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At the time the sects discovered what I was doing, it was too late.
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The strange, old, wizened man sat with a straight back and an open expression. Something about his posture gave Matt the impression of a patience without limit. His eyes observed Matt calmly without being intense, and the corners of his eyebrows pulled up in a hint of a smile.
Matt approached the table carefully, his thoughts spinning. Somehow, he was inside his core. This was his world. His mind fought to retain fading memories of something beyond his understanding. Who is this man, and why is he here?
Reaching the table, a strange instinct made Matt lower his head for a moment, before he looked back up.
“Who are you?”
With a smile and a gesture, the man indicated for Matt to sit down. “Now that is a very good place to begin. An excellent question.” The man grinned at Matt, and the twinkle in his eyes contained real amusement. Inclining his head, he continued. “It is a question simply laden with potential and gives me so many possibilities in how to answer. And yet, it is a strange question. Because there is no way to answer it honestly without leaving something out, and there is no way to answer it that will truly make you understand who I am.”
Huh? Matt thought, and tried to keep the confusion he felt from his expression.
The man’s gaze left Matt’s eyes for a moment as he looked into the distance. After a little while, he continued.
“Language is a very limited form of communication. I have missed it, this forming of words and concepts with my voice. If I were a poet, I could spend a lifetime exploring the multitude of possibilities hidden between the meaning of words. Of the context and understanding that they take on as the words journey through a culture. Can one word ever mean exactly the same thing to different people?”
The man paused, and his gaze fixed on Matt again.
“I apologise, Matt. I see your confusion, and it is to be expected. Not only do you suddenly find yourself in a strange realm–which I am sure you have realised is within yourself, within your core–but there is a crazy old man rambling on about esoteric and useless concepts seated behind a desk. I am not trying to be opaque or obtuse on purpose. Please forgive me. That is not my intent, but I find that taking the time to appreciate and revel in small moments of joy is the key to the Immortality of the Heavens. What is the worth of immortality, if it leads to boredom?”
“Excuse me, sir. Immortality?”
“Maybe later. I fear your world has been woefully inadequate in preparing you for this conversation. For the life that you are about to embark on. Maybe we will return to the topic of immortality soon, but for now… Please pardon me, but I think it is best that I start at the beginning. It is my understanding that most of this knowledge has been lost to your world?”
The man stopped and looked at Matt, his expression open and expectant, and Matt was unsure if his words were a statement or a question. What knowledge?
“Maybe?” Matt ventured.
“Look around. What do you see?”
Matt did not need to look. “We are inside my core. I don’t know how, or why, but somehow I was pulled into it. The threads, the colours…” He gestured up to the hemispherical dome. “The patterns and the symbols. I think it contains the essence that I have cultivated.”
“Yes.” The man smiled. “And what is outside your core?”
“I am not sure,” Matt wondered, tilting his neck and looking up. “I am not sure if what I am seeing is true… I think it’s empty. There’s a void, with nothing.”
“More or less accurate. Let us make a brief journey.”
“What do you–” Matt began, when with a sudden jerk he was lifted into the air. The old man appeared next to him, and they continued floating upwards. The blackness of the ground below disappeared to be replaced by the completion of the sphere of energy, and he saw his entire core from the inside as they kept ascending.
“No need to be afraid, Matt. Just observe.”
They kept approaching the dome filled with magical patterns, and with a small jolt, Matt realised they were rushing towards it with no intention of stopping. A moment later, they rose through the thin shell of essence.
Matt gasped as he looked around. A multitude of coloured spheres hung in space in all directions. His own core was still the closest, huge and intense, but as they ascended, it became just one of a countless number of similar cores.
“Every living animal has a core. Ants and bees, butterflies and dogs, horses and fish. Even some plants,” the man said. “That core is the quintessential representation of who they are. It is the sum of their lives and represents the possibilities in their future. The core bears witness to their lives, recording its events, the choices made, without judgement.”
The man held his hand out, and Matt saw a sphere dragged through the void towards them. It was a small and blue core; the patterns running across its surface were simple and orderly.
“This is a simple mealworm. It was born a few days ago and is currently in its larval stage of life. One day, it may grow to become a beetle, hiding and feasting in a bag of wheat. Maybe, probably. You see, as all creatures, it lives its life in the framework of its potential–”
The man paused, looking at Matt as he released the blue core back into the void.
