Sing, Silver Stars (original science fantasy, sequel to The Scholar's Tale and Strigoi Soul)

[Strigoi Grey]

I think, my father would say, therefore I am. And I think for myself, thus I am a man.

Then why, I would ask, knowing that I, too, could think, am I not?

Because, he would reply, you do not do so freely.

The old revelation, always new, always cut like broken glass. And I could not help but wonder, why?

Why make a son you have to compel?

And how could I not think freely, yet realising that always, always hurt?

* * *

AN: I was able to start S3 somewhat sooner than I expected, but I'm not complaining.



Knowledge about its prequels mentioned in the title would help with context for references and flashbacks, though I'll try to make this series readable as if it were standalone.



This will be mainly science fantasy. The other genres mentioned in the tags are not ones I love terribly much, but I'm including them because there are interesting concepts there that I believe could be used to make a good story rather than a bland power fantasy.



Science fantasy, isekai and xianxia refer mostly to three of the protagonists that the main story will focus on. The litRPG and Gamer stuff refer to a pair of characters who'll mostly feature in comedic sidestories or apocrypha that will be almost parodies/crack. I'll see how many of them I keep canon, but I don't expect them to have much or any impact on the plot until maybe the end, unless I change my plans.



* * *



???



Unregistered laboratory, deep space (many light years from either the Oecumene or its nearest kindred states of the Terran Diaspora, as well as any recognised xenos polities)



I lived, and youth had never felt more ancient.



This was my first day in the world, indeed, my first moment, yet I was no frail, wailing infant.



I stood up from a bed of metals, whose composition I understood as thoroughly as the unaltered human life cycle, as well as the fact that, in many contexts, "world" could mean far more than a planet.



It was a birth gift, you see? This information. An acknowledgement that I'd succesfully sprung free from that cold womb that had never belonged to a mother nor been touched by a man.



And I knew, with a strange surety whose source I could not quite place, that this was not some unique event never seen before.



It was rather like how phantom pain might allow one to know they've lost a limb without needing to see the stump.



Although that was - obviously - nonsense! For I knew everything I needed to be a proper son, and any inexplicable knowledge was just an anomaly. Surely, my father would see to it soon.



As my vision cleared, transparent preserving fluids sliding away, I saw that very man standing before me, hands behind his back, expectant.



Impossible, I thought, taking in the sight of him whilst my proprioception properly kicked in. This drab, slight man...?



For he was both, indeed. He was everything I was not. Thin and pasty whereas lean muscle rippled under my chalk-white skin, he had watery blue eyes whilst mines were kaleidoscopes of colours, constantly changing arrangement yet always displaying all shades; his red hair was thinning and greying while mine was dark and thick.



More than just mildy embarrassed to see my father didn't take care of himself, I was perplexed: we did not look alike at all, and I had no mother to take after. He had made me.



From himself? But...



...but how could I be so ungrateful for being given form and breath that I was fixating on what I stupidly perceived as flaws. My father was the very image of a dignified patriarch; had he not written than into my blood and brain and spirit, alongside everything else.



'Archchemist,' I breathed, voice new yet raw. I had not been screaming, had I? 'Father.' I wanted to frown before asking him...asking...but I smiled like a proper son would, as surely as if the corners of my mouth were being pulled apart with hooks.



Imagine, this man who should have been the head of the grandest family taking time out of his day to speak with a son who couldn't even recognise his greatness unless...



He would fix me. I hoped he would cut away the malformations in my mind.



The Archchemist nodded. 'You are conmposed, for your first time speaking.'



'Thank you!' What the hell was this breathy gushing? I bowed almost at the waist, hands clasped. 'It is a good omen that I would begin my life pleasing you, Father.'



He sneered, said nothing right away. Turned. 'Walk with me.'



I did, and despite his headstart, I caught up easily, my strides far faster than those of this withered...genius, who'd selflessly carbed me from unthinking matter, that I might behold his greatness, complete his family.



I could have wept.



The corridor was polished chrome, almost as clear as a mirror. Yet there must have been something wrong in my surroundings, or perception, for my reflections were so distorted as to completely differ from my filial, beaming expression.



For a moment, I dared imagine not acting as to please my father, and almost laughed...at the ridiculousness of the thought.



He'd given me everything. He'd made me so I'd never have to worry about anything.



Hopefully, I'd one day be able to repay him in a similar manner. At this, my thoughts turned into a strange direction I could not name, yet soon settled as surely as if a hand had been laid upon them.



After a few steps, the Archchemist noticed I was keeping pace with him. His moue of distaste, which had never shifted, darkened.



Not because I was too close, for the hallway was more than broad enough for dozens of men to walk side by side, but because I'd presumed to match his stride instead of staying several steps behind him.



Realising I had failed him already, my shoulders fell. I cringed, and that I could be mortified by this was almost unbearable...unbearably shameful, that was.



It meant that I had been amiss in my filial duties, from the start of a life that had been kindled for that very purpose. Could I ever recover?



I fell several steps behind him, practically shuffling by my standards. Unwilling to meet my reflected eyes (what was wrong with this metal?) And having naught else to look at, I focus on my father's back. His shoulders under his lab coat were thin and narrow, yet his walk was purposeful. But...



'Father,' I began, after walking enough an Unchanged would have dropped dead. 'You have blessed me with knowledge of this complex's layout, yet I cannot deduce a likely destination.' Walking these halls, one could reach amy room. 'Are we going in circles?'



The twitch of his shoulders would have been difficult to catch for most, but my eyes were as sharp as many instruments. After several moments, he asked, 'Are you implying I could have got lost in my own domain?'



Had I? 'By no means! It is just, perhaps, tired from your work-'



'Are you saying I don't know how to balance my tasks and health?'



My father's face was not built for intimidation, yet I almost wanted to fall to all fours and grovel. Bile rose at the impulse, puzzling me at first, then I... realised: I was ashamed at not wishing to kill myself for displeasing him, instead.



Yet he forgave me? What had I done to deserve... this?



I cleared my throat. 'Father, I am surely too awestruck to function properly. I am ashamed.'



The tension left his back as he sped up. 'You should be. How are we supposed to function as a family if you are worthless even in this regard?'



I lowered my head, teeth bared in...self-loathing. Yes, my...siblings were not faulty, like me. They had been here since before...this. Me.



Nodding to himself, the Archchemist went on, 'Your mother would not deign to arrive in the midst of a family marred by one such as you. Nothing less than perfection could persuade my wife to walk to my side, and remain there.'



I could have laughed at the image of my father...failing anyone. Surely, the mother to his children whom he wished was here would learn to appreciate him?



Yet such thoughts were as far above my station as the stars above ants, and so I let go of them. The contentment that followed almost choked me.



After some more time, the Archchemist asked, 'Do you know what you are?'



I did! As surely as I knew that I breathed out of inherited habit rather than need. 'Power copier,' I replied. 'Ability replicator. No one who enters my sight can keep their capabilities from me.'



'Aye,' Father agreed. 'Provided nothing goes wrong.' He sketched an abstract shape in the air with his fingers, and I recognised it as something between mathematical symbols and occult ones. One of the many forms of lore that had gone into the creation of...my siblings and I. 'The three of you are going to synergise, help each other grow more with every advance.'



