed and muttering apologies, but Shin Lee barely heard her. Her eyes darted between the obelisks, tracing the way their edges aligned, the way their markings now seemed to connect in places. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
“Don’t move,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The room seemed to hold its breath as she stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached out, her fingers hovering over the faint lines where the obelisks now touched. The carvings—previously isolated and incomprehensible—formed a pattern. A web.
How did I not see this before? she thought, her pulse quickening.
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“Linxin!” she called sharply, her tone cutting through the stillness.
The apprentice appeared at her side in moments, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Lady Lee?”
“Look at this,” she said, gesturing to the obelisks. “The way they’re leaning—their markings align. Do you see it?”
Linxin squinted, his gaze following the lines she pointed to. His eyes widened. “They connect,” he murmured, awe coloring his voice.
“Exactly,” Shin Lee said, her mind racing. “It’s like a puzzle. When the obelisks shift, their markings form a larger pattern.”
Xieren joined them, his curiosity piqued. “But how did the girl manage to—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Shin Lee interrupted, her excitement mounting. “What matters is that we finally have something to work with.”
Her hands trembled as she traced the newly revealed patterns, her thoughts moving faster than she could process. The obelisks weren’t meant to be studied in isolation—they were meant to interact. To connect.
But why? And what would happen if they connected completely?
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She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the obelisks. The faint hum of their energy seemed louder now, almost as if they were reacting to the change. The room felt charged, the air thick with a sense of anticipation.
Shin Lee’s mind spun with possibilities. Could this be the breakthrough she had been searching for? Or was it another dead end?
She glanced at the young girl, who still stood frozen near the edge of the room, her small frame trembling under Shin Lee’s gaze. “You,” Shin Lee said, her voice softer now. “What’s your name?”
“Xue Gengxin,” the girl whispered, her eyes downcast.
“Well, Xue Gengxin,” Shin Lee said, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You might have just helped us take the first step toward unraveling this mystery.”
The girl blinked, her expression shifting from fear to tentative pride.
Shin Lee turned back to the obelisks, her resolve hardening. This was just the beginning. The obelisks had finally shown a glimpse of their secret, and she would stop at nothing to uncover the rest.
If they wanted to test her will, so be it. She had already vowed to carve a path for her son, and nothing—not cryptic carvings, not inscrutable obelisks, not even the universe itself—would stand in her way.
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[System Alert]
Investigation Complete
The source of interference has been identified and addressed. The infringing party has fulfilled all owed obligations to the system.
[Error]
Meddling in a uninitiated planet is not permitted....
[Error]
All necessary reparations made.
Adjusting integration parameters due to interference
Initiating
Initiation complete
World Integration status has been elevated from Code Yellow to Code Black
[Error]
Planetary Mass does not meet requirements for the elevated Code
Adjusting...
Adjustment complete Planet will be integrated with five others
Final Status Update:
The Collosus Comes