“I am sorry, Matt. I am so horribly out of practice when it comes to arranging my thoughts, when it comes to making coherent explanations. Please forgive me, but we need to cover something else first.”
His eyebrows drew together, and suddenly they were standing in the centre of a simple, white-painted room. Two windows overlooked a dark green field. The sun was shining through the branches of a large oak outside, and Matt could see the glittering of a vast stretch of water behind.
Now that’s a big lake. Or… Or is it the ocean? Matt had only heard stories about the ocean, and he wanted to step outside the room, to walk closer, to look more, when he saw the man waving his hands from the corner of his eyes.
A square of white fabric stretched taut on a frame, resting on a stand, appeared in front of them.
The man stepped up to the white square as a brush appeared in his hand. He looked at Matt expectantly. “What do you see?”
“It… It is some kind of fabric, stretched thin.”
“Yes, yes. It’s called a canvas. But, what do you see on the canvas?”
“Nothing? It’s just white.”
“Yes, exactly! Of course, white is not nothing. Not really. But that is the concept I was going for. Nothingness, or absence. Or The Null, as we normally refer to it as.”
We? “What do you mean? What is the null?”
“It is the absence of anything. You know how everything is connected by threads? Not just things, but even thoughts and emotions?”
Matt nodded.
“The Null is the only thing which is not connected to the Threads of Destiny. Even that is not true, as it is not a thing in itself. It is a complete void, a complete absence.”
The man paused, then he smiled. “Except for one thing. A complete absence, except for… Can you guess?”
Matt sat down in a chair which had suddenly appeared next to him the moment he had thought about sitting. As he looked at the white canvas, thinking hard, the old man simply looked at him with a patient expression. What does he mean? I understand the concept of nothing… I think. It’s like water without ripples. Newly fallen snow. A sheet of paper before you begin to write–
A sudden thought. The old man must have seen the flash of inspiration, and nodded. “Yes?”
“Nothing can become… Something.” He gestured to the brush in the man’s hand. “It can become a picture.”
“Exactly!” The man’s grin was that of a small boy, stretching the wrinkles on his face into deep grooves. “It can become a picture! It has potential.” He stepped closer to the canvas and drew a vertical line across the white fabric before gesturing to the line. “See, this is something. Depending on what comes next, it can become a tree, or a house, or a flower, or a letter or a rune or a number, or… It is the beginning of something. Now… Think about the concept of potential. I have drawn a line, and the line can become any number of things. However…”
He looked at Matt, who caught on immediately. “The line also limits the potential. Anything you draw has to… has to consider that line.”
“Just so.” The man smiled warmly. “Every line, every action, exchanges potential for something real, something actual. The line represents a reduction in potential and an increase in purpose. And so it is with every line that I add.” The man turned to the canvas, and with elegant and exacting gestures, he drew a box on the canvas.
“Now, this is a box. It has lost its potential to become a flower, but it is closer to a true purpose. We say that it has a Way. Now, do you recall our mealworm? Coming into the Universe as an egg; the strictures of its breeding immediately limit it. It cannot become a chicken or a dragon. There is a framework of restrictions that it has to respect. With luck and determination–if we can talk of determination with such a creature–it shall become a larva, then a pupa and perhaps even a beetle. It shall eat and shit and breed again, and then it shall die. Do you see how the blank canvas of its birth gives way to a path, a Way, a purpose?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The man raised an eyebrow as he looked at Matt, who had opened his mouth.
“But… It could be eaten by a bird, or get killed by a late flash frost. And if it becomes a beetle… Some beetles are brown, some are black. I don’t know why, but there is a difference.”
“Indeed. That framework of restrictions is almost never absolute. All creatures will be affected by unknown factors as they live their lives. Their environment weighs heavily on their path, and then there are random occurrences that nobody can control. And of course, our friend is a mealworm, and regretfully he has little control over his path. Other animals will have more control, and will make active choices to steer their Way. And this is where it gets interesting.”
With a grin and a gesture, the white room fell away around them. Suddenly, Matt was seated on a simple mat in the middle of a forest. Around them, he could hear the tweeting of birds and rustling in the undergrowth.
