The first thing Ash noticed about the orphanage was how artificial everything felt.
The grass beneath his feet was too perfect—uniform blades swaying in rhythm, unbothered by wind. The sun never moved, stuck forever at what adults called "optimal daylight." The clouds were projected on a curved dome, shifting with slow, deliberate elegance. Even the breeze had a cycle.
It was beautiful.
But lifeless.
His room was small but clean. Soft white walls. A single bed with pristine sheets. A touchpad built into the wall allowed him to control the light, temperature, and even request food. He never used it. He wasn't hungry. Not yet.
He sat by the window most of the first night, staring at the unmoving sky, trying to remember something — anything — about who he was. Nothing came. No past, no pain. Just the ever-present sensation of knowing things he hadn't learned, and feeling things he'd never experienced.
A soft knock came at the door the next morning.
Ash turned. The door hissed open.
A boy entered. Maybe a year older than him, with shaggy brown hair, a bright vest with blinking runes, and a scar on his left cheek like a bolt of lightning.
He paused when he saw Ash sitting still, legs crossed on the floor. "You're the new kid, right?"
Ash didn't reply.
"I'm Tarek." The boy stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "They told me to show you around. You're in Class 2, like me. Morning block starts in ten. Come on."
Ash stood. He didn't resist. He simply followed.
---
The orphanage halls were sleek, polished white, with soft pulses of blue light running along the ceilings. Automated guidance drones floated overhead, occasionally issuing instructions or gentle chimes. Other children passed them—some laughing, others walking with focus. All were dressed in similar robes or training gear, though none had the quiet, heavy stillness Ash carried.
Tarek led him through the courtyard. "You get used to the routines quick. Morning lessons, mid-day exercise or cultivation prep, then evening block for electives. Food's free, beds are yours, and the AI doesn't bother you if you follow the rules."
Ash looked around. "How many children live here?"
"Three hundred and twenty-six. All with no records or guardians." Tarek scratched his head. "You really don't remember anything?"
"No."
Tarek didn't push. "You talk weird, you know that?"
"I know."
"…Cool."
They reached the classroom wing. Ash's assigned room was carved into the side of a circular building with a glass dome. Inside, glowing projection screens floated at the front, and curved seats in clean rows filled the room. A dozen children were already seated. Some looked up at Ash's arrival. A few whispered. None greeted him.
Ash sat beside Tarek near the middle row.
Tarek leaned over. "That's Instructor Halren. He's from one of the lower cultivation realms, but he's smart. Teaches us world history and theory. No actual techniques 'til third level clearance."
Ash nodded, eyes already scanning the room. Halren was a tall man with silver-streaked hair and a thin face. His eyes flickered with faint blue runes—augmentation implants. A gentle, scholarly presence.
The instructor spoke without looking up. "New student?"
"Yes, Instructor," Tarek said. "Ash."
"Welcome, Ash," Halren said, turning to him with a calm expression. "You're just in time for the first cycle of World Structure Theory. A good place to start if you're... waking up anew."
Ash tilted his head, curious. "You teach people who wake up without memories often?"
"Not often," Halren said, "but not never. Memory erosion can happen from Void exposure, energy backlash, or soul fragment instability. You're not alone in forgetting." He offered a small smile. "But you might be surprised how quickly things come back."
Ash offered no reaction.
Halren clapped once. "Begin."
The lights dimmed.
A projection sphere floated to the center of the room. It pulsed, and then a vast holographic image bloomed above them — a massive planet surrounded by rings of energy.
"Children," Halren said, "this is Elyssia, the world we live in. One of the thirteen Primeworlds under the guidance of the Order. Our world is sustained by a stabilized mana network, built atop ancient leyline formations and reinforced by civilization's collective will."
The image zoomed out, revealing other planets, space stations, artificial moons, and titanic structures orbiting a colossal star.
"This solar system is called the Arden Nexus. Long ago, Elyssia was plagued by war, death, and decay. That changed with the rise of the Order—the unifying force that governs not just our world, but many others."
Another image flickered to life — an impossibly tall tower, reaching beyond the clouds, with thirteen floating rings circling it. At its peak, a blazing crystal pulsed like a heart.
"The Order," Halren said, "is not merely a government. It is an organization, a belief system, and a cultivator's salvation. It maintains balance, regulates energy use, and enforces the Immortal Mandate: the sacred law that ensures no soul is ever lost again."
A murmur passed through the class.
Ash's gaze narrowed slightly.
Halren turned, walking slowly between rows. "As you all know, long ago—before the Order unified the worlds—people used to die."
