Long before civilization had its first city. Long before the Loom was discovered. Long before the Academy, the Guilds, the Sovereignties, or the grand philosophies of Thread Theory had even been conceived, there was only the Surface.
A wild and untad world of wind, storm, and solitude. And in that wildness... there was one man. No na. No title. Just a goat herder.
And on one particularly stormy night, that man would change the course of history.
Rumble!
The winds howled like hungry beasts, sweeping across the endless grasslands in booming waves.
Thunder cracked and rolled across the heavens, and flashes of jagged light split the sky with every passing breath.
The goats, bleating in terror, had to be dragged and pushed into a cave nestled between crooked rocks.
Soaked, shivering, but strangely calm, the herder sat by the mouth of the cave and stared up at the roiling black sky.
He liked storms.
They made everything else quiet.
Then... lightning flashed.
Boom!
But it wasn’t normal lightning.
It was golden!
And in the middle of that blinding shine, two monsters erged.
They weren’t just birds. They were titans. Vast, feathery gods made of golden light and silver arcs, their wings wider than mountains, their talons forged from pure fury.
Twin Lightning Eagles. They screeched, and the very sky tore. They clashed, and the air itself turned into molten glass!
He watched awestruck as the two ancient beasts waged war right there above the open plains.
Trees were vaporized. Rivers boiled. The heavens cracked open like eggshells beneath the weight of their fury.
And yet... the cave he sat in, his tiny goats, and even the stone beneath his feet—remained untouched. Protected by sothing unseen.
And then, one of the eagles fell.
With a final cry that shook the clouds themselves, the weaker eagle’s body tumbled through the clouds like a dying sun, striking the earth with a sound like a bell ringing across centuries.
Bam!
The surviving eagle, crowned in stormlight, turned and flew away in silence, vanishing into the dark skies like a fading dream.
The man—still soaked, wide-eyed, and sohow even more curious than afraid—waited until morning.
Then he approached.
And there it was.
The fallen eagle. Massive, divine, no longer breathing, but not rotting either.
Its feathers were made of gold-threaded lightning, its eyes still faintly glowing even in death.
And all across its body were intricate glowing lines. Not random. Not scars. Not wounds.
Patterns.
Perfect, sweeping arcs of divine geotry stretched from talon to beak, spinning around its wings in glorious loops, like a blueprint designed by a god drunk on inspiration.
The man, a natural observer, didn’t even hesitate. He took out a scroll, so ink, and a brush, and began drawing.
He worked for three days straight. No food. No water. No sleep. The goats wandered off. The sky shifted between storm and sun. But he kept drawing.
When he was done, the scroll glowed.
And then, he heard it.
A voice.
Not from above. Not from around him. From within him.
"Draw it... on your flesh."
Most n would have scread. Others would’ve run.
But this man? He blinked, nodded once, pulled out a knife, and without even asking why, began etching the divine pattern into his chest.
The pain was ridiculous. A dozen tis worse than broken ribs. But he was used to pain. His brain worked in strange ways.
He liked precision. And he was too curious to stop.
Then, when the final stroke was carved, lightning struck him.
Golden. Beautiful. Divine.
The bolt descended from the sky like a judgnt from heaven and blasted the cave to ash. The cave? Gone. The scroll? Burned. The man?
Changed.
When he woke, his body had transford. His muscles were denser. His bones stronger. His skin faintly shimred like tal when touched by light.
And most importantly, when he swung his fist, lightning followed.
He had beco sothing new. Sothing terrifying.
Sothing impossible!
The first Carver.
They would later call him Dazzling Judgnt, the man who wrote power into flesh. The father of carving. The one who taught the world that the body was not a prison, but a canvas.
The mory ended there, in a shimr of pale gold as the orb floating above Ren’s palm dimd quietly.
He blinked a few tis, then let out a slow whistle.
"Damn," he muttered, stretching out his legs. "That guy really carved a magical death eagle into his chest and got rewarded for it. And I thought I made questionable decisions in my past life."
He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. The library around him was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of rune-lamps and shelves stacked with mory orbs.
It was just him and the eerie silence of ancient knowledge.
Carving.
He was fascinated now more than ever.
It wasn’t just about power, it was evolution. You take sothing beautiful, mysterious, or dangerous... and you write it into your body.
And if you did it right, if you copied the pattern perfectly and survived the pain, you changed.
"You don’t just wear the rune," Ren said quietly. "You beco it."
He stood up, mind racing, and stretched again. But then he paused.
Wait.
His eyes narrowed.
Lia!
That day she charged her fist with fla, it was obviously not weaving. She had to have carved already!
Which ant... she’d successfully completed her first rune. And not just any carving. She’d gained a fire-enhanced physical evolution.
Ren frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. That ant Lia was, at minimum, five tis stronger than him physically.
Five tis. That wasn’t a small gap!
He groaned, plopping back into the reading chair and sighing toward the ceiling. "And I’m supposed to fight Mirabella in two weeks?"
She was from a noble family!
If Lia had already carved once... then Mirabella?
She’s probably got three full runes carved, a secondary elent-enhanced circulatory system, and the ability to punch a hole through a mountain while sipping tea.
That last part was an exaggeration, but still. Her power was definitely not small in the least.
He closed his eyes. His work was cut out for him.
"Welp," he muttered. "Guess it’s ti to evolve the crap out of myself."
.....
The mont Ren got back to his room after reviewing the mory orb about the Dazzling Judgent, he didn’t sit down, he didn’t eat, he didn’t even blink twice.