'So that no one and nothing might threaten our family,' I completed, almost blinking upon failing to place the source of that fierceness. It had come and gone uncannily quick...I thought.



But what were clumsy human emotions shaped by evolution compared to the reactions my father had ensured I would always have? Utterly...inferior.



'Indeed,' the Archchemist replied. His expression turned thoughtful. No...he wanted to do if I could do better. Than...when I had failed him, just now.



After a few dozen more steps, a door appeared in the distance. I saw, right away, that it was too heavy for mundanes to budge at all, much less push open. That my father had shaped me with the necessary strength, that I might labour in his name, was an incredible...honour.



'Your siblings await you inside,' Father informed me, and I found myself...smiling at this...first meeting. 'But before your prove you are worthy to be a part,' of the family, he meant, 'I must see if you remember the designation I gave you.'



My smile widened, and I rushed to respond...and failed. My jaw was locked, my tongue twisting in such ways it was a wonder it could still move, and my nostrils flared.



'Name?' I eventually managed, forcing my gritted teeth apart. 'I was given no name...Father.'



'No,' he agreed, whatever had begun brightening his eyes towards the end of our talk fading to leave them flat and cold. 'You were not. You were designated with a copying device of Old Earth as inspiration. What else would you call a vessel of others' powers? It is not as though you possess inherent worth.'



That bizarre anger almost returned, but I turned, placed pale hands against the door and pushing with force that would have ripped the Archchemist's arms out of their sockets. The mental image almost made me burst into tears of...horror.



As soon as I entered, I spotted my sister from the corner of my eye, but it was my brother who filled the room. Elephantine in size and almost so in shape, a single band of red light, splitting his blocky head like a cyclops' eye, was the only dash of colour on his jet-black body.



Gear. Device replicator.



My sister's flesh was grey, her brown and gold form-fitting clothes covering her body save for hherlong dark hair and three pairs of arms. They were how she did her work, and thus nothing hobbled them.



Prowess. Skill imitator.



My sister had been no grown woman when I'd last...thought of her. But when had...little Skill had not truly entered my mind until...



'Proceed,' the Archchemist snapped in a voice to match his gaze, the door slamming shut behind him.



I stood up straighter, turning so my eyes bored into gear. My brother did not react in any way, and but for the subtle clicking and whirring of his insides, he could have been a statue of black iron.



...And it was not working.



I knew that, the instant I laid eyes on someone, a description of their powers should have filled my mind, alongside the option to imitate them, as easily as switching a light on.



What was wrong with me?



Almost hyperventilating at the thought of failing the Archchemist once more, I moved forward, as if to place a hand on Gear's leg. His head tilted, the movement surprisingly smooth, and I-



'Failed!' The Archchemist's voice was rising. He made his way to me, coat almost snapping. 'What are you doing?' He seized my chin in a grip that might have hurt another man like him, but I hardly felt it.



'Father,' I said, 'I thought that perhaps the visual perception is part of the copying process. Maybe touch is the next-'



'A real son,' he interrupted softly, 'would have spared me this shame, by now.' His tone had changed: this was a rebuke for my brother, I noticed: Father was not looking at me with any more consideration than someone might give faulty furniture. 'Gear.'



'Father,' the quadrupedal posthuman acknowledged the unspoken order, voice like his namesake grinding boulders down. His attention shifted to me. 'Had you done better...'



'Enough of this.' The Archchemist was impatient now. 'I don't need another...'



Gear dipped his head, then his forelimbs blurred. A moment later, I was suddenly lighter, the room a featureless haze around me. When I landed, then rolled, I noticed nothing below my neck hurt, despite the fairly violent movements.



Then I saw my torso, with my legs a ways away. Skill, having dropped from her perch, was snapping my limbs off like matchsticks when she wasn't twisting them off. She refused to meet my eyes, but I recognised the need that had seized her and our brother, that had seized me several times earlier.



And earlier, even, than that.



The Archchemist tugs the leash, and the Archchemist twists it. When he's with us, we fucking can't...



My awareness began fading. Before the darkness descended, I remembered that, yes, that was how I actually...spoke...



* * *



'Iteration 7305,' the Archchemist intoned, for Recording, 'utter failure. Superhuman strength upsets the metaphysical alignment, whereas regeneration and endurance do not.'



He stroked his chin. Perhaps because the power copier was meant to persevere thanks to determination, not force? Pah. More work, again...



And the other two. Gear had needed verbal cues to dispose? At least his sister had joined in of her own volition, though after work was mostly done. He hoped he wouldn't have to scrap them again. These were further along than most of their antecedents, and he...



Although...why was it that, the more intelligent they became, the more unruly they became? One would have thought that would result in them accepting his vision for their family and ceasing to vex him with their limits and incompetence, and yet...



'Takd the scraps to Repurposing,' he commanded tonelessly. Another power copier to make...the mostly humanlike ones indeed only needed line of sight to grow, yet those were even quicker to rebel, and worse when they did. Almost as if starting at a human-esque level invited more power.



The ones without regeneration and endless endurance could even copy the powersets of people they had seen represented or can visualise, but those were by far the worst to try and control - and not just because they could escalate far faster and more easily than the other thirds of this set.



That, too, was no less troubling, for ability mimics could take the powers to imitate skills and equipment from their siblings, yet the reverse was impossible, at least without access to physical and mental resources he currently lacked.



He needed to do better, to find a balance. His presence and specific words and gestures were becoming necessary for each experiment's iterations; recordings, live or not, were losing usefulness as quickly as programmed restrictions.



That could not stand.



The Archchemist needed to be better. Otherwise, they would never admit the price of the blood he had shed for them, not any more than those self-fellating "ethical" cretins would acknowledge his brilliance.



And she would never confess her love for him, as undying as her admiration.



No. This would not stand.



* * *



AN: Man, it's weird to write Rox with anything resembling etiquette. Don't expect this to last too long, though. It never does.



This was the first chapter of this introductory arc. You could call it arc zero. The remaining three will also be introductory, though one will likely be a mix between purely informational and scenes as they happened. I'm hoping to update soon.

[Strigoi Grey]

Lore: A Simplified History Of The Oecumene

(Noticed I kept the mention about "tagged" genres. It's just they're a thing on most other sites I write on so I didn't think too much about keeping that. The genres referenced are xianxia, isekai, litRPG and "Gamer" fiction.)
* * *

Ludovic Silva was about as far along the family tree as you could you get without falling off. Sure, he was only holding on to a leaf (a branch, being generous), but that still meant only the most isolated backwaters could see the grey skin and hair, the white fangs, the black sclera or the myriad-coloured irises and pupils and not know what he was.



The former were most common signs of a bloodline by now ancient, one, many argued, ever growing stronger; the latter, a more recent addition, though no less significant: indeed, some said they were the greatest proof of said growth.



He was, on some days, when the expectations laid not so heavily on his shoulders, for the reputation. It saved him a lot of hassle he could not always deal with.



Ludovic was not an accomplished person. It was not that he lacked ambition (though it would not have been completely wrong to say he did less than he could have), but more that there seemed so little to truly do, nowadays.



Well. Little he could do without altering himself to the point of practically becoming another person, and that was no solution.



Almost everything that could be accomplished without outrageous enhancements had been, wasbeing or would be taken care of by others. Many kin to him, but then, that was nothing new.