The word rang in Ash's ears.
"Back then, soul fragmentation was permanent. Bodies decayed. Consciousness was erased. Death was... final."
Halren paused, letting the silence settle.
"But with the rise of cultivation, soul science, and spiritual engineering, we transcended that state. The Order stabilized soul-transfer systems, created soul-memory anchors, and cultivated divine regrowth protocols. Now, should someone fall in battle or accident, their body is reconstructed and their soul reintegrated from backups stored in the universal lattice."
He turned to the class. "What does that mean?"
A girl raised her hand. "We can't die."
"Correct. Not truly. Our systems make all 'death' a temporary state. A pause, not an end."
Another boy raised his hand. "What about people without soul-anchors?"
Halren nodded. "Rare cases. They're vulnerable. But such conditions are generally corrected before birth or during early cultivation cycles."
Ash raised his hand. Slowly.
Halren looked surprised. "Yes, Ash?"
Ash spoke quietly. "Why was death removed?"
Halren studied him. "Because it was a flaw. A cruel limitation of early existence. Death brought pain, suffering, despair. It ended genius, cut short love, and shattered societies. By eliminating it, we created eternity."
Ash didn't look satisfied. "But if no one dies... doesn't that mean nothing ends?"
The room went still.
Even Tarek glanced sideways at him.
Halren's expression tightened for just a moment. "That is... a philosophical question. One the Order has considered at great depth. But the truth is simple: Ending suffering is noble. Preserving life is progress. Would you rather live... or not?"
Ash didn't answer.
Halren moved on quickly.
"Now then, the foundation of that progress lies in cultivation."
The floating hologram shifted again — now showing nine glowing circles stacked vertically.
"These are the Nine Mortal Realms — the cultivation stages achievable within Elyssia. Each realm represents a transformation of the body, soul, and spiritual energy."
Ash leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening.
Halren gestured.
> "First comes Foundation Root, where energy channels are opened and the soul's core is stabilized.
Second is Essence Vein, where one absorbs ambient mana and begins shaping their inner world.
Then comes Soul Flame, where spirit and will are refined into power.
After that, the realms rise through increasingly complex and transformative stages:
Core Bloom,
Domain Wielding,
Law Reflection,
Origin Cycle,
Transcendent Ring,
And finally... World Ascension."
Each name shimmered as it was spoken, glyphs forming and fading.
"These nine realms form the peak of mortal cultivation. Beyond them lies the Cosmic Path—accessible only to those who leave the world and venture into the deeper universe."
A student near the back whispered, "Has anyone ever reached it?"
"Very few," Halren said softly. "And fewer still return. Those who ascend beyond the ninth realm are no longer bound by the limits of this world. They become arbiters of greater laws."
Ash's mind caught on that word.
Laws.
He didn't know why, but it resonated. Like a string inside him had been gently plucked.
Halren continued. "You will begin by learning meditation, spiritual focus, energy sensing. Only after passing those will you be permitted to choose your cultivation path."
He turned back to the board. "There are many styles—Body, Soul, Elemental, Will-based, Technique-focused—but the Order forbids any path that destabilizes the Immortal Mandate. That includes—"
He stopped.
Looked at the children.
Chose his words carefully.
"—certain... lost branches of cultivation. Forbidden arts. But you don't need to worry about those. They were erased long ago."
Ash raised his hand again. "Erased?"
Halren smiled tightly. "Not all knowledge is worth preserving. Now then, let's begin your orientation quizzes—"
---
The lesson ended two hours later.
Ash stayed behind a moment, watching the symbols on the projection fade. There had been something... haunting... about the glowing realms. Not because they were beautiful, but because something was missing.
A space above them.
A shadow that the system didn't mention.
Like something had been cut away.
Tarek bumped him with an elbow. "That was intense. You ask deep questions for someone who doesn't remember anything."
Ash turned his head. "Do people here ever lie?"
Tarek raised a brow. "What?"
"To themselves."
Tarek laughed. "All the time."
Ash didn't laugh. He just nodded slowly, then walked toward the exit.
---
Later that evening, Ash sat on the grass outside the dormitory.
The artificial stars above glowed softly.
Other children sparred in the distance, practicing beginner techniques. Glimmering threads of light flicked from their palms — flame, water, wind.
Ash watched them.
He did not understand yet how they drew such power, but something inside him whispered — not envy, but anticipation. Not longing, but purpose.
When he closed his eyes, he could feel something beneath him. Not in the ground, but deeper.
A current.
A breath.
A law.
It wasn't calling to him.
It was waiting.