Soul Land: Origin of Humanity

The city's last bell faded behind me, replaced by the hush of endless wilds. It was a silence both profound and alive—the hush of possibility, the heartbeat of ancient earth. Every breath I took was unfamiliar, scented with pine, damp stone, the faint metallic tang of spirit energy unfiltered by human hands.

With each step from the road, the world seemed to swell around me. The fields outside the city faded into rolling meadows, then into forests dense with towering oaks and emerald ferns that brushed my thighs. Somewhere above, a hawk circled, and in the distance, the calls of wild spirit-beasts echoed—a chorus of howls, yips, and the bass growl of something large and unseen. It was as if the world itself was welcoming me and warning me in the same breath.

I felt the excitement of my first journey all over again, like a child setting foot beyond the garden's gate. Only this garden was vast, ancient, and filled with powers yet unmeasured by human thought.

I paused atop a mossy ridge, taking in the panorama: mist-laced river valleys, sunlight glinting off dew on wildflowers, and the distant silhouette of mountains etched against the dawn sky.I unslung my pack and drew out a fresh leather-bound journal, the first page crisp and waiting. Dipping my pen, I wrote:

Year 18 since the Founding of the City of Beginning, Season of Early Summer.Expedition Log: Ye Caiqian.Objective: To map, document, and understand the natural world beyond the cities. All findings to be preserved for future generations.

For a moment, I simply listened. Birds darted overhead, their feathers flashing with hints of spirit energy—one blue, another streaked with gold. As I watched, a squirrel-like beast with oversized paws and a wispy mane dashed up a tree, vanishing with a crackle of static in the air.

"Elemental resonance," I murmured, noting it down. "Even minor beasts show affinity…"

Before midday, I had my first true encounter. A ripple in the undergrowth—a rustle too heavy for any normal animal—made me freeze. I stilled my breath, senses reaching outward. There: the unmistakable aura of spirit power, earthy and dense.

A wild boar emerged, larger than a draft horse, tusks spiraled and glinting with what looked like veins of stone. It was a Stonehide Boar, Tier 2 if my senses were correct. Its eyes fixed on me with both hunger and challenge.

I let my spirit energy circulate, earth element gathering beneath my feet. The boar stamped, lowering its head, a challenge in every muscle.

Instead of waiting for the charge, I shifted my stance—tai chi flowing into practiced readiness. The moment the beast lunged, I summoned earth energy to anchor my feet, then sidestepped, channeling air to blur my movement. As the boar barreled past, I lashed out with a wave of force, turning its own charge into a stumble.

The fight was quick, but not easy. Twice the boar's hide deflected my strikes. Only when I concentrated fire and earth, striking at a weak spot behind its foreleg, did it finally topple, spirit power dissipating into the forest floor.

I knelt beside it, both exhilarated and respectful. "Thank you," I whispered, as tradition dictated. Then I sketched its anatomy, measured the length of its tusks, sampled its fur, and collected a drop of blood into a sealed vial. Every detail mattered—what we could learn might one day save a life, or a city.

The deeper I ventured, the stranger the wilds became.

Trees with bark that shimmered faintly blue—Azurewood, capable of absorbing ambient water spirit energy. I marked one and gathered a leaf to press in my journal.

A pond where silver fish leapt, vanishing and reappearing elsewhere in the water. When I reached out with my senses, I realized: these fish blinked through miniature spatial folds—a natural display of space element in action!

Wildflowers whose petals glowed faintly at dusk. When touched, they gave a mild shock—"Lightning Lotus," I named them. Could their bulbs store electrical energy?

Once, I startled a small herd of Wind Antelopes, their fur white and their horns spiraled with a pale green glow. When I tried to approach, they scattered, leaving only a swirl of fresh wind and a patch of trampled clover behind. I grinned. "So the legends are true."

I paused at midday beside an ancient stone archway, half-buried in roots and moss. Symbols, older than any I had seen in the city, wound around its pillars. I made rubbings and sketches, vowing to study them later. Was this a relic from an age before humanity?

I kept meticulous records:

Maps—marking rivers, hills, hidden valleys, and sites of rare flora.

Beast Classifications—noting tier, element, behavior, signs of aggression or curiosity.

Medicinal Plants—a sharp-leafed herb that eased pain, a purple moss that cleaned wounds, a red berry that seemed to boost spirit energy for a few minutes.

I invented simple notations to record elemental affinity: a blue mark for water, red for fire, green for wind, brown for earth, gold for light, violet for space, and so on.

Whenever possible, I observed from hiding, sketching spirit beasts in their own element. I watched a pair of Ember Foxes teach their kits to create sparks by striking stone with their claws. I glimpsed a trio of Mossback Turtles, their shells grown over with living plants, basking in the sun and soaking in earth energy.

I saw more than a dozen species humanity had never named.

All the while, I gathered seeds, cuttings, and samples—my pack growing heavier with every mile.

By dusk, I had found a sheltered hollow beneath the roots of a massive Azurewood. I set a protective circle—spirit energy woven in a five-pointed star, laced with both earth and wind to mask my scent and dampen sound.

Fire sprang easily from my hand, and I cooked a meal of dried bread, wild greens, and slivers of Stonehide Boar. The taste was rich and faintly metallic—evidence of its earth affinity.

Night deepened. The forest filled with the distant howls of spirit wolves and the eerie calls of owlbeasts. My fire flickered low, and I opened my journal, letting the events of the day spill onto the page. The loneliness was sharp, but not unpleasant. For the first time since my rebirth, I was utterly alone with the unknown.

The stars above were brighter than I remembered, as if the world itself watched and waited.

Just before dawn, I felt the shift—spirit energy swirling in agitation, the crack of a branch, the low growl that vibrated through my bones.

I rose silently, senses sharpened, and saw it: a Crimson-Fang Panther, Tier 3, stalking my camp with eyes like molten gold.

It lunged without warning—a flash of red and black. I spun, channeling air and fire together. Flames danced along my palm as I cast a blinding arc, forcing it back. The panther circled, growling, its fur sparking with fire energy.

For a breath, we faced off in perfect stillness. I called up earth to anchor my stance, then feinted left, driving wind at its flank. The beast dodged, but my fire found its mark, scorching its shoulder.

Roaring, it summoned a burst of flame from its jaws—much stronger than I expected. The blast seared the ground, forcing me to roll away, earth energy shielding my skin.

I countered by drawing on both my dantians, blending fire and air into a spear of superheated wind. I hurled it as the panther leapt, striking it midair. It crashed to earth, stunned.

I moved quickly, pressing my palm to its head, channeling a pulse of spirit energy to force submission rather than kill. The beast shuddered and stilled, panting but alive.

"Go," I said quietly. "This world is wide enough for us both."

The panther slunk away, vanishing into the trees.

I sat by the dying fire, breath coming hard, feeling every ache of the fight—and the thrill of survival.

In my journal, I recorded the battle:

Crimson-Fang Panther: Tier 3. Fire affinity, highly territorial, attacks with fire-infused breath. Vulnerable to rapid elemental shifts—recommend using air for speed, earth for defense, fire to match, but avoid prolonged direct conflict.

I drew a quick sketch, noted its injuries, and listed ideas for future defensive wards.

The wilds were vaster, stranger, and more dangerous than I had imagined. For every mile I crossed, there would be a new mystery, a new threat, a new discovery. But this was what I had come for—not just to survive, but to understand, and to bring the world's secrets back for all of humanity.

As the sun rose on my second day in the wilderness, painting the sky with gold and crimson, I felt more alive than ever.

The journey had truly begun.