But this...was something else. A real chance to effect real change. Not his life's work (people as unlikely to die as him usually took on much grander projects when they spoke of that sort of thing), but ambitious enough, difficult enough, that, maybe...



Ludovic had taken what some outsiders laughably called a pilgrimage to his exalted ancestors' home much later than most Silvas did. It was a family tradition more than a rule, but people were expected to go at some point, to speak of their past, present and future to the Guardian of All Things Wrought and the Lady in Flames.



Neither of them liked to be called that, or most of their countless titles, unironically. But he'd have felt even more awkward calling Mia "nana" like back in his childhood (young Silvas were also brought to them in most cases, though this was considered to have little to do with the latter pilgrimage), and when David had hit him with the "bro", he'd clammed up.



Never mind that the Regent of Existence only talked like that because he felt even more out of place around his descendants than vice-versa...



Mia had told him that he didn't need to accomplish whatever he'd dreamed up to be loved and appreciated, and that if his close relatives thought otherwise, "It's because you grew up in one of the Clan's dickish branches. Sorry for that, kiddo."



Then David had started grumbling about how dumb it was that people called it a clan, "Makes us sound like one of those mafia families from Romania right after the Revolution." The grumbling had turned into a quiet but intense rant involving cultural references Ludovic hadn't quite grasped at the time.



"But listen, Vic," David had said during a lull, "if you wanna make a name for yourself without putting anyone in danger, I've got some ideas."



He'd cleared his throat. "That would be an honour Lord Keeper."



The strigoi looked at him like he'd found a wasp in his food, and he'd frozen up one more. With an annoyed glance at her husband, Mia had informed him that was just David's resting face, which simply coincided with his irritated one, enough that they were sometimes mistaken for each other.



"Your pops," the zmeu had continued, "is just thinking about how he's messed up if you sprogs are talking that formally to him." She'd downed a mouthful of homebrewed liquor whose smell alone had been intense enough to almost knock him out of his chair. "An' now he's thinking about fixing that failure, yeah? I expect him to brood over it on a mountaintop later."



"Mia," David had complained, but without contradicting his wife. Then, he'd returned to sharing ideas.



That was how Ludovic had found himself facing the Silver Stars of Skelloro. Many millions of megaparsecs wide, the unnatural suns were, at the moment, the only thinking beings of their namesake reality.



The Stars had, many times, seen life arise from the mundane matter that swirled around them, yet upon learning that the living suns produced great power, those beings had always tried to enslave and harness them. They could never get too close to the paranormal flames without being destroyed, yet they always tried.



The suns had been disappointed so often, for so long, that they were now debating wether to end the particles that would always, it seemed, eventually give birth to enemies.



Ludovic hoped he could change the minds of the majority who wished to do so. How much growth, how many futures lives, would be wiped out in such an act?



And so, he put together a demonstration of the fact that life was not always a source of greed and animosity: it was a living, interactive timeline of his universe, and the Stars could feel everything within as if it had happened to them.



'Please,' the Silva breathed, washing the reactive memory strands wrapped around the astral orbs. One, much smaller thread was connected to him, so that he could fix errors should any occur. It seemed unlikely, but you never knew.



As they walked through time together, Ludovic allowed himself a smile whenever he happened across a part of his personal highlight reel, those moments past he'd loved learning about the most.



* * *



The Oecumene and the Terran Diaspora: a brief look



It is not a boast when we say that we are the heart and soul of the Diasporic States. We are, after all the oldest polity descended from Old Earth, which still stands today as our capital; we are the largest and most powerful Terran civilisitation and we enforce the Compact of Kinship in most cases, thanks to our aforementioned influence, although we did not propose it as a concept. Our kin measure themselves and are measured by our standards, though they do not always realise it, or admit it when they do.



But we are not perfect, and in ages past, the flaws were even more glaring.



3rd-4th millennium (1): Old Earth's paranormals become more numerous with every generation. Mundane humans wonder whether they are going to disappear soon, yet many marry supernaturals (2), either out of genuine affection or for the sake of more powerful children with better chances in life.



Internationally, countries grow closer, with paranormal populations less interested in mundane pasts and biases beginning to represent the majority of people. The Global Gathering already ensured free global travel (provided one had the necessary identification) and common defence in the event of a disaster outmatching a single country's capabilities; now, these ties deepen, with travel becoming faster and more frequent and multinational marriages growing more common, especially along borders.



Soon enough, mundanes were replaced by their (usually low-powered) para descendants as the most numerous sapient species on the planet (discounting factions like the pantheons or the Reptilian Collective, which were usually considered adjacent to Earth but otherwise different). Much of the shift towards a superpowered society is slowed down by the large number of disasters caused by far more numerous, untrained mages and psychics, which also drew countless demonic and eldritch predators, as well as related creatures looking for easy sources of power.



For centuries, it seemed that for every step forward, half a step was taken back, but by the late 2990s, most people could safely harness their prophetic dreams, uncanny senses for dangers, psychosomatic healing and hysterical strength. Larger-scale, world-warping abilities remained the province of "real" mages and psychics, yet as more paras had children, those were born with greater and greater powers, similarly to how most post-Shattering mages were more powerful and precise than the majority of their medieval counterparts.



4th-5th millennium: As Luna, Mars and its moons were quickly settled, resurrecting the dream of space travel, a global language (alternately called Terran, Global, Common, Tradespeak and similar names) began forming. Compared to English by people from the Anglosphere and to Chinese by people from the Sinosphere, as well as a variety of less common languages by Terrans from across Old Earth, it seemed "Global" could be understood by practically anyone from anywhere, though a variety of regional dialects incorporating some of the structure and sayings of older languages developed alongside Mainstream Global.



In some countries, Global became the language used in most casual speech and documents, with the national languages falling out of use and only really being focused on as secondary language subjects in schools (and elective ones, in some cases)



This was considered a natural consequence of mankind and its offshoots becoming more widespread yet closer than ever. The common language enabled smooth progress as the rest of Sol System wa settled, and by the late 3500s, colonists set off from the Milky Way and Magellanic Clouds towards the former's smaller satellite galaxies. As of the 3990s, Andromeda was inhabited.



While most of the settlers were curious, ambitious people, some are outcasts who left their homes because they no longer felt they belonged, or criminals who accepted terraforming or colonisation work on lieu of imprisonment or execution. The latter, mostly, would become a problem over the years.



5th-6th millennium: Most Terran nations treated their extraterrestrial outposts the way their previous iterations would have treated distant islands that, while separated from the heartlands by oceans, were still considered the same polity; cultural ties were cited when colonies proposed independence and, in some cases, uniting with the colonies of other countries alongside which they had withstood the conditions of harsh exoplanets.

These colonies eventually refused to allow trade and transportation to and from their countries of origin, as a sign of protest. Though cooler heads prevailed, preventing this Colonial Split from escalating into an intergalactic civil war, it came close several times.

Beginning in the 4800s, the Global Gathering transitioned into the Oecumene, and on Old Earth, the continents and the North Pole became its administrative districts. The Split had shown the need for an united humanity guided by decisive, capable leadership, and thus mankind needed to shed the old divisions. Standing alongside its extraterrestrial counterparts as a peer, Terra led the charge in the formation of the Oecumene, and national borders became something of a tradition no one really cared about.