“And with choices, it gets interesting. The mealworm never had any true choices, but that bird,” the man gestured to a colourful bird on a nearby branch, “has chosen to stay near his nest even with the sudden appearance of two strangers in his domain. That insignificant choice represents an active decision and determines their way. It is imprinted on the bird’s core. Each bird is unique, like each dog is, or each sheep. And then…”
A sudden change of scenery again. Matt and the old man were seated on wooden chairs outside a colourful tavern. A richly woven canvas was stretched over them to protect against a relentless sun, and it only took moments before sweat made Matt’s shirt stick to his back.
A woman served them glasses of wine, and the old man took a long sip before continuing.
“And then we have humans, and this is where it gets interesting.”
“Intelligence,” Matt whispered.
“Indeed. On this planet, humans–and some monsters–are the only creatures cursed with intelligence. Intelligence to make long-term goals, to consider consequences. You even have a word for it; strategy. All other creatures have tactics–they just need a tactic to survive the day. Humans, even when they don’t realise that is what they are doing, have the ability to consider their circumstances and make choices within that context. To improve themselves, to reach their ambitions. That can be as simple as planning for a bountiful harvest, or it can be as complex as creating a sanctuary deep within a mountain.”
He smiled and lifted his glass in a toast, and Matt returned the gesture.
“Common for humans and mealworms, birds and all other animals, is your ability to observe.”
The man paused a beat before his lips twisted in a crooked grin.
Oh. Again?
The man put his glass down, and with another gesture, the town disappeared around them, returning them to empty space. At first, Matt thought they were back where they started, but then he noticed that the spheres he could see were not cores. Rather than the translucent and colourful spheres, they were rocky orbs slowly rotating around… Is that the sun?
“That is the planet where you live, Matt.” The man pointed to one of the rocky orbs. “It is called M’Rial, and is the only one with the ability to support life in this solar system.”
Solar system?
“Yes, there are other solar systems, with other planets that support life. But that is a story for another day. Observe.”
The sun and the planets shrank away in the distance. At first slowly, and then faster and faster. Soon they were floating in an ocean of pinpricks of light.
“This is the Universe, and this is where our story begins.”
Matt opened his mouth, but the man spoke first. “Yes, yes. I know. Don’t be a smartass. But you needed some basic knowledge first. Now we can get to the meat of the matter.”
There was an almost undetectable change in the man’s posture. It was as if he grew taller, his voice deeper.
“In the beginning, the Universe was a white canvas, a blank slate. It was nothing, it was a void, it was The Null. It was unending, limitless potential. Then there was a first brushstroke, and the Universe became something. A first step on its Way, a first loss of potential. It is perhaps the pinnacle of irony that in many ways, the Universe is like our friend the mealworm. It will live its life along its path, from birth to death. And like ourselves, it makes choices along that way, to form a Way.”
Their perspective shifted even further, and the ocean of stars became a small cloud of light that they observed from far away.
“But there is a fundamental difference to the existence of the Universe that differs from all other creatures: it does not exist without being Witnessed. Some say that is why life was first created. That it is a necessary ingredient for a Universe to come into existence. Without an observer, the Universe remains in a limbo between potential and purpose, and that cannot be tolerated. Without observation, the Universe will cease to exist. It cannot exist. It will never have existed.”
The old man relaxed, his smile coming back as the void disappeared. Now they were sitting around a table in a small wooden cottage. A steaming mug of tea was on the table in front of Matt, and he reached out for the mug to have something to hold. He was shivering; not from cold.
“The Universe is the sum of perspectives, and its totality is the slow and steady accumulation of observations. By people like us. This is the worst kept fundamental secret: We create the Universe through our existence, just like the Universe has created us.”
The man’s face broke out in a huge smile as he reached out for his tea.
“Phew,” the man said. “Sorry about the unrelenting pretentiousness of that monologue. But it forms a foundation of knowledge, and you will need… You are different, Matt.” A sudden weight to his words. “And now I will explain why.”
Matt waited for the inevitable shift of scenery, but it didn’t happen. They remained in the comfortable cottage. Outside, a gentle rain was tapping against the roof.
