Genesis's Point of View
Five years have passed since I created the Primordials.
Five years since they stopped being an idea and became something alive. Five years since I first watched them walk, speak, argue, and dream without questioning too deeply why they existed… or how the reality around them functioned.
Most of them are now fully accustomed to the system.
They accepted it with a naturalness that, even now, I find amusing. They never questioned whether it was normal, whether it was right, or whether someone was watching them from beyond the sky. But I cannot blame them. Their civilization is still young. Their history has only just begun.
One day, when they venture beyond this planet and encounter other races, other laws, and other truths, they will understand just how strange their existence truly is.
Until then, the system is their reality.
And I am its architect.
"I think the time has come," I murmured to myself. "They are ready."
Professions.
I had delayed this decision longer than necessary—not because of technical limitations, but because of doubt. I wanted the Primordials to first understand who they were, what they wanted to become, before forcing them onto rigid paths. I did not wish to shape them as tools from the very beginning.
Still, time does not stop.
"Elena," I said, "is everything ready?"
The ethereal figure of my assistant appeared beside me, manifesting as a collection of soft lights and floating symbols.
"Yes, host," she replied. "The system is stable, and the implementation routes are prepared. But… are you certain?"
I sensed her concern.
"Once professions are enabled, they cannot be removed. And considering the changes you made compared to universal standards…"
I did not interrupt her. I understood perfectly.
At first, when Elena showed me the data about the universe, I felt fear. It is not a kind place. It is a stage where strength dictates truth and survival justifies any atrocity.
I cannot attack.
My defenses are far from optimal.
I depend entirely on my inhabitants.
That was why my first instinct was to turn the Primordials into perfect soldiers.
Origin energy could make them extraordinary. Their genetic potential, combined with their abnormally high birth rate, would turn them into a feared race. Even knowing that fertility decreases with ascension, the Primordials would remain far more prolific than most advanced species in the universe.
A silent threat.
A living weapon.
At that time, the professions I had designed were focused solely on combat. It was a novel concept; nothing like it existed in the universe. Every race evolved according to its nature, and the energies they cultivated only amplified what they already were.
The orcs, for example.
A race born for war. No matter what energy they cultivate, they will always be warriors. A few may develop different skills, but if they lack sufficient strength, they are marginalized… or eliminated.
An orc does not care about building a sturdy house or an efficient bridge, as long as it helps them win a battle. Asking one to care about music, painting, or medicine is practically a death sentence if they cannot defend themselves.
Gnomes, on the other hand, are inventors by nature. They would rather design a firearm than wield an axe. Their genius manifests in gears, formulas, and artifacts.
Each race seeks strength according to its innate qualities.
That is how the universe works.
Only the strong have the final word.
And that word becomes the only truth, even when it is unjust, cruel, or absurd.
It is not that this way of thinking is "wrong."
I understand it.
But then I remembered my life as a human.
My planet was mortal. It produced no energy. It held no interest for advanced civilizations. We were relatively safe… because we were worthless to them.
And yet, we progressed.
Without cultivation. Without ascension. Without powers.
Only through creativity, cooperation, and invention.
I recalled a phrase I once heard from a professor at university.
A country is strong if it has a disciplined, well-equipped military and protected borders.
It is prosperous if its economy is well managed.
The lives of its people are secure if it has capable and efficient institutions.
But true progress only exists if there is constant investment in research.
Otherwise, even the most powerful nation eventually stagnates.
Those words stayed with me.
That was when I changed my plans.
I cannot—and must not—alter the race of the Primordials now that they exist. Doing so would violate the fundamental laws of the universe. But ascension… ascension is different.
Ascension is a form of modification that is permitted.
Normally, races use it to enhance their natural attributes.
But what if it did not have to be that way?
What if a profession could guide ascension toward specific areas?
A scientist does not need an indestructible body or terrifying combat power. They could ascend differently—by strengthening their mind, their creativity, their analytical capacity.
A physician could develop extraordinary perception, a sensitivity capable of detecting flaws in both body and soul.
A farmer could synchronize with life itself.
Of course, the changes would not be abrupt. Ascension always improves body, mind, and soul together. But over time… the differences would become evident.
And that was exactly what I wanted.
A complete civilization.
Not just soldiers.
"Elena," I said at last, "enable the professions."
She remained silent for a fraction of a second.
"Understood, host," she replied. "Proceeding."
As the system began to execute, a strange sensation passed through me. It was not fear. It was not pride.
It was hope.
I had created the Primordials with a strong sense of unity—far greater than the universal average. Not to eliminate conflict, but to prevent every disagreement from turning into a civil war.
There would still be disputes.
Mistakes.
Ambition.
But overall, they would be a cohesive community.
That is why I believe they will accept leaders weaker than themselves in combat. That they will protect those who choose different paths, such as healers or researchers. That they will not despise them for failing to wield a sword.
Perhaps I am gambling too much.
Perhaps this idealism is a weakness.
But I would rather my world attempt something different than become yet another that repeats the brutality of the cosmos.
I observed the planet in silence.
Thousands of Primordials were about to discover new paths. New choices. New responsibilities.
"I wish you the best of luck," I whispered, "my Primordial" .
May destiny favor you.
Because even gods…
when they create life…
must also accept the consequences.