Standard Solar Speech ("Stasols") was, by then, the most popular language of every world and station, with older language remaining popular as curiosities, though they were no longer mandatory to learn.

6th-9th millennium:
6th-9th millennium: In the first major Oecumenical expansion, people from the Home Galaxies (the collective name for the Milky Way and its satellites) to the bustling Andromedan settlements set forth to colonise what had once been called the observable universe, when mundanes from Old Earth had viewed it.

9th-12th millennium:
9th-12th millennium: As the Oecumene flourished, its border regions became powers in their own right, eventually calling for independence. These States of the Terran Diaspora formed the Compact of Kinship, detailing their obligatiin to aid each other when faced with threats beyond a single polity's power.

To differentiate it from the realms of the old alien Lesser and Greater Powers, the human territory became known as the inner universe. A trillion galaxies now turned in the Oecumene's grasp, while its kindred could have stood as its equal united, in terms of both power and territory, but were more than capable of defending themselves on their own, in most cases.

12th-13th millennium:
12th-13th millennium: Seeing the Oecumene as having proven its mettle, several of the alien Lesser Powers allied with it, in a version of the Compact emphasising friendship more than a shared heritage. As the Oecumene entered its golden age, trans/posthuman-xeno relations and unions became a common occurence, with people regularly moving beyond civilisations.

13th millennium-beyond? (3)
Absent any otherworldly meddling, the Terrand Diaspora would eventually be acknowledged as another Great Power. Closely allied with the Reptilian Collective, the pantheons and the LPs' League of Free Polities (which began as a defensive alliance against GP aggression and influence), they would help guide their universe through the stages of its lifespan. Technological and paranormal wonders glimmered with their own lights under skies of black holes and iron stars, but the universe never collapsed into cold, scattered particles, to await the next turn of the Big Bounce cycle that would have turned a Big Crunch singularity into a new Big Bang after untold eons.

Instead, posthuman and postxeno intelligences filled their reality and beyond, expanding the multiversal alliance that had begun with Oecumenical Old Earth and the metaphysically closest alternate Earths to include all of Wellspring, and beyond.

Eventually, the shift towards Ascension and Transcendence, the return to the Quintessence, would begin.

(1) One should always remember that historical developments are rarely as as neat and linear as presented in records. This is, after all, a shortened version with most of the details removed. For a more accurate look at Oecumenical evolution through time, see Sphere Music: The Macrocosm As Motion And Other Cosmological Considerations' expanded, annonated historical sections (as in the case of relevant collective works, it is always being updated by a constantly growing number of authors) or Amidst The Ticks Of The Clock: When Sensory Deprivation In Isolation Made Me Go Sane by Epsilon Rhu;



(2) Not all of them were this relaxed or pragmatic about the Great Occult Replacement they had always dreaded and, now that the so-called apocalypse they'd predicted was happening before their eyes, either ended themselves (both immediately and through complete isolation or elaborate penitent rituals) or took up arms.



The latter usually took the form of isolated attempted hate crimes or terrorism, though there were a few border skirmishes that might generously be called wars, in which case they were the first ones not waged against extraterrestrial or otherwise extra-Terran threats since the founding of the GG.



(3) Warning: healthy temporal and metatemporal development beyond this era is contingent upon the actions of hrfjhjrusqk**#!-[defect expunged; corrupted text redacted. Continue?



>Yes

>No]

[Strigoi Grey]

The Otherworlder (I)

* * *

Issei



Between one life and the next, ??:??



Let's walk it back a bit, yeah?



Y'know how cool things have this tendency to come in the same pack as utter bullshit? Story of my life.



Being one of the youngest captains of industry was a lot less awesome and shiny than it sounded when Japan - my Japan, though I only started thinking like this after kicking it, cuz my frame of reference expanded -, like the rest of my world, was an overly-industrialised hellhole.



Now I was about as idle as a rich guy could be, before my parents shot themselves tens of times in the back of the head (tragic), but I was never much into media, you know? I mostly read whatever would help with business whenever the folks nagged me, but otherwise focused on living my life.



What I did know about tropes was mostly due to fair weather friends' yapping when I was trying to get high or plastered, guess I was better at osmosis when relaxed or some shit.



That's how I knew 'bout this isekai business, it was apparently a genre or whatever they're called about random losers getting bumped off and landing in another world where they were awesome and every fight was easy and every hoe went crazy at the thought of getting to do tricks on their dicks.



Whatever. When I first heard about it, it sounded like a handful of poor chumos' fantasies that I'd already lived for decades.



And I didn't see the charm. I mean, I wasn't happy with that sort of stuff, and I hadn't even needed to die first.



Yeah yeah, that old chestnut about how being shallow sucks and materialism just widens the hole in your heart. I know, y'all have heard it since forever. Don't make it less true.



Besides that...I don't know. Maybe it was the constant threats of global disaster through climate change or nuclear war or some slow grinding collapse of civilisation, but all the money in the world couldn't buy me peace of mind.



Fuck, I wasn't even chill when I overdosed. How the hell did I manage to stay stressed when I shouldn't even have been able to think, huh? I deserved a medal or something.



So, yeah, I didn't get hit by a truck and end up reincarnated as a clump of earwax or whatever the fuck NEETs drooled dreaming about. But I still ended up in a place like nothing I'd seen, aware and moving thiugh I damn well knew I was deader than disco.



The floor, ground, whatever, was white an' smooth and featureless, and the sky was like its mirror in black. Both extended as far as I could see, and looking at the horizon made me dizzy like I'd spun in place.



There was this fog or mist close to the ground, looked grey and not that thick but I still couldn't see through it. And it talked.



I wasn't crazy, ok? This was the afterlife or some bollocks, of freaking course stuff talked.



So, yeah, but what did it have to say to me? Well it was apparently gonna act as the otherworld fairy in some of those shitty series I mentioned, you know, that bitch who rambles about how you died like this and now you're gonna live like that because you're oh so goddamn fucking awesome, you little otaku, you.



But it didn't even sound like a sexy chick, much less look like one. Its voice reminded me of those gruff dudes, late middle-age, you seemed to find in every field, who were grouchy fucking dickheads but could at least get the job done.



Anyway, so the fog, after explaining what's what (about existence and the other ones, yeah?) told me it had big plans to make everyone's lives better for real, all awesome like, but it'd take fuckin' forever to get there and every big step would suck.



'Should I fuckin' care?' I deadpanned, which it found funny for some reason.



Then it told me that yeah, I should care, 'cause one of its plans hinged on me (and might've ended up merging with a couple other ones later on, couldn't really focus), or if I wasn't up for it I could really go to the afterlife, not this waiting spot, and it'd show me the ropes.



An', I dunno, maybe it was the thought I'd get bored or sad or whatever forever as a ghost, or the chance to really do something that mattered in a world that wasn't fake or dying, but I shook its hand, yeah?



I'd just asked it to make sure if it could that I wouldn't end up reincarnatin' as a woman or kid or anything other than a grown man, since most alternatives eoulda felt weird and I wasn't going through puberty again, fuck that pimply shit parade.



When I did wake up on Grandia after faintin' I guess, biggest fuckin' planet I'd heard of by the way, I saw I'd kept my body, and I wasn't exactly a MMA fighter, which coulda helped given how this overgrown rock was up to its neck in dangerous crap accordin' to the fog. Guess it wanted me to grow through adversity or whatever it'd mumbled about.



