Soul Land: Origin of Humanity

The sun was just beginning to sink beyond the green ridges as I reached the western approach. For a long time, I stood on the rise, drinking in the panorama—one I never could have imagined when I first helped found this place.

What once had been a scattering of houses ringed by humble palisades had become a sprawling city, vibrant and pulsing with life. Stone walls, now layered with iron and decorated with banners, stretched for miles, circling not only the old heart but whole new districts. Distant plumes of smoke marked forges and bakeries; the constant, humming energy seemed to flow out of the city like spirit power itself.

I hesitated at the gate, watching the world unfold before me.

Wagons clattered in lines down the highroad, drawn by sturdy horses or by strange, half-tamed spirit beasts whose harnesses glittered with elemental sigils. People of every description bustled along: weathered farmers with crates of grain, artisans in long robes trading spirited jokes, merchant guards in mismatched armor, and children darting between the wheels, laughing and chasing after spirit butterflies.

The guards at the gate wore the livery of a new era—polished breastplates and tabards marked with both the sigil of the city and a new, broader symbol: a stylized sun and river overlaid by a rising star. They checked each wagon, but I saw their faces light up as I approached.

"Ye Caiqian?" One of the young women on duty stepped forward, her eyes wide in wonder. She couldn't have been older than twenty, but her bearing was calm and disciplined.

I nodded, feeling a little awkward under her scrutiny. "Yes. It's been a while."

She saluted, fist over heart. "Welcome home, founder. News of your return—well, it'll spread like wildfire. Please, let us open the way."

As the gates swung wide, the full chorus of the city met me—a flood of sound, scent, and color.

The first thing I noticed was how everything moved faster than before. Caravans rolled in from every direction, their drivers shouting for space as they jockeyed to unload bales of cloth, crates of strange fruit, barrels of oil, even exotic ores. Porters with muscle-bound arms and tattered scarves wove among them, calling out destinations—"East Market! River Gate! Silver Row!"

The smell of roasting chestnuts, fresh bread, and hot stew drifted from street vendors' carts. I paused by one, an old man flipping fried cakes over an open flame. "Caiqian!" he exclaimed, grinning through a cloud of steam. "You still remember the taste of lotus root cakes, eh? Try one—on the house for the city's first teacher!"

The cake was hot, sweet, and oddly grounding. I thanked him, moved on, and was soon swept along in the crowd.

Everywhere, new buildings had sprouted. Inns with painted shutters and carved wooden dragons over the doors, boasting names like "The Iron Forge," "Traveler's Rest," and "The Whispering River." Bars and teahouses stood shoulder-to-shoulder, spilling laughter and music into the streets. Signs in three or four languages advertised specialty wares—silks from the south, honey-wine from the east, even spirit-iron tools forged by master smiths who'd migrated here in the last decade.

Children in crisp school uniforms—emblazoned with the sigil of the Academy of Beginning—raced past, books in hand, arguing over history lessons. At a crossroads, a group of young adventurers compared the badges on their cloaks: the blue of the Hunter's Guild, the crimson of the Trader's Union, the gold-edged green of the Healer's Circle.

Banners hung from every major crossroads, each painted with new symbols: twin towers joined by a bridge, the "city of cities" motif I'd once dreamed about. Spirit lamps—enchanted with elemental runes—glowed even in broad daylight, their pale radiance illuminating shaded alleys.

I heard snatches of conversation as I strolled:

"I heard the new trade guild is setting up a branch in Starfall—can you imagine? All the way to the western coast!"

"Did you see the announcement? The council's debating the founding of a national library. They say it'll rival even the Library of Wisdom itself."

"My cousin's gone north, working on the canal project. They say they'll connect three cities by river in the next five years…"

I stopped in the shadow of a new clocktower—a gift, someone whispered, from the Blacksmith's Association to mark the city's expansion. The bells rang the hour, and people quickened their pace. In a small plaza, an open-air market was crowded with vendors hawking everything from spirit beast pelts to delicate jewelry. Barter was lively but fair, and I saw that the standard coins I'd once introduced had become common currency.

In the lower quarter, I passed the sprawling compound of the Healer's Circle. The gardens were thick with spirit herbs; lines of patients stretched from the doors, many still bearing wounds from recent beast attacks. I spotted a familiar face—a healer named Yue—who waved me over, a child perched on her hip.

"Caiqian! It's been ages! I can hardly believe it—look at all you've missed. My daughter here was just born when you left. Now she's already learning the healing arts."

I knelt and smiled at the little girl, who regarded me with wide, solemn eyes. Yue leaned closer, whispering, "The world's changed so fast, sometimes I can hardly catch my breath. We have clinics now in every city—sometimes I think we could heal the whole continent if we just had more hands. Oh! And my husband sends his regards—he's overseeing the new apothecary school in Dawn City."

We exchanged stories for a few minutes before I moved on, heart swelling with pride for all they'd accomplished.

Not far away, a band of blacksmiths emerged from a smithy, their aprons dusted with iron filings and faces beaming. They carried with them a massive plow blade, inlaid with spirit stone and etched with the signatures of every apprentice who'd worked on it.

