The wasteland stretched on endlessly before Rabaston, the cracked earth and barren sky blurring together into an almost surreal expanse. The further he walked, the more the world seemed to dissolve into a gray void. With each step, the weight of the present faded, and in its place, memories began to surface—familiar, yet distant.

Rabaston...

A voice, soft and clear, whispered in the recesses of his mind. He hadn't heard that voice in years, and yet it was as vivid as the day he'd last heard it. The tone, the cadence—it was his brother's. Tom...

The memory pulled him back, deeper, and soon the landscape around him began to shift, melting away into something new, something from long ago.

Rabaston was ten years old, sitting on the cold stone steps of his family's home on Terra Minor. The sun had been brighter back then, the air less oppressive. His brother, Tom Rose, stood a few feet away, grinning with that mischievous look that Rabaston had always both admired and resented. Tom had always been two steps ahead, always quicker, smarter, and more daring.

Tom knelt down, a strange artifact in his hands, glowing faintly with mana. "Look at this, Rab," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "I found it in the old temple ruins. Don't tell Mom."

Rabaston leaned in, wide-eyed. He had always been captivated by the things his brother brought home. The artifact was small, almost unremarkable, but Rabaston could feel the faint pulse of energy that radiated from it. "What is it?" he asked, reaching out to touch it.

Tom pulled it away, laughing. "Careful, little brother. It's dangerous. Only someone with talent can handle it."

Rabaston frowned, pulling his hand back. Even at ten, he had been acutely aware of how much Tom had overshadowed him. Tom had been the golden child, the one with potential, the one destined for greatness. And Rabaston... Rabaston had always been in the background, watching, waiting, hoping that one day, he would measure up.

Tom stood, tucking the artifact into his satchel. "Don't worry, Rab. One day, you'll understand. You'll have your own adventures."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they only deepened the gnawing sense of inadequacy Rabaston had felt. He watched as Tom walked away, his figure disappearing into the distance, heading toward yet another adventure that Rabaston wasn't a part of.

Days later, their parents had left—both of them, in search of power on other worlds. They had said it was for the family, that they would return stronger, wealthier, more capable of providing. But Rabaston had known, deep down, that they weren't coming back.

Tom had taken it in stride, barely fazed by the abandonment. But Rabaston... he had been shattered. In the span of a few days, everything he had known—his family, his sense of stability—had crumbled. All he had left was Tom, and even that bond had begun to fray over time.

The memory shifted again, fast-forwarding to years later. Rabaston was sixteen, standing in the shadow of the old cultivation academy, watching as Tom fought in one of the academy's training grounds. Tom had always excelled—quick to learn, quick to win. He had been a natural.

Rabaston, on the other hand, had struggled. His cultivation progress had been slow, uneven. The other students had surpassed him quickly, and Rabaston had been left behind, watching from the sidelines as Tom grew stronger, more confident.

That day, Rabaston had finally snapped. He had challenged Tom to a duel, desperate to prove that he was just as capable. Tom had accepted, though his eyes had been filled with pity rather than excitement.

The duel had been over in minutes. Rabaston had lost, humiliated in front of the entire academy. He could still feel the sting of the defeat, the way the other students had looked at him afterward—with disappointment, with disdain. But worse than their judgment had been Tom's reaction.

Tom had offered his hand, trying to help Rabaston up, but Rabaston had slapped it away. He hadn't wanted pity. He had wanted respect. And in that moment, he had realized that he would never get it. Not from Tom, not from anyone.

Strength is the only thing that matters.

The memory began to fade, and Rabaston found himself standing once more in the wasteland, his hands clenched into fists. The air was still, the landscape around him unchanged, but inside, something had shifted.

The memories had left a bitter taste in his mouth. His family had abandoned him, his brother had outgrown him, and the world had moved on without him. That's when he had made his decision—the decision to stop chasing after the approval of others and focus on one thing: power.

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Rabaston stared out into the distance, where the entrance to the Labyrinth still waited. The Infinite Labyrinth wouldn't care about his past. It wouldn't judge him for his failures. It would test him, push him, and if he survived, it would give him the power he had always craved.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. There was no going back now. The path was set

Rabaston's breath steadied as the memory of his past slowly faded, but its grip on him remained firm. He often thought of Tom—of what he had symbolized. His brother had embodied the promise of something more, of potential, of power. Yet in the end, Tom had left, following their parents in pursuit of a future on distant worlds, worlds where mana flowed freely and cultivators rose through the ranks with ease.

But Terra Minor was not one of those places. It had never been. The weak flow of mana on this forsaken planet had stunted countless generations of hopeful cultivators, reducing even the most promising into nothing more than ghosts of what they could have been.

