Prologue:
In the beginning, the realms were open.
From the squalid Dustbound Realm to the radiant halls of the Aetherian Heights, anyone could rise, provided they had the coin and the courage. Power was currency, but actual currency mattered more. The Cultivation Corporations sold passage, resources, and influence. It didn't matter if you were a beggar or a baron—if you could pay, you could ascend.
And the higher you rose, the more essence you could wield. The realms were layered like a spiral staircase of gods, each one richer in mana, heavier with divine residue, and deadlier. For centuries, a balance endured. The rich ruled from above, the ambitious clawed from below, and those caught in between simply survived.
Then came the Fracture War.
Born of envy and ambition, it shattered the old system. The Aetherian Council, fearing an uprising from below, sealed the gates to the upper realms. Cultivation was now bound by status, birthright, and allegiance—not merit or means. The lower realms descended into chaos, their dreams of ascension turned to ashes. The realms became prisons, and the Supremacy—the ultimate throne said to lie beyond even the highest known realm—was lost to myth.
But legends whisper of loopholes. Of hidden gates. Of ancient bloodlines and forgotten contracts. Of a way to breach the system, reclaim the old path, and reach Supremacy.
Now, a new age dawns. The realms stir.
And someone is about to rise.