Man and did I, faceplanted right outta the sky and knocked myself out, just softly enough not to break my goddamn neck. Oh, and I hadn't even landed in one of the more or less civilised island chains, but in the wilderness of one of Grandia's element-themed continents that had been stripped of anything useful by the freaks filling this hunger-obsessed planet. So I was halfway between monsters that could've eaten most things in the universe the Grandian System neighboured for breakfast, with room for seconds, and equally vicious city-states and settlements that were at least as dangerous as the animals but also smart enough to hate people.



Yay!



So, yeah. The wasteland I'd got to know firsthand was tiny by Grandian standards, as in I could manage to reach more prosperous areas in any direction before I died of thirst.



Not even havin' a coin to flip, I tried to trust my gut, cursed my luck, and set off.

[Strigoi Grey]

The Scion (I)

* * *

On the world of Entrance, almost measureless to the mortal eye and even that of some cultivators, lived the Ci Clan.



The Ci were not wealthy, or powerful, or influential, not by the standards of their peers. Indeed, many said that they were an upjumped commoner family that had abused undeserved fortune, and that was why the had been tasked with minding the border of Dragon Country's poorest province.



Yet within the Ci burned ambition that had startled older, grander clans, perhaps exactly because, comparatively, they had so little to work with.



Every cultivator dreamed of attaining supremacy! That was the deatest desire of many an enlightened heart, and the Ci aimed high indeed.



They knew that, far above and beyond, further than their country and the Zodiac Kingdoms and the Five Beasts Archipelago, than the Cardinal Continents and Entrance and the Hallway Worlds and Exit, than the numberless Heavens and the Ten Thousand Things and the Balance of All and the facets of the Absolute, lay the Dao.



The Dao that could be named, much less attained, was not the Dao. Every Clan had a story about this or that ancestor achieving supremacy, of course, but who knew how many were just trying to reassure themselves?



For countless centillions of cultivators' lifespans, each long ego for many universes to form, decay and die before grey hair appeared, had passed since the founding of Entrant cultivation, yet none knew for certain of a relative who had attained the Dao and returned to tell the tale.



It made sense. Entrance was the smallest piece of its Wordly Orrery, itself the smallest cosmos in the arrangement that lay between Earth and the Tao Cluster, both of which it drew from. How could these frogs in a well rise so far?



The Ci dared to be the first.



The heir they needed for this endeavour could not be simply be born and raised and trained - that was too uncertain. Instead, grand alchemical experiments took place, and the ichor of spirit beasts and even more otherworldly creatures was mixed with the Ci bloodline over generations.



The child was too powerful. Her mother's womb, as resilient as any part of a body refined by Yin energy could be, was an ever better place to grow than any birthing construct the Ci had access to; if this failed, they did not truly have alternatives.



The child had to be split. Flesh and qi, she had to be riven, lest she doom the Clan's grab for greatness. The alchemical intervention worsened the state of a mother who had already been doomed, so by the time she brought her twins into the world, she was already dead.



It seemed the Heavens had played a cruel joke on the Ci, for each twin only had a fraction of what their desired scion should've posssessed: Em was ambitious and fiery but clumsier in the spirit than even some commoners' children, whilst Ma was as talented as any royal but far too stolid to pursue anything other than bird-watching without being dragged into it.



The Ci Patriarch raged for a day and a night at the resources and wife he'd lost for nothing, but regained his cool and tried to salvage things.



'One of my daughters,' he said, 'is an inept harridan, and so shsll grow among her peers in skill, not in station; let the knowledge of the greatness she should've had, of what she lacks, drive her to success.'



Of the colder girl, he said, 'The other has a soul of ice! She shall be kept in the heart of the Clan, where the displays of our excellence will surely push her to achieve and surpass that prowess.'



For, had the arrangement been reversed, both children's potential would've been squandered.



Em Ci and her sister Ma grew apart yet were never too far in either space or thought, for the girls loved each other, and did so more whenever they managed to meet again.



But this was not enough for Em. And whatever one could say of her, she had never lacked will.

[Strigoi Grey]

Lore: Grandia

* * *

As far as distances can be discussed in multiversal terms, Grandia is closer to that Earth on which so many fates have turned than to anything else. It is a "rocky" planet seventy million light years wide, made of a substance denser than anything in nature. The local paranormal energy system known as Hunger prevents it from collapsing into a hypermassive black hole and allows Earthlike days, nights and seasons.

Grandia's landmass is split between the Four Corners (said continents compare to it like Terra's do to the much smaller planet; its atmosphere and oceans are similarly upscaled): a rocky one in the east, a volcanic one in the south, a windy one in the west and a northern one filled with rivers and lakes. The most powerful creatures on the continents are collectively known as the Grands and named for the cardinal direction their land is associated with, leading to such names as Grand North. In recent centuries, rumours of similar but somewhat weaker creatures controlling the distances between the Four Corners have become stories about "Great Southwest" and the like.

Beyond the southern and northern corners lie the icecap and flamebelt, Grandia's poles warped by element-tinted Hunger even more than the continents. Between these is a scattering of islands varying in size and climate, which form the majority of the territory of the Khellan Commonwealth, though it has been recently trying to settle the continents, which are split between dangerous flora, fauna and independent city-states that hold little love for the islanders.

Crafted by the Builders, now an extinct or otherwise inactive alien polity of Earth's universe (theorised by some to be an offshoot of the life-shaping Arkhitects) as an incubator for a project that has seemingly been abandoned, and later turned into a testing ground for what formed around it, Grandia is known as the World-Womb, Womb World, the Nest, and a variety of similar names.

Many believe the Growth at the literal and metaphysical core of the planet to be the source of Hunger, which would not be surprising, given the loudness of such a massive fetus' thoughts and spirit.

Though the Growth's turning in its sleep resulted in varied landscapes, ecosystems and energies on Grandia's surface and its other layers, in its blind hunger for more, its godlike but infantile mind saw nothing but sustenance around and almost committed genocide - not that it understood the idea of "other beings", if it could even truly tell them apart from inanimate matter.

The Builders, legends say, were appalled. They had expected a creation that would cherish what it had inadvertently spawned, that, after growing enough, could rise to stand beside its creators as a peer in both power and intellect. They were preparing to intervene when one of the Grandians did.

Khellhus' name would mostly be recorded as Khell, due to the "hu" being silent and people dismissing the "s" as a mistake of their hearing; regardless, the founder of the Commonwealth is remembered by each of his descendants in blood and spirit, from toddlers to elders, and it was his battle witht he Growth that allowed Grandian civilisation to truly begin.

Though he was not the first to notice the approaching disaster - his tribe's elders' Hunger was focused on such matters, and though his sense of danger warned him of future danger, it took consulting with them to truly understand the scale of the problem - he was the one to rally the primitive Grandians. A seasoned hunter and fighter, Khell had long noticed that though "raw" Hunger was focused on sustenance and warped people to become better able to find and consume that, with the right preparation and understanding, Hunger for anything from knowledge to friendship could be harnessed.

Furthermore, tests proved that even "unfocused" or "undirected" Hunger could be converted into matter or at least more tangible energy, enabling easy powering of infrastructure that quickly flourished.

