The house shook.
It wasn't the earthquake kind of tremor—not the kind that sends dishes clattering or makes neighbors rush into the streets screaming about geological catastrophe. This was different. This was the your-soul-just-got-punched-by-reality kind of vibration, the kind that doesn't register on seismographs because it exists on a frequency that only you can feel. Aryanvaat Rishaan, six years old and already having what could charitably be called "a bad day," stumbled backward as something impossible happened.
A shimmering door unfolded from the center of his chest—not literally opening his chest cavity like some horror movie, but somehow from it. From him. From some place deeper than flesh and bone. A glowing golden arch materialized in the empty air before his eyes, silent and ominous and utterly real. The light was warm but sterile, like standing too close to a celestial bureaucracy. It hung there, waiting. Patient. Hungry.
He blinked. Once. Twice. A third time for absolute safety, just to confirm he wasn't having a stroke at age six.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" His voice came out smaller than he'd ever heard it. "This is it. I'm dead again. The universe got bored and decided Round Three was too long."
No answer. Just the faint hum of cosmic tension in the air, like reality itself was holding its breath.
Then it happened.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
"Welcome, Host. Congratulations! You've been chosen by fate, karma, cosmic dice, and probably some really bored gods with nothing better to do on a Saturday night. Let's get started, shall we?"
Aryan flinched so hard he stumbled into the wall. "W-What the hell! Who said that?! Is someone here? Old Wine Barrel, is this you playing a prank because I swear I'll—"
[SYSTEM]: "The System, obviously. Try to keep up. And no, it's not your drunk master. Though honestly, you two have a lot in common—both of you seem to operate on minimal brain cells and maximum chaos."
He looked around frantically, heart thudding like it was trying to escape his ribs, but there was no one. Nothing. Just the interior of their small clay home with its woven walls and the faint smell of fermented rice. And then—floating in front of his eyes like some kind of fever dream—a translucent blue window, geometric and clean and absolutely not something that should exist in a world of swords and spiritual beasts.
It looked exactly like those interfaces from the fantasy stories his neighbor read when drunk. Which, given that everyone around him was constantly drunk, meant very frequently.
He reached out to touch it—a child's instinct to interact with the unknown. His finger passed right through the luminous surface like it was made of water and light and mathematical equations.
[SYSTEM]: "Look, Host. Let's keep this quick. You've unlocked your cultivation interface, which is either the best thing that's ever happened to you or the worst, depending on how stupid your next decision is. Before anything else happens, before your drunk guardian comes stumbling back, before the neighborhood explodes—distribute your initial stat selection. Reminder: due to your wildly 'fortunate' circumstances, you get only ONE CHANCE to choose. Once you do, the stats will be locked in. Permanently. Forever. No takebacks. No respecs. No crying to the devs."
"Please select your desired attributes."
A new window opened, pushing the golden arch aside. It displayed a list of glowing options, each one hovering like a promise or a threat—Aryan couldn't quite tell which:
[Stat Distribution: Choose Your Attributes]
⚠️ Caution: You can only choose once. Choosing multiple attributes will split the available power evenly. Which is a bad idea, statistically speaking. But what do I know?
Choose wisely… or don't. I'm just a sarcastic screen that will judge you endlessly.
Strength
Agility
Speed
Defense
Stamina
Perception
Dexterity
Intelligence
Vitality
Luck
Aryan blinked at the options, his six-year-old brain desperately trying to process what any of this meant. "What's… all this? What's Vitality? Is that like... not being dead? Because that sounds important."
He was about to read each stat one by one, carefully considering which would help a child with zero chakra navigate a world of spiritual beasts and ancient sects, when—
CRASH!
The front door flew open with the force of someone who had no idea what "gentle" meant. An old man, completely and utterly drunk, wobbled in like a ship in a hurricane, his movements defying both physics and good judgment. Old Wine Barrel—because that's what the man insisted on being called despite his actual name being something respectable—stumbled forward, arms flailing.