A crowd gathered as they loaded it onto a wagon bound for Green River—a city I'd only heard stories of before. "This is the third this month," the foreman said, catching my eye. "With spirit-iron, we can turn rocky fields into farmland in half the time. The farmers out there… well, they say they've never seen harvests like this. Some folks call it a golden age."

Further into the city, I noticed more changes. Wide avenues had replaced old dirt paths. Bridges arched gracefully over new canals—lifelines that brought water and goods from far afield. Even the air felt different, tinged with the scent of promise and ambition.

I slipped into a bustling tavern, "The Founder's Flask," and found myself surrounded by laughter, the clink of cups, and a raucous ballad being played on a spirit-lute. The owner, a wiry old man with twinkling eyes, clapped me on the shoulder. "You came back at the right time, friend! Trade's booming, caravans from all over, and the best ale in ten cities."

Patrons toasted to the nation, the city, and even to me, though most now saw me less as a legendary founder and more as part of the world's fabric—another thread in the tapestry of progress.

In a corner booth, a group of scholars debated the merits of spirit affinity training, while a pair of merchant liaisons pored over route maps. In the back, a table of young cultivators showed off elemental tricks—one coaxed a flame to dance atop his palm, another shaped water into delicate rings.

When I asked the bartender about the biggest change, he grinned. "Easy. It's the Nation Accord. Not just this city anymore, but all the great cities—Dawn, Starfall, Green River, and more. We're a people now, not just scattered clans. It's been hard, sure, but worth it. You'd be amazed what people can do when they believe in the same dream."

Back outside, the city felt even more alive as dusk fell. Lanterns winked on, one by one, painting the streets in gold and blue. Musicians played at every corner, and troupes of children performed acrobatics for spare coins. Elderly couples strolled hand in hand, pausing to admire a new mural—scenes from the city's founding, painted across the wall in a riot of color.

I stopped by a schoolhouse, peeking through the open door as a young teacher led her students in reciting the "Oath of Unity"—a pledge to protect one another, to honor the spirit of the nation, and to remember the lessons of the past.

In another street, a group of city builders was laying the foundation for what looked like a grand auditorium. "This'll be the Assembly Hall," their supervisor explained, "where the council meets and the people can gather. Everyone's got a voice now—every city, every trade, every guild."

As I walked, I noticed posters announcing a festival to celebrate the nation's founding. Artists prepared banners and woven flags. Bakers shaped bread into the symbols of every city; children wove flower chains to hang along the main road.

It was only in the central market that I realized the true depth of change. I saw a platform had been erected, draped with the banners of every major city. Councilors and elders mingled, greeting delegations from across the continent. I caught sight of faces I remembered from the earliest days—old friends now leaders, young visionaries come into their own.

A speech was underway—a councilor, voice ringing clear in the twilight:

"From the first hammer on stone, to the raising of our banners; from the days when beasts ruled the wilds, to now—when we stand as one! This is our nation, born of struggle and hope. May it endure beyond memory, and may we cherish those who built it!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Bells rang from every tower. I felt tears prick my eyes.

As I listened, it struck me that the concept I'd once outlined in passing—an idea borrowed from my old world's stories—had become a living, breathing reality. It hadn't taken centuries, but decades. Not because of my guidance, but because people believed in something greater than themselves.

I moved through the crowd, exchanging greetings, hugs, and well-wishes. A blacksmith pressed a medal into my palm—a token of thanks for teaching his guild new forging techniques. A young mother offered a loaf of bread, "for all the hungry mouths you've helped feed." A city guard, barely old enough to shave, clasped my hand and whispered, "My father says you're the reason I have a home to defend."

At last, as darkness blanketed the city, I turned toward the library—the city's oldest, most enduring symbol of hope.

The Library of Wisdom's doors stood open, golden light streaming onto the flagstones. Inside, rows of shelves reached toward the ceiling, heavy with scrolls, books, and records from every era of our brief, miraculous history.

Near the hearth, a cluster of my oldest friends and family awaited—my brothers, now respected elders; my mother, whose healing spirit had helped save so many lives; friends from the founding days, and new scholars whose eyes shone with dreams of the future.

There were tears, laughter, and long embraces. We shared stories late into the night, recounting struggles and triumphs, mourning those lost and celebrating those born.

My mother took my hands, studying my face. "You look older, Caiqian, but there's a peace in you now. Did you find what you were looking for?"

I smiled and squeezed her fingers. "I found a path, Mother. And I found the strength to walk it—thanks to all of you."

We spoke of the nation, the progress made, and the work that lay ahead. As the fire crackled, I realized that the library was more than a place of learning—it was the heart of our story, the memory of a people who refused to surrender to fear or fate.

Long after midnight, I slipped onto the balcony above the main square. Below, the city glowed—lanterns bright, people still celebrating, the sound of song and hope echoing through every street.

I marveled at what had been built in my absence. It was not my doing alone. It was the courage, determination, and unity of an entire people. Where once I had feared for the future, now I saw a nation ready to claim it.

Above, the stars burned bright—the same stars I'd gazed upon when I first arrived in this world. But now, I understood: this was not just the city of beginning. It was the beginning of something far greater.

And as the night breeze stirred, carrying laughter and music, I vowed once more to do everything in my power to ensure this nation—this Soul Land—would endure for ages to come.