Though Khell burned to take the fight to the Growth right away, he knew such an insane attempt would only result in him and everyone else being eaten alive: he might have been able to break Grandia to pieces like a walnut under an elephant's stomp, but that would not even tear one of the Growth's eyelashes free, much less wound it. And though he was fast enough to circle the World-Womb tens of times between a mosquito's wingbeats, he knew that the Growth could rip him to shreds from any point of the planet without him even perceiving it.

He was not Hungry enough, Khell knew. But he knew, also, that he was not alone.

The early Hunger-harnessing devices were not as powerful or refined as modern ones, but they had a Gorger (as Hunger savants were already becoming known) far more skilled and more powerful than most are, nowadays. And Khell knew that, though combining his Hunger with his followers' would yield negligible benefits in terms of raw numbers, the symbolic power - people uniting behind their king to help him slay a monster - would enhance his power by orders and orders of magnitude.

So it was that, following a ritual which hollowed out most of his sages and warriors, Khell walked down into the world, girded for battle and radiating Hunger that could've turned Grandia into scattered quarks had his control slipped for an instant. Hopefully, this would be enough to keep the Growth's attention - he was not optimistic enough to believe his stalling would cause any injuries.

King Khell has not returned. Even so, an eon later, the tremors, cries and roars of his battle with the Growth can be heard and felt everywhere on Grandia, He remains, thus, a living god, ruling the Commonwealth his followers named for him in spirit. He has been known to provide guidance in dreams and visions, and some argue he has answered prayers, though that is difficult to study given the effect of desire on Hunger.

His battle has also taught the Khellans that unrestrained, mindless Hunger is as dangerous as any evil intent: the Growth is not any more evil than a starving animal, but it is easily as dangerous as anything Grandia has seen since its inception.

The State of the Khellan Commonwealth

Hunger devices and constructs, especially Servers (the pseudo-sapient, spirit-like accumulations of Hunger practically every Khellan bonds with at birth) enable quick comms and transportation regardless of distance, but distance is often the least a Khellan traveller has to worry about.

Almost every Grandian organism, and many things that could be called objects but certainly don't act like they lack life, possesses great power. A Vyzhaldi unenhanced by conflict would be pulverised before they could react by many Grandian insects, and power only scales up from there. Yet bereft of their advancements, Khellans are at the bottom of the food chain, compared to both many forms of wildlife and the people of the Four Corners. That is why, outside the small Haven Archipelago (that hundred thousand light year, relatively peaceful stretch of ocean near Grandia's equator), commerce and travel is almost always done backed by armed escorts, and even the Haven Islands are surrounded by a towering wall, augemented by Hunger fields, constructs and other defensive measures, to prevent predators from all niches from slaughtering the least warlike group in the Commonwealth.

Currently, the Commonwealth prefers to introduce itself as a "layered democracy" (comparisons with cakes are not uncommon), with every adult in a settlement voting for a Lord of Lady (a series of titles have been proposed to people who identify as neither, but none has stuck), with the leaders of all settlements on an island (provided it has more than one), electing an Overlord. The Overlords of a hemisphere's island chains, and those of the polar settlements, gather to choose the six Marshalls who among them choose the Commonwealths's Regent. The Regent manages global matters and foreign affairs, whilst King Khell watches over everyone from beyond.

Recently, the Regency Council (consisting of the Commonwealth's ldeaer herself, her Marshalls, and their counterparts the Guilds' Elders who captain Khellan industries; they are chosen in a manner similar to the Marshalls by an island's Grandmasters, who are in turn chosen from among its settlements' Masters or Mistresses) has been experimenting with direct democracy. They are hoping advances in warfare and security will give people enough breathing room that they will all directly be able to vote for leaders above the level of their hometown, instead of leaving that to the Lords and Ladies and the tiers above them. Similar ideas about Guild officials being chosen by those who use their services rather than by internal vote have been proposed.

Outside the Commonwealth, the world is often lawless where it is even inhabited by sapients. Though Grandians' white scales, fangs, inhuman eyes and the black fins extending from the backs of their elbows and heads might make them somewhat fishlike, talking to one is enough to prove that they are not only humanoid but humanlike in thought, if much faster, with sharper senses. Meanwhile, Grandian wildlife often shows its feral nature moments into an interaction, though a few predators focused on infiltration can often imitate sounds, scents and even shape, or warp reality on more profound levels to trick other beings.

Those Grandian settlements that manage to last more than a few seasons rarely acknowledge any outside authority, which ha blunted Commwealth attempts at negotiating with them even for travel through their territory, much less anything more substantial. With their Gorgers often organising into combat sects known as Feasts (a terminology that is starting to catch on in the Commonwealth) to better refine and enhance their Hunger arts, the prospect of large-scale conflict is unappealing, so that the Khellans have stuck to diplomacy so far. Much like the meals of Grandian carnivores, the attempts have been fruitless.

Nevertheless, the Commonwealth perseveres. Its Hunger sciences have ensured no one wants for sustenance, shelter or mental stimulation (not that Grandians truly need the former two, but they are helpful for one's mental health). and vast vigintillions of Khellans inhabit Grandia's surface, oceans, skies and inner layers, as well as the warped spatial pockets known as Hunger homes.

* * *

The Pyrhan System

Grandia is by far the smallest celestial body in its system that is not a moon, and even then it would be practically impossible to spot if placed next to one of the largest satellites, a size gap similar to that between them and the planets they orbit, and orders upon orders of magnitude smaller than the one between them and the system's blue star, Pyrhus; yet put together, the Pyrhan bodies would cover a distance many millions of times smaller than that their system spans, for the distances between them are large even by comparison. The power of a celestial body's inhabitants seems to correspond with its dimensions.

Though the Builders faded into legend around the time Khell rose, it is widely believed that they the "Mycelia" creatures that act as the. White, musclebound tusked humanoids with sharp, red eyes and purple veins and random spots, they look and sound masculine but are actually sexless and seem to lack an idea of gender. Referring to each other as "Myc", yet never seeming to have any trouble telling who is who, the "Mycs" reproduce through spores. Smaller than dust motes, these are produced at a similar rate to that at which normal humans shed cells, and a Myc's body is converted into spores upon death. Despite their agelessness and capacity to regenerate, within moments, from any body part larger than a spore, this is a surprisingly common occurrence due to these beings love for conflict and food, for which they often fight.

This is thought to be a cultural pastime, as Mycs don't need sustenance any more than they need sleep or rest.

A living Myc's spores are subconsciously sent to a portable subspace realm by their Hunger, which moves alongside them. There they are held in stasis, though they can be pulled into reality at will as reinforcements. Much like Gorgers from the Pyrhus System's various worlds, Mycs grow in power by defeating opponents, with said beings' power, speed and unique abilities being added to theirs (beliefs that eating people to gain their power have been proven to be wrong in the majority of cases, though many have kept doing this out of habit or enjoyment). More advanced Gorgers can do this by beating people in games or debates, and it appears that the Mycelia's standard Gorging skills are at this level. Unlike the majority of Gorgers, though, they also grow in size upon victory, with the number of limbs and the increase in dimensions corresponding to those of the being they defeated. Thus, older Mycs are often many-limbed giants.

The Waters Beyond

When it is said that one who could circle the Pyrhus System in a thousandth of a thousandth of a heartbeat would take a thousand times a thousand thousand years to circle the Starlit Sea, that is not metaphor. This body of water's depth is hundreds of times smaller than its length and breadth, yet it is more than enough to host animals formidable enough to wipe out most of the Pyrhan System (which floats in the middle of it in a sort of water-free pocket) and its inhabitants, Mycs aside. It is to prevent such incursions that they were created.

The Grey Tides surrounding the Starlit Sea dwarf it like it would a raindrop, and are far deeper and more populated with wildlife sporting high levels of Gorging. They rarely venture as far as the Pyrhan System, though, since aside from its fungal sentinels, it is too small in scale to warrant their attention, Grey Tiders being mostly mild-mannered compared to the often cheerful but oblivious Starlit.

It is believed the Obsidian Ocean beyond the Tides is endless; certainly Gorgers who could run from Pyrhus' to the Tides' edge between blinks haven't found an end, in any direction, after eons of running and swimming. Obsidian marine is considered to have some of the worst tempers in Grandia's reality, and whilst the smaller Waters' inhabitants seem to compare to their habitats' size like mundane aquatic animals to Terran oceans, Obsidian creatures don't seem to have a limit to the growth of their bodies or Hunger.

[Strigoi Grey]

Lore: Entrance

* * *

The World of Beginnings

To properly understand Entrance's scale, one must first understand cultivation and the spans of universes less saturated with qi. Barring external interference, the typical universe is likely to last many eons, with the greatest portion of said span being as an almost featureless expanse of darkness and cold, scattered particles. The period between the dissolution of iron stars and the beginning of the "dark universe" era is many orders of magnitude than that between the Big Bang and the formation of said celestial bodies; the dark universe makes the timespan before its beginning look like a Planck time, and will persist mostly unchanged until the next Big Crunch that marks a new turn of the Big Bounce cycle many realities take place in.

Much like mana, qi is considered a refined "descendant" of the lifeforce that usually forms from people's bodies, minds and spirits (though it is otherwise distinct from the aforementioned energies); in Entrance and the rest of the Worldly Myriad Under The Dao, practically everyone and everything cultivates, without even having to try, which has led to landmarks far larger and more durable than mundane ones and humans who are similarly superior to qi-less ones, alongside having lifespans an order of magnitude longer, without being considered cultivators by Entrant standards.

This might be due to a certain elitism on the cultivators' side, as only one in a trillion can reach the first stage of cultivation, and only one cultivator of any given stage out of tens of trillion is likely to advance to the next.

The stages of cultivation

Attaining the Dao is considered more of a soft limit than a truly restrictive one by cultivators, since accomplishing that is somewhat like trying to surpass lightspeed by mundane means. Nevertheless, though a cultivator's journey is endless like their ambition (should be), certain stages of advancement have been agreed upon Entrance and the Myriad's other realms.

The qi refinement stage consists of shaping the formless "cloud" of qi people are born having into something resembling a network of organs (the most important being the dantian, which acts as a heart/brain hybrid) and veins (the meridians). This greatly increases a cultivator's physical prowess and lifespan, the latter making that of those with unrefined qi seem like a heartbeat. The lifespan increases massively with each stage, as does their power: barring extraordinary circumstances, a cultivator of any given stage will be able to pulverise a horizon-spanning army of cultivators a stage below with a twitch of their finger, or move among them and rip each into pieces smaller than dust mote at their leisure. As cultivators are able to race lasers and rend mundane planets beyond recovery as soon as they refine their qi, this allows them to match the armies and weapons of culture far more technologically advanced than theirs.

The spiritual formation stage requires a visualisation of the cultivator's identity that is focused inwards; in the mind's eyes, this manifests as an amorphous white lump sitting on or hovering above the dantian. Acquiring this level of advancement enhances a cultivator's "hunches" and "gut feelings" to the point of effectively being danger senses or other forms of psychic perception. Prophetic dreams also become common and, with certain preparations, cultivators can dream about the futures of matters they are interested in, and they also become able to launch blasts or beams of ki, as well as fly unaided.

Spiritual shaping results in the aforementioned lump becoming a cube; this stage allows for the creation of qi constructs, as long as the cultivator is focused on them, letting one make weapons, shelter or food from nothing.

Spiritual alignment ends with the inner cube appearing to balance on one corner; at this stage, cultivators' instincts are sharp enough that they can dodge and battle without conscious action, indeed, they can literally fight in their sleep. Their constructs also become stable enough to persist without being held together by their focus. By this stage, cultivators can also live through more Big Bounce cycles than there are particles in any limited universe before they begin greying.

Spiritual refinement turns the balanced cube into a diamond and grants the cultivator immortality. More than mere agelessness, they will always return to their prime state unless altered by powers far beyond their ken.

Stellar formation makes the outline of a star appear around the diamond and allows cultivators to appear wherever and whenever they will, provided they are at least somewhat aware of that place or time. This ability extends to the force of their strikes or their qi projections, letting cultivators throttle people from a distance or make them explode as if a qi blast had been fired inside them, instead of travelling through nowhere to appear there.

These stages of "starless cultivation" reach an end with the stellar unification technique, which results in the aforemenioned star being filled in and manifesting on their brow (a diamond shape is faintly visible in the middle). This deepens and broadens the cultivator's spirit, allowing the conversion of matter into thoughts, then into spirit and back, which can be used on both themselves and their surroundings. By this stage, cultivators are expected to begin ascending the Heavens, or travelling other realms equivalent to them.

There is no apparent end to the stages of starred cultivation, the attainment of each resulting in another appearing on the cultivator's forehead. This goes on until the point it would be covered in light, when the stars become a nimbus or halo around the cultivator's head; careful looks will reveal it is actually a subtle many-faceted star.

What, then, of the size of Entrance?

Five Beasts Archipelago

The Rearing Dragon, Coiling Dragon, Diving Dragon, Rampant Steed and Skulking Bear islands are very close by Entrant standards: a spiritually aligned cultivator could cross the narrow stretch of sea between the first two (said islands being the closest) and only die of old age upon reaching the shore of their destination. Surpassing the obstacle that is this distance without relying on the Alchemy and Artificing Consortium's devices (by far the most common means of enabling trade and travel across Entrance) is one of the most common reasons for advancement in Five Beasts.

The islands are almost identical in size though different in shape, hence the names, which are based on the animals they resemble, and the bodies of water between any two of them are around as large as an island.

Rearing Dragon is the most politically-diverse of the Islands, not being united under one kingdom like the other Dragons, though it is more civilised than the mostly untamed wilderness travelled by nomads that is Steed or the isolated city-states and wandering tribes between which Bear is split.

Spanning the relatively narrow centre of the island (which is far longer than it's broad, being dragonlike in shape) is the fertile Golden Girdle. Also known as the Dragon's Belt, it compares to the overall dimensions of the island like a man's belt does to his height. This area is the more urban half of the alliance between the Zodiac Kingdoms and the Plains of Pearl around them, the latter being mostly dedicated to farmsteads and rice fields, though AAC workshops and laboratories are not uncommon.

The Zodiac Kingdoms represent almost half of the Emerald Empire's population, though they are much smaller than the surrounding Plains, thanks to their degree of urbanisation. The twelve countries, each resembling an animal and almost equal in size to the eleven others, have often been called a microcosm of Five Beasts.

Each Zodiac Country is split into scores and scores of provinces, with a province having enough cities "to cover the smaller half of the land they're scattered across", the immortalised reaction of a farmer after touring his province for the first time, and dozens of towns for each city (a town also being less than a dozenth as large as a city). These settlements are as grand as one would expect on Entrance; currently, in the middle of a town hoping to be reclassified as a city after building its first spires at some point in the future, runs a river so broad that should a man with unrefined qi be placed high enough to be unable to breathe, and look out to either side, he would see naught but the river's waters. Said river's breadth is like the width of a hair compared to a man's arm span when compared to the extent of the town, both south to north and east to west. The distance between the nearest cities dwarfs them like the span of a grasshopper's jump dwarfs its body, and these are often stretches of wilderness filled with bandits, unruly spirit beasts and demonic cultivators, alchemists and artificers.

The Emerald Empire covers roughly a fifth of Rearing Dragon, with the "rear legs" being a desert region and the "tail" being covered in jungles, whilst the "forelegs" are mountainous and the "neck and head" are volcanic. Leaders at every level are chosen through a mix of merit and their perception by others rather than bloodline (though having a prestigious one by no means hurts) and their edicts are enforced by a variety of armed forces, from the provincial armies (split, like all Emerald armies, between the "inner" army used for policing and the "outer" army used for actual warfare) consisting of countless quintillions of spiritually aligned cultivators backed by their far more numerous but less advanced fellows and spearheaded by many billions of spiritually refined cultivators and tens of stellar formation elites.

Entrance and the wider Worldly Array

Five Beasts Archipelago is located at Entrance's equator, making it equidistant from the planet's four continents. It has been said that a seventy-seven star cultivator could set out from Five Beasts and see generations upon generations of spiritually aligned cultivators be born, achieve mastery of said rank and died of old age before they died of old age; in reply to this, such a cultivator replied that the downplaying of such distances is what makes people embark on journeys they're not up for. The distances between the continents, like said continents' extent, are at least equal to this, and said lands represent only a fraction of Entrance's surface, with the planet's waters dwarfing its landmasses several times over.

The mechanics of Entrance's cosmos are such that most people who enter it will arrive at said planet; between it and Exit, a far larger world at the other end of its reality, are the Hallway Worlds. The distance between Entrance and the nearest one (many times smaller than that between two Hallway Worlds) has not been exactly measured, though an eighty thousand star cultivator who has tried to travel it the long way (flying instead of using a teleporter or portal construct or some other shortcut), beginning many millions of years before the advent of Entrant cultivation has not reached his destination; he considers the journey fun in a bracing way, though.

The Hallway Worlds are vast, the typical human equivalents of one being large enough to hold Entrance in hand like a human would a snow globe, and being dwarfed by their homeworld like Entrance dwarfs its inhabitants (a trend reflected on Exit). Travellers between worlds have described "the Corridors" as pleasant enough, though everyone seems to always be in a rush to get somewhere, either physically or in terms of cultivation.

Exit is where starred cultivators end up to prepare for advancing to the Lowest or First Heaven. It has been described as a bittersweet planet that makes the other celestial bodies in its cosmos look like an atom next to a Hallway World, and it is well known that there are more such planets than each has quarks. Though Exit is trillions of trillions of times smaller than its cosmos, it is still considered the most noteworthy feature of it by many visitors from outside, who have on occasion called it "the edge of the cradle."

Beyond this universe lie the Heavens and Hells, collectively known as the Overworld and Underworld to some. The Lowest Heaven is endless in extent, the stars of its cultivators fractal, and any child of this realm could hold Entrance's cosmos in one hand like a man holding a grain of rice. Their heavenly planets are larger than them the way the those bereft of divinity, from the cosmos below, dwarf their common citizens. There is no limit to their number, for in an infinite universe, there is enough room for world without number. The Highest Hell is a twisted mirror of this, but otherwise equivalent in scope.

The Heavens extend upwards and the Hells downwards without number, in a similar manner to the layers of the wider Wellspring; also like them, each level of the Overworld and Underworld transcends the previous one, making it look like less than a shadow, just a figment of imagination that anyone could snuff out with a thought. This, then, is a qualitative sort of transcendence, not a quantitative one. For example, no amount of matter, limited or not, will reach the level of reality above it because of sheer quantity.

When speaking of the totality of these divine and infernal worlds, mathematicians draw comparisons with not just the endless numbers between zero and infinity, but of the numbers between numbers: much like the string of numbers between one and two, beginning with one point one, has no end, nor does the one beginning with one point zero one, one point zero zero one, and so forth; Entrants find it appropriate that nothingness at the beginning would lead to ever-greater things, due to their culture of self-improvement.

Though these learned people talk of "infinities of infinities, and more besides" to illustrate the Overworld and Underworld, the Highest Heaven and Lowest Hell cannot be defined thus. Much like one cannot add dimensions to reach the lowest dimensionless Heaven (the jump between the Heaven of infinite dimensions and that being a more profound sort of qualitative transcendence), one cannot add the Heavens before the Highest and hope to approach it.

It is the Highest Heaven that houses the most virtuous souls, the Sun and Moon that light the days and nights of worlds below and the Ten Thousand Things, which act as the blueprints for the contents of the Array, much like a tree might inspire a mental image of itself but is incomparably more real.

Above this is the Balance that regulates the Worldly Array, with all within it falling under the purview of one of its halves. For eons, cultivators have debated whether the Balance is between good and evil, creation and destruction, order and disorder or something else. In reality, these are only fractions of its nature.

The roiling expanse that preceded (to use a metaphor within the understanding of temporal beings) and surrounds the Balance and the Array it contains like an endless dark ocean circling a firefly is known as the Chaos, though some paranoid souls that believe it seeks to undo the cosmic order and return all to itself call it the Imbalance. The truth is that such things are too small for the Chaos to concern itself with, too brief and finite in comparison.

The Cleaver of Chaos did not gain its name because it created or sought to create the Array (that was something it did following its battle with the seething void, using an infinitesimal wisp of it), but because it ended the seething of the Chaos that prevented anything from forming wwithin it and surviving unaided. The Cleaver turned potential into fact, also establishing its own existence in the prophet, though the battle with its dark unthinking peer led it to enter a slumber, that its wounds might heal. A shard of its form that it refined into a weapon mid-fight, amusingly enough a cleaver, is said to rest by this giant's side, waiting for one fit to wield it anew.

The Chaos is a manifestation of the Dao's lowest, perceivable state, on which it rests like a drop of ink atop a boundless page, a "state of potential" known as the Foundation. Some, after realising the Dao is like a writer that could pick up and shred said "paper" as easily as it uses it now, as a canvas (the Dao being too profound to be sensed by the Foundation, much less resisted), said that this is the extent of mastery. There could be no fouler lie! The Dao that can be named is not the Dao, and description is a much more thorough hobbling than naming; there is no beginning or end to the Dao or that which it allows those who understand it to do.

(Though the Array's inhabitants have been called provincialists who refuse to acknowledge cosmologies or philosophies other than theirs as meaningful, there have been recent attempts to study the Dao as it relates to the Quintessence, and whether there is any degree of separation between them, as much as there can be any between the Quintessence and the magna-macrocosm, which is to it not unlike the shadow a person might cast over their upper half while navel-gazing might be to said person, though this analogy is of course limiting, like any attempt to explain the Quintessence.)