“Cataclysmic Heritage?” Zac muttered, his eyes drawn to the key. “What’s the difference?”
“A Cataclysmic Heritage does not surpass the Dao,” A’Zu explained. “Instead, it uses tricks and accumulation to survive the cataclysm. This method can generally only be used once by exhausting a special invention or resource. It’s not Eternal in the truest of sense, so they’re named after the cataclysm it was designed to overcome.”
“That means all Cataclysmic Heritages come from the Primordial Era?” Zac said with interest.
“That’s the general rule. Cataclysmic Heritages will come from the previous Era. The ones hiding across the Cosmos today come from the Primordial Era. The remnants the demonic cultivators of that age discovered came from the Five Elements Era, and so on.”
“Nothing is absolute,” Be’Zi said.
“That’s true. One should be careful about making sweeping declarations,” A’Zu nodded. “I’ve heard of one Cataclysmic Heritage surviving multiple Eras, the Temple of the Emerald Sky. It has endured four cataclysms without surpassing the Dao, and thus delaying its collapse. However, many consider it a True Eternal Heritage because of that ability.”
“Enduring the cataclysm,” Zac muttered, giving the Aetherlord a second look.
Apart from A’Zu’s obvious strength, he seemed very well-informed. The Aetherlords were a small yet powerful race, but the hidden knowledge he possessed seemed to go beyond the norm, even among Autarchs. He must have held a powerful position before becoming a hermit, possibly one related to research like the Vigil or one of the neutral scholastic factions.
“It almost sounds harder than surpassing the Dao.”
Zac nodded in thought. It sounded like one could liken Eternal Heritages to a boat caught in a storm. A Cataclysmic Heritage would keep rowing, scoop water, and mend leaks until the storm calmed down. A True Eternal Heritage would simply rise to the sky and stay above the clouds until it was safe to descend. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect analogy.
The Technocrat Codex was the first thing that came to mind. The Technocrats of the Primordial Era hadn’t endured the cataclysm; they had transferred information through time to avoid it. Still, it was definitely a Cataclysmic Heritage by this definition. The information had already been disseminated, and it would be gone by this Era’s end unless the Technocracy built another time machine.
The term also made Zac think of the Abyssal Lake and the things hidden in its depths. Could the whole lake be another Cataclysmic Heritage? It would explain why the lake closed down when the System was born and later reopened without any issues. A Cataclysmic Heritage would be designed to withstand a far greater loss of Dao, so what was a million years of drought?
These two supposed heritages also confirmed that Cataclysmic heritages weren’t anything to scoff at, even if they weren’t as impressive as places like the Ultom Courts. The Technocrat Codex almost allowed Selvari to fight on equal grounds with the Limitless Empire and Laondio Evrodok. Even today, they were a seemingly unshakeable power hiding in the depths of the Eternal Storm. Meanwhile, the power hidden in the depths of the Abyssal Lake had left a powerful impression on Eoz himself.
The subject was very interesting, and not just because of the [Chaos Cipher]. Zac knew that not all Cataclysmic Heritages would be related to the Dao of Chaos, just like those practicing the Dao of Order were just a minority in the present. Even then, A’Zu’s description indicated there might be even more heritages related to the previous Era than he’d previously expected.
Even if he didn’t find what he needed in this [Waking Nautilus], there might be more chances of discovering methods and resources related to the Dao of Chaos.
“Can I ask what kind of realm the [Waking Nautilus] is?”
“That’s…” A’Zu said, scratching his chin in thought. “We’re not certain.”
“A place of beginnings,” Be’Zi calmly said.
“Yes, that’s where my wife and I first met. It’s also where we found the method and courage to reinvent ourselves so late into our journey.”
Zac blinked as the staid Aetherlord gently smiled at his wife hundreds of meters away. Be’Zi didn’t show much of a reaction, though Zac felt he could see a hint of warmth appearing in her Abyssal eyes.
“Uh, anything could help,” Zac coughed, slightly uncomfortable with the ambiguous atmosphere. After all, Be’Zi was almost the spitting image of Catheya. At best, it was like watching your grandmother-in-law flirt.
“We almost died forcing our way into the Nautilus,” A’Zu grunted. “We did, however, get what we came for. We also unearthed the Cipher, which let us avoid the defenses on our second visit. We broke through our shackles and prepared for over a hundred thousand years. And yet, we never reached further than the outer reaches.”
“That dangerous?”
“We lack the qualifications to cultivate Chaos. Bloodline binds us, and our Terminus will be found in Creation and Oblivion,” Be’Zi said.
“The Cipher should hold greater value for you,” the Aetherlord agreed. The coordinates and our experiences inside are hidden within the repository. You’ll be able to read it when you’ve reached the minimum threshold. Don’t be too eager to rush into things. The key can only be used once more, and the first visit will yield the greatest results. Not to mention, the dangers cannot be overstated, even if your compatibility with the Nautilus is much greater than ours.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Zac nodded, looking at the key that had floated into his hand.