“The Universe will experience the null twice. When it was created, and when it one day dies. It is the same with all creatures. Two moments of nothingness. Except… Except you. First, you need to understand. Those moments in time where you experience the null are unbelievably short. Think of a second, then split that second into a thousand millions, and then that again. You are not even approaching the shortness of those moments of time.
Your mind is a blank slate for one of these moments when you are born. For the time it takes the Universe to blink its eyes, you are a canvas with limitless potential, before the brushstroke begins to define you, your purpose and your Way. You exchange potential for purpose as the rules of your breeding determine your eye colour and your height. The geography of where you live, the people who raise you, the harshness of the first winter… All these brushstrokes create a cage, and you live your life inside its confines.
And then you die, and you experience your second moment of unending potential. A single moment, after who you were, your Way, has been written onto your crystal. Then you leave.
Only, that did not happen for you.
Our time is already running out, so I will leave the story of the Threads of Destiny to another time. For now, let us consider them the representation of the Way of the Universe, the Will of the Heavens.
In the distant past, on your planet, the ancients found a way to harness those threads. To bind them into the pattern that you witnessed in that cave. A pattern that is intended to break down obstacles in the mind, to make small ruptures in the soul to adjust a person’s Way so that they will more easily align and be in tune with the Threads. They called this The System.
That intent broke down when it met a blank mind. Your blank mind.
Matt, you had died. Your core had been written onto the crystal that was to be left behind you. In that infinitely small moment between the heartbeats of the Universe, the pattern changed you.
The Threads are the direct connection to the Will of the Universe. To Destiny. It is the strings by which the Heavens pull on reality. And you hold those strings in your hand.”
The man looked up and to the side, an unreadable expression passing over his face.
“Our time is up, Matt. We will meet again, and the next time I will explain more. About me, and the Universe, and about you. And about the aberration that is taking place on M’Rial.
You asked me who I am, and I never answered. Because who am I? The sum of my purpose, the totality of my potential, the outcome of my choices. I am my Way.
You may call me Laozi.
And also, congratulations.”
Congratulations?
As the world faded around him, Matt found himself back inside his core. He was standing in the blackness, staring open-mouthed at the four patterns hovering in front of his eyes. More perfect, more intricate, than any patterns he had seen before.
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The Way of the Sunspear [Epic]
You have proven yourself an adept student of the Spear, facing down your enemies in mortal combat and coming out on top. The spear is a formidable weapon in the right hands, and by walking the Way of the Sunspear, you embark on a journey to dominate the battlefield with the spear.
+1 Technique: Sunspear Strike [Epic]: Strike through all physical defences
Formation of the Xia Core: Tin
Formation of Muscle Meridian (Improves Strength)
Formation of Intent Stage I
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The Way of Heaven’s Knowledge [Epic]
Your curiosity knows no bounds, and your mind thirsts for the knowledge of the Heavens. A mind sharpened through study and practice is perhaps the most deadly weapon of all. This choice sets you on the path of the Scholar, a path to uncover all Heaven's secrets.
+1 Technique: Heaven’s Insight [Epic]: Understand all languages, written and spoken. Perfect memory and recall
Formation of the Zhi Core: Tin
Formation of Brain Meridian (Improves Thinking Speed)
Formation of Intent Stage I
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The Way of Destiny’s Weave [Unique]
Your gaze pierces the veil between the Heavens and the Mundane, and you can see the weave of life that connects everything. Within you grows the ability to pluck the strands of destiny, to shape your future. To shape the future of the Universe. You step onto the path of the Architect of Destiny.
+1 Technique: Weaver of Destiny [Unique]: Your Touch can Shape the Threads of Destiny
Formation of the Dao Core: Tin
Formation of the Governing Vessel: Tin
Formation of Intent: Stage I
Formation of Domain: Stage I
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The Way of Death’s Harrow [Unique]
You have walked through the fields after a harvest of men, and death has set its mark on your soul. Death is your friend, death is your enemy. You strive to rise above the grim inevitability of destiny, forging your own path, on your own terms. This choice is the first step on the path of Eternity.
+1 Technique: Heaven’s Judgement [Unique]: Your touch can steal the life’s energy from another living creature
Formation of the Yi Core: Tin
Formation of the Conception Vessel: Tin
Formation of Intent: Stage I
Formation of Blood Meridian (Improves Regeneration)