Rabaston continued walking, his boots crunching over the cracked earth. The landscape was still and dead, a reflection of the life he had left behind. He couldn't stay in Terra Minor. This planet had no future for him—no future for anyone who sought more than mere survival.

He cast a glance at the horizon, where the thin line of the distant mountains cut into the sky. Somewhere beyond them lay the answer—the Infinite Labyrinth, the fabled trial that could either make or break a cultivator. It wasn't just power Rabaston sought in the Labyrinth—it was escape. Escape from the suffocating grip of this dying world, from the shadow of his family's failures, and from his own sense of inadequacy.

The wind picked up, stirring the dust around him. It carried with it the faint smell of rust and decay, the remnants of what had once been the life-blood of the planet. Rabaston's gaze drifted to the horizon, his thoughts still tangled in the memories of his brother.

It had been years since he last heard from Tom. He wondered, not for the first time, what had become of him. Had he found the power he sought on another world? Had he ascended through the ranks of cultivation, leaving behind the weaknesses of Terra Minor? Or had he fallen, like so many others, lost to the dangers of higher-tier worlds where the competition was far fiercer, the stakes much higher?

Rabaston had no way of knowing. But one thing was certain—he wouldn't share his brother's fate. He wouldn't be another forgotten name on a distant planet. His path was different. He wouldn't just seek power—he would seize it.

Ahead, the terrain began to shift again, becoming rockier, more treacherous. The smooth, cracked earth gave way to uneven ground, strewn with jagged stones and ancient debris. Rabaston moved carefully, his eyes scanning the landscape for any signs of danger. He had heard stories of rogue cultivators that roamed these lands, preying on those foolish enough to venture out alone. But so far, the wasteland had remained eerily silent.

As he climbed a small rise, Rabaston paused to take in his surroundings. The landscape stretched out in all directions, barren and desolate. Far off in the distance, he could make out the faint outline of the mountain pass—a natural gateway that led to the far reaches of Terra Minor, and beyond that, the entrance to the Infinite Labyrinth.

For a moment, Rabaston stood still, his mind drifting back to the early days at the academy, long before his brother had left. He remembered the first time he had learned of the Waygates—ancient portals that connected the various worlds in the universe. Terra Minor's Waygate had long since fallen into disrepair, its use restricted to only the most powerful sects, those with the resources to maintain it. For most of the population, leaving the planet was a distant dream, one that would never be realized.

But the Labyrinth was different. It didn't just offer power—it offered a way off Terra Minor, a way to step onto a larger stage. Legends spoke of those who had survived the Labyrinth and had been granted access to higher-tier worlds, where mana was abundant and cultivation was not just a dream but a reality.

That's what Rabaston was after—not just the power to rise, but the means to escape this world altogether. Terra Minor had nothing left for him. The longer he stayed, the more he felt the weight of the planet's weakness pulling him down, suffocating his potential.

He turned away from the horizon, refocusing on the path ahead. There was no point in dwelling on the past. His journey wasn't about redemption or closure—it was about survival. And survival meant power.

The rocky terrain began to slope downward, leading into a narrow valley where the air felt even heavier than before. The mana here was thinner, almost nonexistent. Rabaston could feel the emptiness pressing down on him, a subtle reminder of Terra Minor's stagnation. He clenched his jaw, pushing forward. Soon, this place would be nothing more than a memory.

The further he ventured, the more the land began to change. Large, twisted formations of stone jutted out from the ground like the bones of some long-dead creature, their surfaces smooth and weathered by centuries of wind and dust. The area felt unnatural, as though the land itself had been warped by some ancient force. Rabaston could sense a faint trace of residual mana clinging to the stones, but it was weak, dissipated. Whatever power had once existed here had long since faded.

Ahead, nestled between two jagged stone formations, Rabaston saw it: the entrance to the mountain pass. It was a narrow, winding trail that led deeper into the wilderness, its path obscured by shadows and sharp outcroppings of rock. Few ventured this far, and even fewer returned.

Rabaston's heart quickened as he approached the pass. This was the final threshold—the point of no return. Beyond this, the Labyrinth awaited, and with it, his future. He paused for a moment at the entrance, his mind swirling with thoughts of what lay ahead. There would be no turning back after this. The journey would be long, dangerous, and filled with uncertainty.

But Rabaston had made his choice long ago. He wasn't like the others who had come before him, those who had failed and been forgotten. He would succeed, or he would die trying. There was no middle ground.

With a final glance at the barren wasteland behind him, Rabaston stepped into the pass, the shadows closing in around him as the narrow path twisted out of sight.