* * *

Many years passed. Civilizations flourished and fell. The Agaman settlement soon became a bustling metropoli home to the Agai, the primordial godmen/fiendgod tribe that conquered the whole world, and soon started expanding to other planets. Lord Taiji manifested himself always as an old man, and multiple tales and myths referred to him as The Wanderer. He was considered one of the major gods of primordial times, and Civilization was attributed to him, as was the basic tenents of the Dao and of cultivation.

Following the dissemination and the thinning of the bloodlines, the lands became full of lesser beings. The mortal dust developed and monstruous beasts roamed the world and dived in the profoundities.

Astral lifeforms drifted in the void, secondary legacies (those of gods other than The Wanderer) appeared across the land, as every cultivator had the need to leave their legacy beneath the heavens when they themselves became dust. And so surged the tertiary and subsequent legacies.

Then the civilizations systematized their knowledge. The first epoch of the world passed, and The Wanderer, Lord Taiji, disappeared from the face of the ‘universe’, nowhere to be seen. That same epoch his primordial name, Yang Yin, was forgotten from the memory of man and god.

Then, many more epochs passed where every other name of Lord Taiji was forgotten. Even the myths pertaining to The Wanderer broke and slowly merged with those of newer gods.

At the end of the first epoch, when Lord Taiji disappeared from the chaosworld he had created, erected and raised from the chaotic void, the slumbering Elder Gods awoke from their forced stasis, and found themselves confronted against a bustling ‘universe’ full of realms of already developed beings.

Some of them, in their stasis, cut off by their creator from seeing the developments of their world, had dreamt of their own worlds, and most of them had created by themselves cultivation systems, secret arts and artistries.

Then they waged war.

The lands shook, and the oceans churned. The heavens were bathed in blood. The primordial Gods that participated in the first eras of the chaosworld almost all died or slept in eternal slumber.

Lord Taiji, the Wanderer, had never left a complete system of cultivation, only insights into the Just Way, the Dao, and the Ancestral Piety, because he believed that making cultivation contingent to his figure and his whims would only make the Daos more obscure and cultivation a foreign matter.

And, in the first epoch, when he was the Lord of the Heavens, he forbad the breakthrough from True God to Elder God.

It were the own powers of the realms that made their cultivation systems, their secret arts and techniques. So they where overwhelmed by the sheer superiority and unstoppable might of these new powers; The original bearers of the Heavenly Daos. The Twelve Wargods.

And in the subsequent epochs of the Myriad Realms, as Twoomoon Chaosworld came to be called, the Twelve Primordial Gods became the Wargods that shook their entire universe.

Then, more years passed.

The flames of war died away. The Elder Gods enshrined themselves in their sacred worlds to continue their meditation sessions that were longer than most mortal or immortal themselves would be able to comprehend. Factions had stabilized and dynasties had taken deep roots across the Myriad Realms.

Then, at that time, almost all information from the creation of the universe was lost.

Multiple times the Twelve Wargods tried to use their might to temporally reverse the flow of history, as they were sure seeing the birth of their universe would give them amazing insights into the diverse Daos that permeated the chaos.

But when they went back just a million years and a second after the creation of the ‘universe’, spacetime would become so titanically mangled and uncomprehensibly distorted, the mighty Wargods spurted blood from their mouths and felt their cultivation bases thrum chaotically.

The mysteries of their origin drove them mad, so they visited the old True Gods that were awake in the beginnings; those slumbering beneath the earth and the rivers, those chained as prisioners of the primordial wars, those drifting in the void, and asked them:

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"How did we came to be?"

But, alas! Nobody remembered. A difficult, dense haze covered their memories. Most of them were driven mad trying to remember, as most Gods were proud, and they felt profoundly ashamed not to be able to remember. It was that some of them, when about to become mad, told them;

“It was… the wanderer...”

Some imploded, losing their grip on the vigorous energy that composed their divine bodies, some just became imbeciles, and some managed to survive with some semblance of sanity, only to be deranged the rest of their existences, and exiled to the lowest realms to roam for all eternity.

