Ages flowed like rivers of mist.
The once-tiny sphere that Arin had birthed in the void had swelled to a magnificent world — half the size of the Earth he once knew.
Oceans had deepened, continents had stretched wide, and mountain chains coiled across the horizon like sleeping dragons.
The step-ladder pattern of spiritual energy still ruled its balance.
Along the seashores, the air was calm and gentle — perfect for mortals and early cultivators.
Further inland, energy thickened, pulsing in slow, heavy tides.
And in the central heartlands and abyssal depths, its density reached terrifying levels where colossal beasts and forests of living jade flourished.
Every lifeform had found its place on this ladder — none by design, yet all by necessity.
It was the rhythm that kept the world alive.
---
The Ceiling of Cultivation
But even the grandest design carried hidden limits.
Through millennia of observation, Arin realized something subtle but absolute:
no being could advance beyond the Golden Core Realm.
At first he suspected error — perhaps their techniques were flawed, or their comprehension shallow.
But as centuries passed, the pattern held.
No matter their talent, every cultivator's progress slowed to a crawl once they reached the mid-Golden Core stage.
The reason was simple, almost mundane:
> "The world just doesn't have enough energy."
Even in the richest valleys, the spiritual energy concentration was too thin to sustain the refinement needed for further evolution.
A cultivator could continue gathering Qi, yes, but so slowly that decades became centuries, and still the core within their dantian refused to transform.
Those who reached this bottleneck eventually withered with age — not from battle or poison, but from the quiet starvation of their souls.
Their lifespan stretched longer than mortals, yet not long enough to reach the next realm.
The path ended not in failure, but in exhaustion.
Arin watched many such lives flicker out.
Kings, sect lords, wanderers — each reaching for eternity, only to fade before touching it.
Their bones nourished the earth; their legends fueled generations to come.
Still, none escaped the world's limit.
---
The Power and the Price
Yet what they did achieve was staggering.
Even within the constraint of limited energy, Golden Core cultivators had become beings of immense might.
They ruled empires, shaped mountains, and split seas with their techniques.
A single strike could erase a forest; a duel between two masters could shatter a city.
When their Qi raged out of control, it burned sky and soil alike, leaving behind distorted zones where spiritual currents twisted for weeks before settling.
Arin often found himself watching these battles — fascinated, yet uneasy.
The world he had made was beautiful, but fragile.
Each eruption of power sent ripples through the land that took weeks to dissipate before nature could heal itself.
He marveled at their growth — and feared it.
> "If this much destruction comes from Golden Core," he thought, "what would happen when stronger realms appear? When their strikes last not for weeks, but years?"
He imagined oceans evaporating, continents splitting, and storms that never ended.
For the first time, he understood why some creators might fear their own children.
---
The Expanding World
To prepare for what would come, Arin began to guide his world's growth again.
He expanded its crust and core, weaving void energy into its structure.
As the land spread, so did its energy systems — the step-ladder pattern widening to maintain balance.
He thickened the concentration at the continental centers and deep ocean trenches, while ensuring the shorelines remained gentle enough for mortals to thrive.
The world became vast and diverse, capable of holding billions of lives across endless ecosystems.
And still, he observed.
The balance held.
The cycle endured.
But he knew this peace was temporary.
As the world's size and density increased, so too would its ability to sustain higher cultivation.
One day, the barrier would lift naturally.
One day, those Golden Core cultivators — or their descendants — would finally reach the Nascent Soul Realm.
And when that day arrived, their power would reshape everything.
Arin watched a golden-robed emperor perform a technique that vaporized a desert battlefield in one strike.
Thousands of lives ended in a heartbeat, and the echo of that attack lingered for miles, distorting the air like heat haze.
He sighed.
> "Magnificent… and terrifying.
This world has already birthed gods — even if they do not yet know it."