The [Chaos Cipher] was essentially the equivalent of his Flamebearer seal. In a way, it was even more valuable. Ultom might be one of the greatest Eternal Heritages in existence, but there was the matter of fate and suitability. The Awakening Nautilus was a peak heritage related to the Dao of Chaos. The things inside should be more useful than anything he could get in the lower courts of the Left Imperial Palace.
He felt like it weighed as much as a mountain. The fourth gift was simply terrifying, to the point a voice of caution urged Zac to take a step back before his greed consumed him. Even if it seemed like this was a matter for a distant future, inheriting the key meant he’d also inherit the troubles that it came with. He’d seen how the established factions had acted over Ultom already.
“It’s not altruism that made us give up on the Cipher,” Be’Zi said upon seeing Zac frown in thought.
“We’ve already visited and failed twice,” A’Zu smiled. “Our fate with the Nautilus is dried up. Going again would be an act of desperation no different than entering terminal seclusion. In contrast, leaving the key in your hands might yield surprising results,” A’Zu said with a slight smile. “I wonder what would happen if that thing exploded, releasing the Chaos it has carried all this time.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Zac scratched his chin, opting not to comment on the last part. “I’ve read about the struggles over True Eternal Heritages. There’s enough blood to form rivers.”
“There’ll always be risks with a grand opportunity. However, the Nautilus is constantly on the move and incredibly difficult to locate without the right knowledge and Dao. Not to mention, the struggle over Cataclysmic Heritages is nowhere near the level of True Eternal Heritages. A few are well-known Taboo-zones claimed by no force since the risks outweigh the reward.”
“I thought the established forces would do anything to claim these things,” Zac frowned.
“Many of the resources and techniques found in Heritages are useless in our current Era, or they’ll require immense effort to redesign. The True Eternal Heritages are so valuable because they contain the dream of all Supremacies. They’ve surpassed the Heavenly Dao, grasping actual Eternity. They represent the possibility of going beyond the Terminus.
“In comparison, Cataclysmic Heritages are just peak troves, not much different from the ruins and troves of this Era’s Supremacies and A-grade factions. In fact, they’re often worse because of their incompatibility with the Era of Order.”
So it came back to the pursuit of Eternity. Indeed, that was the only thing that could truly move those ancient Supremacies who’d already reached the limits of their path. What did methods and treasures mean to them? Ultimately, it was too early for him to worry about those matters, though it was an important warning and reminder of just how far the outsiders would go in their battle over Ultom.
“Is the Heart of the Empire a Cataclysmic Heritage?” Zac asked out of curiosity.
“The Primo’s playground?” A’Zu said, shaking his head after a short pause. “No, it’s a True Eternal Heritage at least ten Eras old. You should be careful of that thing.”
“Most heritages carry a spirit of hope. Or at least one of defiance. The Heart… is a thing made of despair.”
“This thread of fate is concluded,” Be’Zi calmly said, preventing any follow-up questions.
The audience was over. Which meant it was time to head back.
“Again, thank you for this gift. I will not let you down,” Zac said with a bow. “Is this the last time we meet?”
“Only time can tell whether a new thread will form.”
“The top is quite narrow, and those climbing the same peak are more likely to have their fates intersect,” A’Zu shrugged. “You might encounter us if you climb far enough. At that time, we’ll discuss the Dao as equals, comparing our beliefs.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Zac hesitated as he looked at Be’Zi, who might as well have been Catheya’s older sister if you solely went by looks. A’Zu had made their stance clear. They wished to sever their past and pursue the Dao without mortal chains weighing them down. But could he just leave without saying anything about his relationship with Catheya? Without mentioning the unrest in the Undead Empire and how the Abyssal Shores already face pressure from all sides?
“You are only responsible for your own path. We are secluded, not isolated. My presence will not change the course of destiny. I would only become swept up in a struggle I have no interest nor stake in. Remember, even if the empire falls, the Abyss will remain. And with the Branch of Zi being connected to your chariot, I am confident they will come out stronger. Follow your conviction.”
“Good luck,” A’zu said, and the throne room was swallowed by streaks of boundless power.
They formed a cocoon around his spiritual threads and shot to the sky. A moment later, Zac felt his vantage shift. He could tell he was no longer in whatever hidden realm the two had secluded themselves in. Zac didn’t even know if he was in a physical plane.
He had, however, regained his connection with his body. There was no other choice. How was he supposed to advance his Dao without being connected to it? Thankfully, the scene back by the Imperial Graveyard was locked in stasis, no different than when he left. Zac put any distracting thoughts aside, focusing wholeheartedly on the impartment.
