*Title: Threads Before the Storm*
Among the Alien gray cultivators stood *Neila*, a prodigy who could commune with the cosmic flows embedded in the Titan's essence. She was brilliant — sharp-eyed, ambitious, but fragile. Her affinity for soul-weaving was unmatched, yet her fear of failure grew like a shadow behind her talent. Ashur observed her struggle, her triumphs always chased by doubt.
"Every time I ascend, I see them watching," she told him one day, clutching a soul-crystal that pulsed in her hand. "Eyes. As if the evil remembers me… and disapproves."
Ashur offered no correction. He only listened. He saw her thread — stretched across a thousand futures. In some, she would stand against the Dark King, radiant and wise. In others, she would fall, crushed by expectations she could never meet.
Then there was *Excap*, a quiet older disciple, often overlooked. Lame in one leg, mocked by younger gray cultivators, he spent hours alone in the lower chambers, whispering to the winds of Titanbone. But Ashur saw the truth — Excap's mind moved in spirals no one could follow. He could hear the hum of ancient heartbeat, decode echoes left behind by the titan's death. He would become essential, though none saw it yet.
***
Every failure became a lesson. Neila's fear made her retreat from her next soul-weave ritual, and her backlash left her unconscious for days. But when she awoke, something had shifted — her pride cracked, and in its place, humility bloomed.
Excap failed repeatedly to map the shifting resonance. But each failure brought him closer to the truth. Slowly, his chambers filled with runes that shimmered — a blueprint of the Titan's still-beating heart. A heart darkened by some distant corruption… by the *Dark King's spreading influence*.
Ashur-ll'Zhara walked among them, guiding gently — never revealing his truth, but nudging fate. He taught them balance, choice, resilience. That destiny wasn't always about the end, but the will to stand when it begins to fall apart.
Meanwhile, rumors reached the sect: *the outer sects were falling*, *the stars dimming*. Those who entered astral projection returned haunted or not at all. the Dark King's shadow had arrived.
Ashur sat alone beneath the rib-arches, gazing into the woven tapestry of fates. He saw Neila, standing against a void tide. He saw Excap, raising his hand over a cosmic altar, breaking a chain forged in silence. He saw a thousand paths — and all failed to stop the army of the dark king.
And above all, he saw one truth:
*This world would burn… or be reborn… through the choices of the few for the fate of this world is doom.*
He closed his eyes. The storm was near.
Inside the hollow world of the Titan's ribcage, where the Sect of SeleZu clung to survival beneath dying stars, Ashur-ll'Zhara sat on the edge of time, watching fate decay. He had traced every thread, followed every outcome, split every possible path… and all led to doom.
Even Neila's awakening and Excap's rising genius couldn't stop the collapse. The Dark King's shadow loomed, not as a force of battle, but as a certainty. Fate, it seemed, had decided.
But Ashur-ll'Zhara wasn't satisfied and decide to do something.
He extended a hand through the tapestry of creation, beyond this Titan-world, reaching past galaxies, past realms, into the countless omniverses. He searched for a soul that did not belong — *untouched by fate in this reality* — a soul from a quiet world. Earth-like. Small. Forgotten. But within it: defiance.
And he found *Omary*.
A young man, flawed but curious. Determined but ordinary. Ashur plucked his soul gently from its body and, without warning, *transmigrated* it into the still form of a dying Grey cultivator in the Sect of SeleZu. His essence took root in the alien flesh. His heart beat anew. And Ashur-ll'Zhara's experiment began