He began small—watching the wide, trembling eyes of rabbits frozen before predators, the coiled terror of snakes cornered by eagles, the fleeting panic of deer at the snap of a twig. Day after day, he observed, felt, absorbed every nuance of primal dread.
Then he widened his gaze.
With speed surpassing thought, the Root Clone traversed the earth—every continent, every nation, every hidden corner of human society. He lingered unseen in crowded markets where workers feared their bosses' wrath; in quiet homes where children feared displeased parents; in tense streets where citizens feared police, politicians, rulers. He witnessed the fear of the powerful toward the masses, the fear of the poor toward starvation, the fear of the unknown that gnawed at every heart.
Three months of ceaseless journey. Three months of silent, compassionate observation.
When he returned, the Fear Element had yielded completely.
Now, with a subtle shift of will, he could amplify terror until hearts burst, or soothe it until the most frightened soul found peace. He could draw forth another's deepest dread and make it manifest—or banish his own fear forever, leaving only clarity.
During that global pilgrimage, his senses had brushed against the origin points—five hundred in total, scattered like hidden stars across the planet. More than half lay submerged in ocean depths, untouched and untouchable for now by humans. Of the remainder on land, most had already been claimed and fortified by nations and powerful organisations.
Only forty remained truly hidden—undiscovered, unclaimed.
The Root Clone did not covet the already claimed origin points.
He dispatched subtle puppets—constructs woven from shadow—cloaked in layered concealment Vyuhas. They settled silently over those forty points, veiling them further, ensuring no greedy eyes would stumble upon them by chance. He took nothing that belonged to others. He was no hoarding dragon, grasping at every treasure. What he and Ankit possessed was already beyond measure.
He also dispatched puppets in ocean. The puppets settled at those origin points untouchable by all. Now Ankit possessed 333 origin points, out of 500 origin points on the planet.
A few days ago, the Root Clone had quietly returned to Dark Haven Fortress, his presence settling like deep night over the roots of an ancient tree.
The stream of memories shifted once more, cool and boundless as the void itself—the Ether Clone's experiences unfolding before Ankit's inner vision.
He saw the birth of a marvel: the Abode of the Sky.
For days, the Ether Clone had labored in silence high above the clouds, weaving spatial laws, ether essence into a colossal flying fortress. The entire structure moved unseen across the skies, cloaked in layers of spatial distortion, a sovereign realm unto itself.
Yet one ambition had long eluded him: a stable teleportation passage linking the Abode of the Sky to Dark Haven Fortress far away.
Countless attempts had frayed at the edges of space—ripples, collapses, unstable vortices that dissipated moments after forming. The Ether Clone had persisted, undeterred, but progress crawled.
Then came the turning point.
When Ankit completed Substage 5 of the Nexus Unification Stage, the golden wave of insight rippled through every clone. The Ether Clone, attuned to the fabric of space itself, received the deepest amplification. Profound understanding flooded his mind—secrets of spatial folding, resonance stabilization, essence anchoring across vast distances.
With renewed clarity, he returned to the task.
Now, a shimmering corridor of stabilized void slowly took shape: a permanent passage of folded space, wide enough for armies, steady enough to endure eternities. Its final runes were being etched even in this moment. Completion hovered mere days away.
Ankit's awareness drifted further through the shared memories, settling gently upon his family.
They had not yet taken even the first true step onto the cultivation path. No cores awakened. No essence meridians forged. They remained mortals in the strictest sense.
Yet their strength defied all reason.
Through relentless training, the mortal martial techniques, heart clone had created and also the weapon arts, they had reached a terrifying plateau.
Each could now stand toe-to-toe with a Stage 1, Substage 3 cultivator.
Mere mortals, armed only with flesh and perfected skill, rivaling true cultivators.
A quiet pride stirred within Ankit's unified soul.
They had grown strong enough to protect themselves in a world awakening to essence.
And when the day came that they chose to step onto the cultivation path, their foundation—tempered by mortal foundation scripture—would be unbreakable.
He withdrew fully from the links, the final threads of memory settling into place.
All pieces of his existence—clones, companion, family, fortresses—moved in harmony toward greater heights.