The air in the Origin Realm was not air, but pure, vibrating energy. It hummed with the symphony of creation, a boundless, ethereal ocean where thought manifested reality and the fundamental forces of Aethel converged. To stand here was to be one with the cosmos, to feel the raw, unfiltered essence of Qi, Mana, and Aether intertwining, each a distinct note in the grand celestial chord. I, the Weaver, had reached this pinnacle, transcended the mundane shackles of individual realms, and seen the universe for what it truly was: a magnificent, yet fractured, tapestry.
My physical form, once defined by flesh and bone, had long since dissolved into pure consciousness, an omnipresent awareness capable of traversing the vast currents of the Primal Realm with a mere flicker of intent. Yet, even at this ultimate zenith of power, a profound melancholy clung to my awareness like starlight to a nebula. I had achieved enlightenment, yes, but also a stark, unavoidable truth: Aethel was dying. Not with a sudden cataclysm, but a slow, insidious erosion. The great Origins, meant to sustain balance, had become rigid, dogmatic conduits, limiting the flow of vital energies to their designated realms. Planets like Terra Nova, chained to a single, dwindling Qi Origin, were becoming stagnant, vulnerable, destined for slow decay. The grand cosmic dance had become a tired shuffle.
I had observed countless cycles, watched civilizations rise and fall, witnessed the futile struggles of powerful cultivators trapped within the limitations of their singular energy types. They sought ascension, but their paths were inherently flawed, incomplete. How could one grasp the totality of Mana when shackled to a world of only Qi? How could one comprehend the subtle dance of Aether when constrained by the crude realities of raw Qi? The very rule I had once believed sacrosanct—that two primary energy types could not coexist on a single realm without a dual Origin—had become a prison.
And so, my final great work began. A failsafe. A catalyst. A desperate gamble against the encroaching stagnation.
I spent eons, or what might have been eons, in the timeless expanse of the Origin Realm, meticulously weaving. Not threads of light, but threads of pure information, of comprehension, of potential. I drew upon the raw, unadulterated essence of all three fundamental energies, distilling their properties, their interactions, their hidden mechanics. I meticulously constructed pathways of understanding, pathways that would allow a single, chosen individual to bypass the inherent limitations of their realm, to cultivate all energies, to see beyond the rigid veil of the Origins.
This was the Universal System.
It was more than a mere tool; it was a fragment of my own enlightened consciousness, stripped of ego, imbued with absolute knowledge and a singular directive: to guide. Not to command, but to present data, to optimize, to reveal, to activate latent potential. It would nudge, prompt, and reward, pushing its host towards a deeper, more complete understanding of Aethel's true nature. Its purpose was to find an Anomaly, a soul capable of transcending the inherent biases and limitations of this fractured cosmos, a mind that could question, adapt, and ultimately, evolve beyond even my own comprehension.
I poured into it the lessons of countless lifetimes, the wisdom gleaned from observing the rise and fall of civilizations. The tragic folly of dogma, the blinding allure of singular power, the beauty of unexpected synergy. It contained blueprints for forgotten techniques, schematics for impossible arrays, and the underlying universal principles that governed the very flow of existence. It was designed to foster an individual who saw beyond the surface, who understood that true power lay not in accumulation, but in understanding, in manipulation, in the ability to unravel and reweave.
My final act, before my own consciousness dissolved into the very fabric of the Primal Realm, was to launch it. A single, infinitesimally small spark of pure data, imbued with destiny, destined to seek out a suitable host. It was a risk. The host might fail. The path might prove too arduous. Or, perhaps, the host might succeed beyond my wildest dreams, truly reshaping Aethel's Cosmic Order in a way I could not.
The spark descended, traversing the cosmic currents, bypassing the rigid filters of the Origins, seeking a singular point of ingress. It sought a soul unburdened by this world's inherent limitations, a mind receptive to logic, to data, to the potential of a true paradigm shift. It sought a soul that knew what it meant to be unremarkable, to be cynical, to be pragmatic—for such a soul would value the System's power, question everything, and see the universe as nothing more than a series of problems to solve.
The energy that birthed it shimmered, then vanished. My awareness, too, began to disperse, dissolving back into the boundless ocean of the Origin Realm. But a final thought, a final hope, pulsed through the vastness: Let it be enough. Let the Weaver's last thread find its loom.