He just grabbed the nearest piece of parchnt, stabbed his pen into an inkpot like a man on a mission, and began furiously writing out a battle plan.
A real battle plan. The kind of plan only soone with both a dangerously overactive mind and an impossible two-week deadline could produce.
"Okay..." he muttered, eyes flicking across the paper as if he was trying to interrogate it.
"Three things. I need to do these three things if I want to even stand a chance of beating Mirabella in two weeks ti."
He took a deep breath, then stabbed his pen into the paper again as he underlined FIRST OBJECTIVE in smooth, clear strokes.
1: Surpass Mirabella at Weaving.
This one was non-negotiable.
He was already leagues behind her when it ca to Carving.
If he also let her beat him at Weaving, then he might as well show up to the arena in a pink tutu, do a backflip, and fall flat on his face while the entire student body pointed and laughed. No thanks.
His advantage which was the one thing he had over every single person in this academy was the Evolution Forge.
So, the plan was simple: evolve everything.
He would evolve his ntal Sea, pushing it beyond its current state and into sothing even more monstrous.
The Common grade Chaos ntal Sea was still undergoing its evolution in the forge, and the process would be completed in a few hours.
But that wasn’t enough. If he wanted to reach the next stage; Weaver Adept, he needed more.
At that stage, he would be able to extend his connection to the Loom in a much larger radius around him.
That ant longer manipulation range, faster response ti, and access to a whole new tier of Weaving techniques that could flip the battlefield in his favor.
Just imagine it; throwing out a fireball, an ice chain, and a wind blade all at once while his opponent was still blinking from the last flash of light.
Beautiful.
He would also experint on evolving thoughts, like he had done with the riddles. Maybe there was a way to evolve specific ntal patterns used during Weaving.
If he could optimize the rhythm of his casting, maybe he could squeeze out more speed.
Maybe he could evolve ditation manuals and create his own personal path of improving.
If soone walked in right now and saw the intense glint in his eyes, they would probably ask him how much coffee he had drunk.
The answer, of course, was none.
Ren didn’t need coffee. He had pure, unfiltered fear of failure.
"Right," he said, nodding. "If I can hit Weaver Adept in two weeks, that alone will scare her a little."
Then he underlined SECOND OBJECTIVE with a flourish that nearly tore through the page.
2: Get at least one Rune carved.
This was important. No. Crucial.
Right now, physically, he was basically a well-fed chicken trying to fight a genetically modified velociraptor.
Carving a Rune into his body would enhance his strength, speed, and most importantly; reaction ti.
If he couldn’t at least react to Mirabella’s movents, there would be nothing to fight. It’d be a 2-second KO!
The announcer would still be introducing them when his unconscious body hit the wall.
From what he’d observed, Lia had at least one rune and had even activated an elental enhancent.
That ant her fire rune had synced up with her body perfectly—possibly giving her fire-fused muscle tissue or heat-responsive reflexes.
Mirabella, on the other hand, likely had at least three.
Three Runes ant she had already undergone a full Carving Trinity, and was probably walking around with lightning-reactive tendons, steel-like skin, and a core that could power a small truck!
anwhile, he still flinched when soone popped bubble wrap too loudly.
So yes. One rune. He didn’t care if it was just the basic Speed Rune of the Swift Rat, he needed sothing.
Problem? He had no idea how to carve it yet.
Solution? Learn. Fast. Probably by finding an eccentric teacher or bribing a spirit with food. Desperate tis called for creative networking.
He sighed again and scribbled down THIRD OBJECTIVE in slightly ssier handwriting.
3: Learn how the hell to actually fight.
This was where things got a little sad.
Because while his brain was evolving at record-breaking speeds and his magical potential was climbing like a stock chart during a gold rush, his actual fighting ability was...
"Trash," he muttered aloud, rubbing his forehead. "Complete, utter, humiliating trash."
He had the instincts of a lab rat, not a warrior. His current weapon technique consisted of wildly flailing and hoping sothing magical happened.
If soone tried to throw a punch at him, he might try to block with his face.
He didn’t know because he hadn’t even fought yet!
And Mirabella? She had probably been learning footwork from top-tier assassins since she was five and sparring against trained soldiers before puberty.
So, he needed a crash course in not dying. That ant combat drills. Sparring. Dodging. Swinging. Choosing a damn weapon already.
Sword? Too common.
Staff? Too monk-like.
Axe? Too bulky.
Whip? Too weird.
"Ugh, I need to test everything and find what clicks," he grumbled. "Hopefully not a spoon or sothing."
At this point, Ren finally sat back in his chair, stared at his long list of completely unachievable goals, and let out the kind of groan that sounded like it ca from deep inside his soul.
He needed to evolve his magic. Carve his body. Train his muscles. Learn how to swing a weapon without tripping.
Maintain his daily task farming to make OP. Keep researching long-term growth paths. Oh, and also, don’t get trashed by bullies.
Ren leaned back so far he nearly tipped the chair over, staring at the ceiling like it had betrayed him.
"I wish I could just split myself into like five different clones," he said flatly. "One to train, one to evolve thoughts, one to experint with the Loom, one to carve my body, and one to sit here eating chips and resting into a pillow."
There was a long pause.
Then he blinked, suddenly curious.
"Wait... can I evolve a thought that makes my brain multitask five things at once?"
His eyes lit up.
And just like that, Ren snapped his fingers and launched out of the chair like a madman.
"Let’s begin Project: Don’t Get Murdered By Pretty Purple Eyed Girl!"
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