45th of Season of Fire, 56th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt knew a lot about cultivation. His father had expounded on the topic ever since Newt was old enough to understand his words. The realm was a blank slate, a barren wasteland of mortal dust for the cultivator to sculpt, to cultivate.

Cultivators populated their realm with symbolic objects and structures, fields of swords or spears, forests of shields, complex fortresses vaster than any material structures, and much more. Most cultivators shaped their first realm to help them better draw spiritual energy from the outside world through their spirit root.

Gigantic mines, bonfires, pumps, and bellows were the most basic means of harvesting energy for the main elemental affinities. Alchemists formed boiling cauldrons, smiths blazing forges, herbalists made giant plows, all of them adding whatever insight they had to improve their future growth.

However, few to no cultivators added offensive or defensive abilities to their first realm, or Foundational Realm, as some called it. A stable first realm, focused on drawing spiritual energy, was a prerequisite for success, and only the ignorant few left anything else inside it before breaking through the realm barrier. Those who needed the extra edge or advantage, tore down such emergency structures, and rebuilt them into whatever would increase their future growth before advancing and setting their cultivation in stone.

“Your first two layers should form a volcano,” Magmin explained. “At first it will be flat, but the more lava it spews, the taller it will grow. In the third layer, you will erect fire-earth trees. They will concentrate the spiritual energy you gather. That way, the energy will flow towards the edges, expanding your realm instead of wasting a portion to increase the volcano’s size. Make no mistake, more than half the energy your lava possesses will seep back into the volcano, making it taller and sturdier, and the rest will reach the edge, poured into your growth and expansion.”

“Does lava flow all the time, or only when you meditate?” Newt asked because the structures humans created in their realms only aided cultivation during meditation, when actively used. The rest of the time, cultivators drew in spiritual energy at the rate natural for their spirit root.

“What does ‘meditate’ mean?” Magmin asked.

“When you are sleeping or sunbathing,” Newt used Magmin’s terms.

“All the time. How else could it work?” Magmin hissed in confusion. “Is this a metaphysical question, like does the pterodactylus exist if I do not see it? Because, trust me, it will snuff your life regardless of whether or not you can see it. In fact, it slashed your limb just a moment ago even though you did not see it.”

The first portion of Magmin’s answer shocked Newt so much that he did not consider the insult to his intelligence that the second part represented.

“All the time?” Newt repeated the words, much to Magmin’s frustration.

“Yes, all the time. Now focus on the task before you, limp newt. Make a stable realm, otherwise it will collapse, and you will just burn to death when trying to use Magmin Scales to scoop lava. Listen to my voice. Close your eyes and see the empty plain of rock with your mind’s eye.”

Newt obeyed, closed his eyes and found himself an insignificant little boy, beaten and bloody. Just like Magmin had said, there was nothing in the gray, formless world, other than the single gigantic plain of dust on which Newt stood. He guessed the difference came from not being a magmin serpent.

Just as he considered the slight difference, Newt heard a distant bark and turned around, but nothing stirred in the bleak landscape.

“Useless weakling, should have thrown him off a cliff when he was born,” Newt’s uncle said, his voice distant and ghostly.

“The only redeeming quality he has is his father,” a servant he once sparred with muttered, thinking certain the young master was nowhere near him. “I could beat him to death, if only I had the chance.”

“Shut up,” Newt said, trembling.

“Focus on the task at hand,” Magmin’s words echoed, followed by the pterodactylus’s screech.

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Newt shuddered. “Is it even possible to develop a heart demon based on someone else’s heart demon?”

He slapped his cheeks and got to work. First, he wished to find the center of his realm and immediately felt a pull to the right. He followed it until the feeling disappeared.

Still focusing on the same intent, Newt kept going forward, but the feeling urged him to return, so he did. After testing it two more times by moving in different directions, Newt confirmed he had indeed found the center of his realm, and started digging, feeling excited because he was finally beginning to cultivate his realm, yet disappointed because his cultivation boiled down to digging a hole.

