Cloudpetal City, a City located in the far East of Vireyla, slumbered beneath a gray dawn, The tall stone walls protecting it weathered and worn, much like the spirit of those who lived within.
The scent of lotus smoke curled from chimneys as merchants and cultivators alike stirred in its winding alleys. Most never looked up anymore—there was little point. The skies above Virelya had once been a canvas of divine light and flight. Now, they hung heavy and mute. The sky and almost everything looked lifeless like all the colors had been sapped out from the world. Like it had been wrung dry by something. The people here were used to the environment by now.
Everyone knew the reason why the world looked like this: The Fall of The Celestial. But few believed in the story or Tale, Some considered it Myth.
And Ramon, one of the few rogue cultivators present in the Cloud-petal City considered that Tale to be very much true. Despite him being a rogue cultivator, He believed that there was once a Celestial, God-like cultivator whose abilities Ramon couldn't even fathom.
There were very few rogue cultivators in Cloud Petal City. Becoming a rogue cultivar was like kicking an axe, a suicidal move. Since cultivation required resources which only Clans or Sects could provide in this dried up world.
But Ramon still went through that decision. Simply because He had no other choice.
"Better be a free bird than a caged up lion." Ramon thought as his breath steamed in the morning chill. He crouched beside the moss-covered edge of a broken well on the city's outskirts, eyes fixed on the eastern gate. His hand rested on the worn grip of a hunting spear—hand-carved, crude, but dependable. It was a tool, nothing more.
He waited for the guards to change shift before slipping through the side trail that wound past the gatehouse, unnoticed by those who didn't care to look.
"Out again, boy?" the old stallkeeper muttered as Ramon passed. "Forest'll gut you sooner or later."
Ramon gave a nod and a half-smile. "Better to be gutted than rot inside the city."
The man snorted and returned to arranging wilted herbs on a tattered mat.
Beyond the city's thinning mist lay the Redwood Forest—dense, endless, alive. To most, it was suicide. But for Ramon, it was the only place he could breathe.
Two years ago, he'd stood before the disciples of the Cloud Lotus Sect on the Testing Stone, heart pounding with foolish hope. Dozens had watched as the glowing orb measured the purity and circulation of his spirit meridians.
Inferior-grade talent.
The words echoed still. A death sentence for ambition.
He remembered how the elders' expressions had dulled. How other orphans were sent back with quiet sympathy—or promises of servant duties if they were lucky. Ramon had received none.
He remembered standing in the orphanage courtyard the next morning, the sky gray, a stone of shame in his chest. Some would have accepted their place. But not him. Something inside had burned brighter than the shame. A stubborn fire. A need to rise.
And so, at sixteen, with nothing but a stolen Muscle Refinement manual and bruised knuckles, he left the orphanage and disappeared into the forest.
Now, at eighteen, his cultivation had barely scratched the surface. Muscle Refinement Stage—nothing glorious, certainly. But he had earned it.
Every inch of strength in his body was carved from survival. From spearing low-tier spirit beasts. From meditating in tree hollows beneath whispering leaves. From swallowing bitter roots that left his stomach twisted but fed the flicker of spiritual energy in his dantian.
The sect still refused him. But he no longer sought their approval. He had glimpsed a different path.
Redwood has secrets, the old hunters whispered. Relics of the time before the Collapse. Before the Celestial fell. Before the world forgot what true cultivation looked like.
Legends. Fairy tales. And yet… something called to him from the deeper woods.
Something old.
Something waiting.
He paused now beside a thick root that jutted from the forest floor like a sleeping serpent. Sunlight filtered weakly through the trees. The mist never fully lifted in the Redwood.
This forest was dangerous, Even the only Core formation Cultivator of the Cloud Lotus Sect feared its depths. He was merely a Muscle refinement stage cultivator, A dragon among common man but nothing much in the world of cultivators.
He crouched low, placing a hand to the earth. The warmth of a spirit beast's trail still lingered. The footprint looked like that of an antelope.
Good.
He needed the kill. Not just for meat, but for the shards of beast core essence he could sell in the black market beneath Cloudpetal's old temple district. The sect didn't care where outer food came from, so long as someone profited.
He moved silently—like a shadow trained by hunger and repetition. As he crept, memories surfaced unbidden.
Of stolen scrolls with faded ink, read by firelight. Of practicing basic stances until his muscles cramped. Of spitting blood after trying to circulate spiritual energy through blocked meridians.
Inferior-grade talent. The words still stung. His two years of hard-work in this very same forest had amounted to Muscle refinement. Nothing more.
Genius disciples at the sect are said to be almost at Energy Condensation realm by the time they are 18 and here he was.
He hated that system. The cold logic of bloodlines and testing stones. Of fates decided by colors and glows.
He clenched his jaw.
I'll make my own glow.
He didn't know the true name of the world yet—Virelya—but its weight was etched into his bones.
This was a world once ruled by gods and immortals, or so the stories claimed. Back when Celestials walked the skies and the High Sects commanded the elements. But the Celestial vanished. The world cracked. And the golden age of cultivation burned to ash.
Now, even Core Formation cultivators were rare. The Cloud Lotus Sect, a quasi-one-star sect, held onto its status by the thinning thread of a single Core elder—Master Lian, whose advancement was whispered to be artificial, bought through Cloud Lotus Pills.
Yet still, The sect ruled the approximately 300 km stretch of the surrounding area.
This showed the power of a Core Formation cultivator or better yet of the Cloud Lotus pill which could create a Core formation cultivator.
Ramon had seen one once. A soft blue pill glowing with energy. Potent, powerful… poisoned. Full of spiritual impurities.
Like cheap paint covering rotting wood.
The sect swore by them. Most disciples did too. That was the only way they could advance their cultivation in this spiritual energy Scarcity. All the disciples, Elder and even the Sect Master depended on that pill. But Ramon didn't.
He would not climb a rotting ladder.
He came to a stop near a glade. His breath slowed. A faint rustle—not far.
He looked around unsure of this place. He seemed to have come too far deep in the forest, lost in his thoughts. The place was unfamiliar but the forest wasn't.
"I have done this many times before." He muttered as he adjusted his grip on the spear and stepped forward.
And in that moment, the forest shifted.
Not in sound. Not in wind. But in presence.
It was as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.
Ramon felt his skin prickle. A strange pull… deeper in.
He'd felt it before. A soft hum in his bones. A whisper too faint to hear but impossible to ignore.
He stepped off the trail.
Toward the call.