Beneath the moonless stars of Universe 500, Lu Sang knelt at the base of a golden tree that shimmered like a constellation trapped in roots. Before him, a small shrine had formed—etched into the bark by unseen hands. It bore the sigil of the Siren, the eternal keeper of souls.
For a moment, the island was still.
He whispered, low and reverent, "O Keeper of the Lost, Hearer of the Departed… guide the souls with wisdom, and if it pleases your will—grant me strength to shepherd this land of blessings."
His voice vanished into the wind—but the air shimmered in reply.
Then the sky split with a hush like silk torn in reverence. The Siren, from her unseen plane, poured out a radiant tide of divine energy. It struck Lu Sang like a river of stars, rushing through his soul and body.
“You have been granted 50,000 B — the currency of blessings.”
The golden mist around him flared, and his Cultivation Great Sage core trembled as it recalibrated, the voice of his own deeper essence revealing the functions of this divine economy:
"5,000 B can form a Demi-Human Race.
30,000 B can gift them awakened abilities—random, but potent—when they come of age.
20,000 B allows you to shape dream-born creatures, drawn from the subconscious of those who live and arrive on this island."
The balance pulsed:
50,000 B → 0 B
Lu Sang didn’t hesitate. He poured it all into one vision—one people.
“I want to bring back the Beastkin… all 100 types… from my first world.”
The energy surged and broke across the island like a dawn tide.
In every valley, every forest grove, and beneath the hills, the land bloomed with life—tall lupine warriors, nimble foxfolk, owl-eyed scholars, scaled hunters, striped tacticians. Beastkin, drawn from the mythologies of his home world, burst into existence with minds, culture, and shared memory.
Children played with joy under aurora-lit skies. Elders emerged from temples carved by newly formed paws and claws. Tribes, each distinct in species, but unified in purpose, gathered at the base of the Lord's Cabin.
Lu Sang stood before them. “This island… is yours to develop. Build your clans. Shape your domain. The power is in your hands—and in your dreams.”
That night, the Catfolk, ever imaginative and fiercely loyal, began to dream of their old world counterparts—the hunts, the enemies, the sacred beasts they once pursued.
Those dreams twisted into reality.
The Dungeon beneath the island stirred.
Dream-born creatures—scaled, fanged, divine, and absurd—manifested into the labyrinthine halls. Some were noble, some monstrous, some born of fear, others of joy. A few broke free, escaping the dungeon’s thresholds and wandering into the forests above.
The Beastkin, seeing opportunity rather than threat, captured the creatures. Hunters became ranchers. Warriors became blacksmiths. The beasts were converted into:
-
Livestock for sustenance
-
Materials for enchanted weapons and divine tools
-
Mounts for scouts and messengers
Meanwhile, his Cultivation Great Sage tracked the new system forming:
“Blessings now regenerate through:
— Defeated outsiders who arrive with violent intent
— Invasions repelled by the island's protectors
— Slaver defeat and liberation acts
— Peaceful exchanges that uplift knowledge, trade, and shared blessing”
The system was alive.
Lu Sang stood atop the shrine, now shaped into a beacon of his rule, and looked down at the thriving Beastkin below.
A hundred years had passed since Lu Sang had first stepped onto the golden-misted soil of his divine island. What had begun as a glimmering sanctuary of blessings had become something far greater—an empire born from dreams, discipline, and divine will.
Under Lu Sang’s guidance, the Beastkin evolved beyond survival.
Clans once rooted in tribal raiding had matured into an intricately woven military civilization. Every tribe trained in combat not out of desperation—but from pride and purpose. Smiths channeled spiritual energy into their forgework, temples doubled as training grounds, and warrior-philosophers walked the path of both claw and wisdom.
But the most striking transformation came from below.
The Dungeon, once a chaotic spawning ground of dreams, had stabilized. Dragons—some feral, some intelligent—had outgrown the maze. At first only twenty feet long, they now soared at fifty feet on average, their alpha leaders reaching between eighty and three hundred feet, their wings blotting out the sun.
These dragons, once feared, were now companions—each bound to a Beastkin rider in sacred rite.
A single winged cavalry charge from these pairs could tear through mountains or fleets alike. With scale-forged armor and breath blessed by divine flame, they were living siege engines. The mere sound of their roar was enough to shatter morale in the hearts of invaders.
Yet not all change came from discipline and battle.
The dreams of the Beastkin—and of Lu Sang himself—began to bend the nature of the Dungeon.
Some tribes began to dream of the beasts becoming more humanlike, with intelligence, bipedal form, and speech. These dreams flowed into the dungeon like a prayer, and the dungeon—ever loyal to Lu Sang’s will—answered.
From it emerged new species:
-
Foxfolk with glowing tails who spoke in riddles
-
Bearfolk shamans who could alter the weather with chants
-
Avian scholars with wings for arms, who taught arithmetic and magic
As these humanlike races emerged, they mingled with the Beastkin… then separated, forming their own nation on the eastern half of the island. Their culture was rich with art, literature, and divine geometry. They called themselves the Dreamborn.
They honored Lu Sang as the First Dreamer, yet sought their own path.
One year ago, a ship had been spotted on the horizon—wooden sails trimmed in silver, its flag unfamiliar. The sight threw the Beastkin into brief confusion.
They had not seen outsiders in over a century.
Gone were the old raiding bands and wandering war-chiefs. Now, the Beastkin were an organized military society, tempered by dragonfire and guided by law. Yet they had to retrain their posture, shifting from war-readiness to diplomatic caution.
When the ship landed, it carried a disturbing cargo: five hundred captured elves, starved and chained. Their captors—skyborne traders from another realm—sought wealth, not war. The Beastkin allowed them to dock, only to seize the elves and drive out the slavers, their dragons circling overhead in silent menace.
The elves, weary and broken, were taken in. Though they knew no kinship with the Beastkin, the tribes quickly assigned them as farmers, reshaping the island’s economy.
For too long, the carnivorous diets of the Beastkin had limited agriculture. With the elves’ knowledge of soil, crop, and season, lush fields bloomed across once-untamed lands. Wheat and rice joined roast and bone. Vegetables became sacred gifts from “those who walk the green path.”
Lu Sang watched it all from his Lord’s Cabin, aged in wisdom but untouched by time.
His dreams had shaped dragons, birthed peoples, carved mountains, and stoked war-forged unity.
Yet he knew:
This was only the beginning.
From across the stars, more would come—drawn to the power of blessings, the fame of the Great Sage, and the ever-expanding dominion of those who once were beasts… and now stood as kings.