The streaks pulled him higher and higher, to the point Zac felt he’d soon reach the shimmering barrier of the Imperial Faith he’d witnessed at the end of his pilgrimage. Of course, that never happened. Zac’s vision was gradually filled by larger and larger stars made from Creation and Oblivion, respectively.
And then, he floated right before the Grand Dao of the two Autarchs he’d just met, the essence from millions of years of struggle and discovery. Zac had been worried he’d encounter another situation like when he faced the tapestries of the Primordials, where their scope and pressure almost tore Zac’s soul apart. His meeting had let him recover a bit, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for another round.
His fears proved unfounded. The tapestries were only a few percent the size of the vast networks formed by the Heart of Oblivion and Spark of Creation. Taking in their mysteries as a whole was still far beyond his ability, but Zac didn’t feel like he was being pulled under and torn apart by a deadly current.
He also had the protective field of the energy slivers that had carried him here. They formed something akin to a filter that held back the more dangerous aspects of their almost perfected paths. It let him observe the tapestry without being overwhelmed, making his mission much easier.
The fact that the tapestries were only a fraction the size of the Primordials’ didn’t make them any less impressive. Zac could fully appreciate what A’Zu meant when he called it pure, untainted Creation. Not only did the two offer their comprehension while holding their own opinions to themselves. They walked a path of purity, leaving almost nothing but the orthodox version of the delineated Dao.
Which was exactly what Zac sought. His goal wasn’t to fully fuse Creation with Life and Oblivion with Death today. It was too early. One would support the other, like the Void upholding the Dao. They would be separate parts of a larger whole. He needed to erect a stable, pure foundation and connect it with his current Branches of Kalpataru and Pale Seal. Only when his Daos held all the concepts they needed could he work toward an actual fusion.
Time was still frozen back in his body. Even then, Zac couldn’t waste time. The System’s patience wasn’t unlimited, and every second he dragged his feet would worsen the backlash A’Zu and Be’Zi would face. Keeping their backlash to a minimum was the least he could do after receiving their incredible gifts.
There were critical differences between the two sets of tapestries he’d observed. However, they shared the same root, and the experience made Zac’s search easier. Besides, Zac felt as though the pertinent snippets of truth were calling out to him. There was no need to rob. Zac called, and the tapestry answered, freely providing the answers he sought.
The protective filter faded, exposing Zac to the unblemished Truths. Light and darkness rained down on him, filling his mind with familiar warmth. This was the Dao he’d sought for years, the Dao he’d never dared to reach for. All because of the insidious whispers that had always accompanied him from the prison in his mind.
A strengthened soul and tempered heart had made him impervious to the bouts of uncontrollable rage that had haunted him after he was first saddled with the Splinter of Oblivion. However, there had always been a seed of suspicion lingering in his heart and a fear that refused to be overcome.
Most of the cultivators in the visions were blind to the insidious effect the remnants had on their mental state. They had walked down a road of no return, forgetting why they grasped the remnant’s power in the first place. Some destroyed what they once sought to protect without blinking. Even those who’d avoided the unchecked corruption understood they were fighting a losing battle. Could he be certain he was any better?
The Dao couldn’t be approached with a dagger behind your back and misgivings in your heart. It required sincerity, something Zac couldn’t afford with the remnants lurking in their cage. There was a very real risk that any insights he incorporated related to Creation or Oblivion would add new links to their Grand Dao. With Karma severed, there was no need to hold back.
Creation was the spark of hunger that let the beast break the shackles of their bloodline, igniting their flame of Life. It was the unyielding ferocity that let the sapling hold on in the shadows of towering trees, living on nothing but darkness and desire to grow. It was the inherent drive of the cosmos given form, moving toward greater heights.
Life without Creation was doomed to wither away. Creation without Life was possibility without purpose. When joining forces, they held the power to overcome everything. Fate would be reborn, evolving to match the vision in his heart. This was his Dao of Evolution; a cycle of perennial improvement. An improvement that would only stop when he broke through the curtain and gazed beyond the Terminus.
Oblivion was the impartial judgment that equalized everyone in Death. It was the intractable hand that pulled on the chains of mortality, delivering release to even the staunchest of struggles. It was the inherent finality of the cosmos given form, closing a chapter to open the path for the next generation.
Death without Oblivion was an empty threat. Oblivion without Death was destruction without purpose. When joining forces, they held the power to balance the scales of destiny. Fate would be seized, inexorably moving toward the vision in his heart. This was his Dao of Inexorability; a cycle of perennial control. A control that would only be relinquished when he broke through the curtain and gazed beyond the Terminus.
Together, they formed a loop. Creation brought Life, putting its mark on the world through evolution. Life reached its end, facing the inexorability of Death. Flesh, purpose, and memories faded, sinking into the depths of Oblivion. It was from this void of thought that possibility was born, creating Life anew.
The cycle was complete, and the Heavens rumbled with warning. It would have to wait.