See the empty space... it's endless.
Beyond the veil of stars, beyond the folds of all known dimensions, there exists a realm untouched by time, unmarked by thought, and unseen by even the oldest of gods. It is not heaven, nor hell, nor any realm whispered of in sacred texts. It is beyond—a canvas of darkness so deep it devours light, where silence reigns as an eternal monarch.
In this infinite void, suspended in the abyss, stood a castle of impossible design. No stone or mortal hand could have crafted it—it was shaped by thought itself, sculpted by the forgotten dreams of dying universes. Towers spiraled in directions that defied geometry. Bridges arched through folds of reality. Its color shifted like memory: silver when mourned, obsidian when feared, violet when remembered.
And at the heart of it all sat a woman on a throne made of crystallized dusk.
Her eyes shimmered with stars that had never existed. Her presence was both the birth of fire and the death of ice. She leaned back in the throne—not as ruler, but as witness. Not as creator, but as keeper of truths far too vast for mortal comprehension.
She spoke, and her voice did not echo. It became the space itself.
"It has been billions of years," she whispered, almost to herself, "and still... not one has earned a seat among the Nine. Beyond all known planes, beyond the end and the beginning... nine thrones remain, waiting. Empty."
She lifted one slender hand, and within her palm, entire galaxies flickered like dust caught in morning light.
"They crave power, dominion, eternity. But none understand... this place cannot be taken. It must be understood."
The throne room fell silent again. Not with peace, but with expectation. Somewhere far below, in a world blanketed by snow and sorrow, a boy began to breathe without breath.
And so it begins.
The snow fell in soft whispers, a silent symphony that echoed through the vast emptiness of Mount Austin. The world seemed to breathe with a rhythm all its own, the wind sighing through the trees, the mountains towering as ancient sentinels, and the ever-present veil of frost that lay over the land like a blanket of forgotten time.
In this realm where time itself seemed to bend and stretch, Fuzi stood at the edge of a crystal-clear spring, his robes flowing with an elegance that spoke of centuries of wisdom. Beside him, Kell stood still, his eyes narrowed against the cold, the weight of the world pressing down on his chest. Despite the beauty of the snow-covered landscape, he felt nothing but the hollow ache in his heart, the emptiness that had followed him since he first realized he was different from others.
Fuzi's voice broke the silence, gentle but firm. "Kell, do you hear it?"
Kell looked at his master, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Hear what?"
Fuzi gestured to the wind, to the falling snow, to the pulse of life that surrounded them. "The world breathes. Can you feel it? The breath of the mountain, the heartbeat of the earth, the pulse of life in every flake of snow. It is not the breath of man, nor the breath of animal. It is the breath of the cosmos. And to cultivate, you must first learn to breathe with it."
Kell's heart clenched, and he swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. "But... my heart is weak. I can't feel anything. I can't even feel the mana, the Dao, nothing but emptiness." His voice trembled, despite his efforts to keep it steady.
Fuzi turned to him, his eyes soft with an understanding that reached beyond words. "That is why we are here, Kell. To awaken you to the rhythm of the world. You are not meant to be alone in your silence. The first step is learning to breathe without breathing. To exist within the rhythm of life, without forcing it."
Kell hesitated. "What does that mean? How can I breathe without breathing?"
Fuzi smiled, a fleeting curve of his lips. "In your heart, you have carried a barrier, a shield of the cosmos that has kept you from the flow of mana and Dao. To break that barrier, you must first learn to be still. To breathe without moving. To be the stillness amidst the storm."
He gestured to the ground, where a thin layer of snow had settled, as if waiting for something. "Sit. Close your eyes. Empty your mind of all thoughts. Focus only on your breath—not your lungs, not your heart—but the space between them. The space where the world breathes through you."
Kell frowned, uncertainty clouding his features, but he obeyed. He sat on the cold stone, cross-legged, and shut his eyes. The cold seeped into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill inside him. He could hear the soft sound of the wind, the crunch of snow beneath him, the distant call of an eagle overhead. His breath, shallow and quick, mirrored the fluttering of his thoughts.
Fuzi watched him for a long moment, then knelt beside him. "Kell, your heart is like a wild river—always rushing forward, always chasing something that lies ahead. But the stillness you seek is already within you. It has always been there, beneath the rushing current."
"How?" Kell whispered, struggling to quiet the chaos inside his mind.
"You must let go," Fuzi said softly. "Let go of the desire to force yourself to change. Let go of the urge to control. Breathe not with your lungs, but with your soul. Allow the air to fill the space between your heartbeats. It is the silence between the notes that makes music, Kell, not the notes themselves."
Kell's breath faltered, then slowed. He could hear his heartbeat, a steady thump in his chest. But then, beneath that, he heard something else—the rhythm of the mountain, the flow of the wind, the pulse of life that had been hidden from him. It was not a sound, but a feeling, a vibration that seemed to hum in the air itself.
He took a deep, trembling breath, and for a moment, he felt something stir inside him. Not his heart. Not his lungs. But something else—a deeper part of him, buried and forgotten. For the first time, he felt the world around him without the barrier that had kept him separated from it.
Fuzi smiled, his voice like a whisper carried on the wind. "You have begun to understand. The breath is not something you control. It is something you surrender to. It is the pulse of the universe, and when you learn to move with it, you will find your path forward."
Kell opened his eyes, and for the first time since arriving at the Snow Flower Sect, he felt a strange sense of peace. The emptiness was still there, but it was no longer suffocating. It had become a space, a void that was waiting to be filled. He was no longer fighting it.
"I... I felt something," he said quietly, his voice filled with awe.
Fuzi nodded, his expression unreadable. "This is only the beginning, Kell. The journey to awakening is long, and the barrier within you is strong. But if you can learn to breathe with the world, you will learn to break through that barrier, piece by piece."
Kell nodded, determination slowly replacing the emptiness in his chest. "I will learn. I will break through."
Fuzi rose, his movements fluid and effortless. "Good. But remember, Kell, it is not enough to simply breathe. You must learn to live with the breath, to become one with it. Only then will you begin to see the world as it truly is."
And so, the first lesson began—not with power, not with strength, but with the silent, patient rhythm of the world, and the quiet pulse that lay beneath it all. Kell had taken his first step into the flow of the universe, and though he had barely scratched the surface, he knew that this journey would change him forever....