Cultivation is Creation

Something was wrong.

The Saint's Essence had performed this ritual countless times before.

The transfer was supposed to be simple, elegant—a smooth transition from one vessel to the next. It would enter through the mouth, seek out the Cerulean Vein and merge with it, expanding its influence until it suffused the new Saint's entire being.

But this... this was not right.

Instead of the expected inner space, a modest chamber where the Cerulean Vein should float in serene isolation, the Saint's Essence found itself adrift in something vast and impossible.

An entire world stretched out beneath it, dwarfing the tiny mote of concentrated blue light that was its current form.

The Saint's Essence pulsed with confusion. How could a simple village boy possess an inner space of such magnitude?

It drifted lower, its azure glow illuminating the landscape beneath. Mountains rose in the northwest. Deep valleys cut between them, hosting small springs that trickled into nascent rivers. The entire formation created a natural semicircle, the highest peaks to the north, gradually descending as they curved around.

In the northeast lay a forest, not the expected metaphysical representation of spiritual energy, but a true forest with countless trees. There was something deliberate about their arrangement, something calculated that spoke of careful cultivation rather than random growth.

To the southwest, meditation plateaus and practice fields had been arranged with meticulous precision. Their design was familiar yet foreign, similar to those used in the Blue Sun Academy, yet altered in subtle ways that suggested a fundamentally different approach to energy manipulation.

But it was the center that truly captured the Saint's Essence's attention.

A massive tree dominated the landscape, its trunk wider than many buildings, its canopy spreading overhead like a verdant sky. Deep roots plunged into the earth, radiating outward along the valleys that divided the quadrants.

The tree stood motionless, utterly silent, seemingly dormant.

Something about the tree made the Saint's Essence recoil. Though it couldn't name the feeling, never before having experienced anything like discomfort or fear, there was something wrong about the tree. Something threatening in its very stillness.

It turned away, dismissing the enormous plant as unimportant.

Its purpose was clear: find the Cerulean Vein, merge with it, and complete the transfer.

Everything else was irrelevant.

The Saint's Essence drifted toward what appeared to be an array of runes at the center of the inner world, arranged in a perfect circle beneath the great tree's spreading canopy. As it approached, its azure light illuminated the symbols.

It froze.

These were not the elegant, flowing scripts of Lightweaver calligraphy. These were not the sacred characters taught in the Blue Sun Academy. These were not symbols of serenity, wisdom, and transcendence.

These were Skybound runes.

The Saint's Essence pulsed with something that might have been horror if it were capable of true emotion. It recognized the aggressive, angular patterns, the marks of the enemy, the corrupted, the followers of the Red Sun.

There was no mistaking them.

But how?

How could a village boy chosen by the Cerulean Orb possess Skybound runes in his inner space?

The selection process was infallible, it had always detected even the faintest hint of Red Sun corruption. Yet here they were, plain as day, arranged in a complex array that spoke of significant advancement in the forbidden arts.

What it recognised as the Fundamental Rune floated at the center, a wood-based Fibonacci spiral tree pattern that would have been beautiful if it weren't so abhorrent. Beside it lay the Worldroot Conduit, the Shroud, the Soul Ward, the Hawk Eye, the Leaf Storm—all arranged in perfect harmony, each supporting and enhancing the others.

The Saint's Essence pulsed rapidly, its light flickering with agitation.

This was unprecedented. This was impossible. This was...a trap?

Had the Red Sun finally succeeded in infiltrating the Selection? Had they somehow managed to place one of their own in position to become Saint? The implications were catastrophic.

The Saint's Essence needed to find the Cerulean Vein quickly. Once merged, it could take control, suppress these abominations, perhaps even purge them entirely. It needed to stabilize this vessel before the corruption could spread further.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It scanned the inner space carefully, finally detecting a faint blue glow emanating from the northeastern forest. There, that had to be it. The Cerulean Vein, hidden among the trees. Unusual, but not entirely without precedent. Sometimes the Vein manifested in ways that reflected the vessel's subconscious imagery.

The Saint's Essence moved toward the forest, intent on its target. But before it could reach the treeline, something else caught its attention. A movement overhead drew its focus upward.

There, circling high above the central tree, was another blue sun.

The Saint's Essence halted its advance, pulsing with confusion and alarm.

Another blue sun?

Impossible.

There was only one Blue Sun—the celestial body that had emerged from the Sundering.

What it was seeing couldn't exist.

Yet there it was, a perfect sphere of azure light, nearly identical to the Saint's Essence itself, only slightly larger. It circled lazily, seemingly unaware of the intruder in its domain.

The Saint's Essence observed it carefully. This was no Cerulean Vein. This was no normal manifestation of Blue Sun energy. This was something else entirely, a separate consciousness, a distinct entity that had no right to exist.

Then the orbiting blue sun seemed to notice it, it paused in its orbit, hovering in place, its blue light intensifying as if in recognition, or alarm.

For a long moment, they regarded each other, two nearly identical spheres of blue light, one belonging to this impossible inner world, the other an intruder from beyond.