And the Wargods, they looked at one another, fury, frustration and dense mystery clouding their eyes. Only Feixi's, the Goddess of Life, eyes flickered strangely, but she remained quiet.

And so the Myriad Realms attained some relative peace. And the machinations of fate followed their course. And somewhere in the void, uncountable realities away, something travelled, enraged, with the echoes of its fury devolving the fabric of spacetime into a chaotic sea.

* * *

With a chuckle, a bald headed youth sat on an little red seat. He was outside a cottage in a little mortal town.

“How many epochs have passed? Almost ten thousand. And those kids are still looking for me.”

His gaze long ago pierced the void, and his subtle, impregnable heartforce covered a gigantic area around the Twomoon Chaosworld.

“And how many times has that maelstrom tried to destroy my little chaosworld? Almost a hundred times?”

His enormous heartworld had congealed around the chaosworld, refining the space around it and strengthening it. He still had not found the cause of the seemingly random devastation, but after so many years of erecting the barrier, he finally had no need to maintain constant watch on the survival of his creation. He exhaled a long, satisfied breath.

“What were the odds? Of me arriving just in time of one of those eruptions? Well, whatever.”

He then started to practice. He went to a nearby tree and looked for an appropiate branch to start practicing.

“Ugh, no, this one is too wide.”

The branch he chose did not yield to the force he applied, so he chose another that snapped with a bit of effort.

He then started dancing with the branch. His movements were all visible, almost clumsy. For a passing pedestrian it would seem no more than a youth fooling around, but for a more trained eye, it would be an incredibly dense exposition of mysteries. A exposition of the Dao so profound to be almost lethal. He kept at it the time it takes to boil a kettle of tea, over which he grew bored, and turned to seat.

“I stalled on my progress on the fourth level of the mysteries of the Duality. Seems playing God and guardian doesn’t cut it for me anymore.”

Then, with a gaze, he observed every and each one of his creatures. He understood their lives, their plots, their miseries. His gaze was filled with unending love.

“I spent more time here, with you, than I’ve ever spent anywhere else. Even on my own birth chaosworld.”

He then permitted himself to remember the old heroes he had raised from the mortal dust, from the primordial eras of time. He gazed deep into the River of Destiny, where many of the souls of his deceased friends waited to be reincarnated. He felt in each of them the familiar sensation of his disciples. Even the enemies from those eras, those evil sects and war foes were, now so many eras of time later, good old friends.

“Is it really my time to go?” Asked himself.

He then looked at the world one more time, remembering a pair of old, old friends.

“Agamenas, Garogas, the deal didn’t work out so well for you two, didn’t it?” and laughed. The air around him seemed to respond with irritation.

“Then, well, your truesouls were lost forever to make the matrix this world was established upon.”

“At least you had a vast, vast progeny, Agamenas.” he cheekily said. “Sadly you never knew a woman.” and laughed loudly. Like a response, from nowhere, without cloud, a thunder fell from the heavens to the bald head of the youth.

“Ouch!” lamented the youth. Then sadly smiled. “Sadness is what lays beneath the passage of time...” he thought. Then he opened his eyes wide, his bald head seeming to shine like a sun.

“No! There was a thing I forgot to do, and I must do before leaving.”

Then he left to prepare everything.

He produced a strange seal. The clouds churned around him and the winds started to stir.

“So here I will leave my lease on life. And from here I will be reformed in the event of my demise. Here I will leave too all of my memories, only to recover them when the time is appropriate. Then, let this place become sacred.”

So, with a thought, he infused the land with a bit of his breath, nurturing the place he was with seemingly infinite lifeforce and spiritual energy. The soil glowed with azure energy, pure, and mist started to rose from the abyss. Soon that territory would became a place of peregrinage, and eventually would become sacred. That was enough.

He dispersed in a flash, and the seal became engraved with a beatiful tree with myriad fruits, which gave shadow to a pond where two fishes swam opposed to one another. A seal floated to the River of Destiny, where it started to flow.

He would reincarnate in this world.

* * *