The floor of the Core Origin Vault felt warm beneath Lin Mo’s boots, like smooth river stones baked by an afternoon summer sun.
At the center of the vast chamber, the ninety-sextillion-unit ocean of Primordial Origin Energy surged with gentle, iridescent tides. It rippled with liquid colors that had no names in mortal tongues, shimmering with silver, gold, and soft violet starlight. The air was rich with the scent of freshly bloomed lotus flowers, clean mountain rain, and warm honey.
Along the soaring obsidian walls, trillions of translucent Origin Spirits floated in chains of dark usury ice.
They looked like tiny, glowing infant stars with delicate, innocent faces and shimmering gossamer wings. They were the primordial seeds of worlds that had never been allowed to bloom, trapped by the Plunder Bank since the First Epoch to power its debt calculations and harvest cycles.
As Lin Mo stepped into the chamber, trillions of tiny eyes turned toward him, glowing with soft, trembling light.
“Big Brother Lin...” Little Guo’er whispered, walking close beside him and holding his hand tightly. “They’re crying. But they aren’t scared of us. They’ve been waiting for someone to open the door for so long.”
Grandma Chen looked at the weeping spirits, her eyes moist with maternal sorrow:
