ACT 1: REBIRTH
CHAPTER 1: THE GENESIS OF THE SPIRIT ROOT
In the time of primordial chaos, when the universe was but a slumbering infant in the endless cradle of Pandemonium.
Here, there was no up or down, no before or after. Time had not yet found its current to tirelessly flow into the past, and space was still but a nascent concept, unformed in the consciousness of Creation. Amidst a silence so absolute that existence itself held its breath, a figure had stood since time immemorial. A witness to oblivion.
He was a man. His white hair was not the color of frost, but the color of ashes after a galaxy has burned to its end. The wounds on his tangible yet ethereal body did not bleed blood, but the light of dying stars in despair. His breath carried not the vitality of life, but the cold, solitary chill of the Void. Only his eyes, a pair of crimson orbs like two blood moons, burned with an indomitable flame, an eternal obsession, silently watching the first stirrings of the cosmos. He was not just observing. He was waiting.
Suddenly, like the first heartbeat of the universe, space began to fracture.
The fissures brought not destruction, but genesis. From them, gates of pure light slowly opened, releasing streams of primordial energy, colorless and tasteless, yet containing the power of a myriad of Daos. They did not surge or roar, but flowed in a silent symphony of creation, quietly converging at a single point where a young universe was gradually taking shape.
At the very heart of this upheaval, amidst the currents of cosmic law, countless ancient entities, concepts that had taken form, silently manifested. They were the embodiments of Order, the echoes of Strength, the stillness of Time. They were so numerous they could not be counted, each being an archaic Principle, their majestic aura so profound it caused the flow of Chaos itself to halt and prostrate.
Then, by an unseen heavenly will, they all mobilized their divine power in unison. Endless laws intertwined, not in conflict, but in the voluntary unification of a myriad of Daos. They swirled, condensed, then imploded in silence, forming a single primordial point, like the first beat of the universe's heart.
From the center of that mass of light, a speck of spiritual luminescence, as small as a mote of dust, slowly began to spin, greedily absorbing the essence of heaven and earth. It grew, solidified, and then transformed into a perfect spiritual pearl, radiating a pure, primal aura, containing immeasurable power – the Eternal Spirit Root, the source of all desires, the key to all Laws!
But before its spiritual energy could spread, warming the nascent universe, the surrounding space suddenly trembled violently! A bone-chilling wind, sharp as an invisible blade of treachery, tore through the sacred harmony.
Swoosh!
The white-haired figure had appeared beside the spiritual pearl, as if he had existed there since the dawn of time. He gently reached out his stardust-stained hand and touched the Spirit Root.
And then he laughed.
"Ha... Haha... HA HA HA HA!"
His laughter did not echo; it tore through the silence of creation, stirring the hearts of all the entities bearing witness. It was not the laughter of triumph, but of a release born from the depths of despair. It was not the cry of sorrow, but the condensed reverberation of myriad eons of suffering, forged into an eternal obsession.
"This Spirit Root… is mine! Mine!"
The arrogant declaration thundered like a clap of thunder in a clear sky. The ancient entities were instantly in an uproar, their majestic aura turning to wrath.
A deep, heavy voice, weighty as countless millennia, representing "Order", rang out: "Outsider, the hand you have just laid upon the source of the Law has also inscribed your name in the Ledger of Heavenly Retribution. From this day forward, your shadow will be hunted by time, and your name will be cursed by the void!"
Immediately after, another voice, harsher and more direct, representing "Strength", roared: "Enough talk! You there, that thing does not belong to you! Hand it over, and we may grant you a whole corpse!"
The white-haired man curled his lip into a contemptuous sneer. His crimson eyes flashed with a cold, ruthless glint, as if looking upon a swarm of foolish ants.
"Oh? You want it too?" He raised his head, his voice piercing directly into the consciousness of all: "What a coincidence… So do I. But what I desire, must be mine. Who dares to stop me?!"
As he finished speaking, a point of brilliant red light suddenly flashed from between his brows. In an instant, a crimson Dagger appeared. It was not forged in fire, but tempered in resentment. It was not cast from metal, but condensed from the silent cries of an era sentenced to death by the Heavenly Dao itself. The blade did not reflect light, but devoured it. It was shrouded in a bewitching purple mist—the lingering remnants of the Laws it had sundered, the wordless screams of the gods it had erased from existence.
He lightly turned his wrist, the tip of the dagger pointing directly at the countless entities seething with rage: "You want to take back the Spirit Root? Very well… if you have the skill, then come and take it!"
The challenge had barely been issued when war erupted!
Without a word of warning, without a moment's hesitation. Law became chains, concepts turned into divine swords, time froze into city walls, space collapsed into abysses—all aimed at the lone figure, seeking to crush the heretic who dared to defy order.
But the white-haired man only laughed arrogantly. The dagger in his hand drew impossible arcs, not shattering, but "erasing" the existence of the attacks. A mountain formed from the very weight of Oblivion, which had just begun to descend, was erased into nothingness by a slash of the blade. A river of time that sought to sweep him away was stirred by the dagger's tip, flowing back towards its master.
The blood of gods and demons stained the starry expanse, and star after star was extinguished under the boundless killing intent.
No one witnessed the final moment. It is only known that, after a moment of silence so profound that time itself had to stop breathing, when the light returned, the ancient entities were no more. Their existence was not destroyed, but torn out like a mistaken page from the epic of the universe by an unseen hand, leaving not a single trace, not a single echo.
Amidst a universe scarred and pitted, only the white-haired figure remained, still holding the Spirit Root. He stared coldly into the void before leisurely disappearing into a spatial rift, leaving behind a silence more terrifying than any battle.
Five hundred years later, as the tremors of that cosmos-shaking battle gradually subsided, a legend began to be woven, not of a hero, but of an Unyielding One with white hair. His name became a story parents told to frighten disobedient children, and gods used to remind themselves of their own fragility.
He was not praised, but feared. For he had not only stolen the source of the Law, but had also planted a seed of eternal doubt in the nascent consciousness of the universe, an unhealable crack in the mirror of truth: Perhaps, Order is merely a beautiful name for a grander prison? He vanished like a specter, but his shadow still loomed over all things, becoming an eternal warning of a power that followed no rules. No one knew who he was. Nor did anyone know where he was.
It is only known that his legend was etched into eternity, opening a new chapter in history for countless stories to come.