He pushed away the distractions, and focused on his work. The loose soil was softer than sand under Newt’s hands as he dug into it, but unlike sand, it remained where he left it. He clawed, deepening the pit, the heat growing harder to resist the deeper down he went. Soon enough, he had made a vertical shaft dozens of feet deep, and the heat was becoming unbearable.

There was no reasonable way to explain it, but Newt stopped when he knew magma was just beyond a layer of dirt as thin as an egg’s shell. He did not know why the dust had not melted already, or erupted under the pressure. In fact, he knew the barrier would never break. Not unless he willed it.

So, he climbed out of the tunnel, stared down it for another moment, then willed the thin sheet of loose dust to break. That was a mistake.

A thunderous roar followed the sharp crack, and lava surged up the shaft. Newt fled for his life, his heart racing. He had barely made five steps before lava gushed out of the hole in the ground, spraying into the sky for a while before falling back to the ground with a heavy splat.

The dust sizzled and melted behind Newt, but he did not stop running until he had cleared a hundred yards between himself and the embryonic volcano.

“A real shame that spurt of lava didn’t burn him to death.” Newt heard his uncle say just behind his back. The youth turned around, but found nobody there. “My brother would not have lost, if the whelp had met an untimely end.”

“Get ahold of yourself,” Newt said aloud, once more smacking his cheeks. “Uncle never would have said anything like that. In fact, he was overjoyed that Father had a weak waste of a son like me. A pawn he could blackmail him with.”

Newt could not help choking on the memory of that fateful day.

“My realm is still unstable, my heart demons won’t manifest for a while yet, and when they do, I have to eliminate them as fast as I can, or flee from them.”

Newt watched lava surge out of the ground, its edges cooling as the pool grew wider and wider until it started growing taller. While lava gushed into the air, the ground beneath Newt’s feet swelled, gradually forming a gentle incline, changing into rock despite lava being quite some distance away.

“Now, how do I form the fire-earth trees?” Newt looked at the sandy soil, then turned around, but other than the solidifying rock and lava he had little to work with. “I’ll ask Magmin.”

He willed himself awake and found himself back inside the uncomfortable crack in the ground Magmin called a cave. His injured foot burned with pulsating pain as if he had stepped into lava with it.

“Finally, you have been slumbering for two days now. What were you doing? How is your progress?” Magmin said.

“Two days? Impossible. I’m not hungry.” Newt mumbled.

“You need not eat when your body has enough spiritual energy. Now, how is your progress?”

“I dug the hole to make the volcano. It erupted, but now I don’t know how to make the fire-earth trees.”

Magmin’s eyes glowed a menacing yellow in the dark, its pupils narrowing. The serpent yearned to keep its secrets, but needed Newt’s help as soon as possible, besides, there was little reason to keep its secrets from the youth.

“They took me years to make,” Magmin hissed. “At first, I sculpted them with my body before I realized I could will things into whichever shape I liked within my realm. It takes time, but the process is still quicker than physical labor.”

Will things into shape? Father always mentioned he had to physically build his bonfire and field of swords.

“You have no idea what I am talking about. Do you?” Magmin asked.

Newt remained silent for a moment, embarrassed because a snake younger than he was outclassed him in cultivation.

“I don’t,” he finally admitted, swallowing his pride.

“Focus on your mind while shaping your realm. Visualize, conceptualize, and concentrate. Make it happen.”

Newt gulped. Magmin almost sounded angry because of his lack of confidence.

“I’ll try.”

He was about to close his eyes, when the serpent hissed, “There is no try. You do or you get devoured because you are weak.”

Newt gulped again and nodded, bumping his head against the low ceiling. He closed his eyes and focused.

The volcano did not seem to have changed in the few minutes Newt had spent outside meditation.

“I guess I won’t be able to confirm it can grow on its own until I take a longer break.”

“You are a fool and a weakling,” his uncle’s voice whispered behind him. “Nothing you do is worth a damn. The world is better off with you being a mine slave.”

“Shut up,” Newt shouted and spun around, but like before, there was nobody there. His heart demons were barely a whisper, yet they could impact his cultivation. He shuddered, thinking what would happen once they took physical form.

“Focus,” he told himself. “You have work to do.”

With that, he tried to concentrate.