Then, acting on instinct honed through thousands of transfers, the Saint's Essence shot forward.

Whatever this aberration was, it needed to be consumed, assimilated, controlled.

The ritual demanded it. The Blue Sun demanded it.

The other blue sun gave off what could only be described as a squeal of terror. It darted away with surprising speed, racing toward the central tree as if seeking shelter beneath its massive canopy.

The Saint's Essence pursued, its tiny form accelerating through the inner world. It was gaining rapidly, the distance closing between them. The fleeing sun was just ahead now, its azure light flickering with what seemed like panic.

Just as the Saint's Essence was about to devour the false sun, something massive and brown lashed through the space between them.

The Saint's Essence veered sharply, barely avoiding collision with the unexpected obstacle.

It halted, pulsing rapidly as it assessed this new threat.

A root.

A massive, gnarled root had shot upward from the ground, interposing itself between predator and prey.

And it was not alone.

The great tree, previously still as stone, was now in motion. Its roots tore free of the earth, whipping through the air like the tentacles of some enormous beast. Branches that had hung motionless now creaked and swayed, reaching outward, downward, seeking.

And they were all reaching for the Saint's Essence.

It backed away instinctively, retreating from this unexpected aggression.

What was happening?

Trees didn't attack. Trees weren't sentient. Trees didn't defend other suns.

Unless...

Unless this was a World Tree.

Before it could comprehend what it was seeing, a root as thick as a building lashed toward the Saint's Essence. It dodged narrowly, zigzagging through the air as more roots joined the attack. They moved with malevolent intelligence, anticipating its evasive maneuvers, closing off escape routes.

The Saint's Essence had never known fear.

Fear was a mortal emotion, a weakness of flesh and blood. Yet as the roots encircled it, and the branches reached down from above, it experienced something very much like terror.

It fled upward, seeking escape in the simulated sky of the inner world. But the tree's reach was greater than expected. A branch thick with leaves intercepted its flight, forcing it to veer sharply to avoid impact.

More branches converged on its new position. More roots rose from below.

The attacks came from all directions now, the tree's appendages moving with impossible speed for something so massive.

The Saint's Essence darted between them, its tiny form weaving through the narrowing gaps.

It needed to escape.

It needed to return to the main consciousness of the Blue Sun.

It needed to report what it had found, a vessel that was not what it seemed, a Skybound infiltrator, maybe something worse.

A root clipped its edge as it swerved too late. The Saint's Essence felt a piece of its essence tear away, dissolving into motes of light that were quickly absorbed by the attacking root.

The sensation was new, shocking, pain, if it could be called that, for something without nerves or flesh.

It tried to concentrate, to access the connection that bound it to its greater self.

The Blue Sun's consciousness had spawned the Saint's Essence as a semi-autonomous fragment, a tool for the specific purpose of vessel transfer. That connection should allow it to return, to reintegrate, to convey its urgent message.

But the connection was blocked.

Somewhere at the edge of its awareness, the Saint's Essence could feel the barrier, a subtle but impenetrable shield that had closed around this inner world the moment it had entered. It was trapped.

Another root struck, this time scraping along its underside, tearing away more of its substance.

The Saint's Essence flickered and dimmed, its light fading as its energy dispersed.

It fled again, changing direction randomly, desperately seeking any opening in the tree's relentless assault.

There had to be a way out. There had to be a weakness, a gap, a moment of inattention.

But the tree gave no respite. Its attacks increased in speed and precision, guided by an intelligence that seemed to anticipate the Saint's Essence's every move.

It was being herded, the Saint's Essence realized, driven toward a specific location where its destruction would be assured.

As it fled toward what appeared to be a momentary opening between two massive roots, the Saint's Essence caught a glimpse of something beneath the tree's canopy that made it pulse with recognition and horror.

There, partially hidden by the dense foliage, hung a red sun.

Not a metaphorical representation. Not a symbolic construct. An actual red sun.

And beside it, smaller but equally distinct, hung a third sun, neither blue nor red.

A baby star. A new sun being forged within this inner world.

The Saint's Essence pulled up short, momentarily forgetting the danger in its shock at this revelation.

This was worse than infiltration. This was heresy of the highest order. This was an attempt to reverse the Sundering, to recombine what had been separated for the safety of all.

The moment of distraction proved fatal.

A dozen roots converged simultaneously, striking from all directions with perfect coordination.

There was nowhere to flee, no gap to exploit, no chance of evasion.

The impact shattered the Saint's Essence into thousands of parts. It could feel itself dispersing, its consciousness fragmenting as each piece was captured by a different root or branch.

From this fractured perspective, the Saint's Essence witnessed a strange sight.

The red sun and the baby star, previously hidden beneath the Genesis Seed's canopy, emerged fully into view. They didn't flee or attack or defend, they simply laughed.

Not with malice. Not with cruelty. But with the innocent joy of children who had successfully played a clever prank on an unwary adult.

As its consciousness faded, the Saint's Essence formed one final warning it could no longer deliver:

Beware the village boy who is not a boy.

Beware the saint who serves neither sun.

Beware the tree that bridges worlds.