"Child! Hey child! What is happening! Why is an earthquake happening in our town and what was that light—that golden light came from inside the house, I was outside taking a nap under the goat shed and I felt the ground shake and I saw—"
Panic. Full-scale, nuclear-grade panic.
The options were still floating in front of Aryan's face. Old Wine Barrel couldn't see them—he'd confirmed that months ago when he tried to explain why objects kept appearing and disappearing. But the old man could see his grandson panicking, eyes wide, hand raised toward empty air like he was fighting something invisible.
"Wait, wait, WAIT!"
Aryan's eyes darted between Old Wine Barrel's confused face and the floating stat window. He forgot—completely and utterly forgot—that no one else could see the System interface. His fingers moved of their own accord. He had to close it. Had to hide it before Old Wine Barrel started asking questions that would only complicate everything.
He jabbed his finger forward to close the stat window.
Instead…
[CONFIRMED: PRIMARY ATTRIBUTE SELECTED – LUCK]
"NOOO—!"
Too late. The sound echoed through his head like a bell made of broken dreams.
The screen shifted, the options collapsing into a single, damning conclusion:
[Final Stat Selection Confirmed]
Luck: MAXED OUT ☘️
All other stats: 0
Redistribution: Not possible.
Aryan was frozen. Completely. Utterly. Catastrophically frozen.
[SYSTEM]: "Well, well, well… we've got a gambler in the house. How absolutely thrilling. I love chaos. I love watching people make terrible decisions and then suffer the consequences. This is going to be fun."
"Let's see... Of the 3,891 previous hosts, not a single one picked only Luck. Because they had things like brain cells and the capacity for forward planning. But hey, who am I to judge? I'm just the eternal cosmic mirror of your monumentally stupid decisions."
"Luck, huh? Here's what you need to know, and try to keep up because I'll only explain this once before I go back to mocking you:"
[Luck – MAXED OUT]
Definition: The universe is now your personal dice. Good luck trying to control anything, because you certainly won't. Destiny rolls for you now. The cosmos spins its wheel and you ride the outcome like a particularly confused child on a carnival ride.
Warning: Expect the unexpected. No, seriously. Expect it. Wear a helmet. Probably. Maybe reinforced armor. Definitely carry a will.
"…I hate you," Aryan muttered, staring at the glowing text like it might change if he glared hard enough.
[SYSTEM]: "Get in line. Also, your Status Window has been updated. Not that it'll help, but you should probably look at it before your brain melts."
[Status Window]
Name: Aryanvaat Rishaan
Age: 6
Realm: Pre-Chakra Awakening (Chakra Deficient)
Status Effect: Chakra Deficiency – Unable to cultivate under normal methods. Congratulations, you're broken.
Primary Attribute: Luck – MAX
Skills: None (Big surprise there)
Aryan stared at the words Chakra Deficiency. That wasn't just some medical-sounding nonsense from a fantasy book. That was real. That meant he couldn't cultivate like normal people. That meant he couldn't meditate properly. That meant his spiritual veins—if he even had spiritual veins—were closed, sealed, permanently broken.
"I'm… cursed?" His voice barely registered above a whisper.
[SYSTEM]: "Oh, no-no-no. Not cursed. Just uniquely disadvantaged. Like bringing a spoon to a sword fight. Or a rubber duck to a dragon battle. You're not cursed—you're just completely and utterly unprepared for literally everything."
He sat down on the nearest mat, legs shaking like they'd suddenly forgotten how to support his weight. "So, I can't even train? I can't cultivate? What's the point of any of this?"
[SYSTEM]: "Not unless the universe itself hands you a miracle on a silver platter. And the odds of that are astronomical. I'd say 'good luck,' but given your stat distribution, I'd just be insulting you."
Old Wine Barrel stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, squinting at his grandson. "Boy? Why do you look like someone just killed your puppy? We don't even have a puppy. What are you talking to?"
Aryan didn't answer. He was too busy feeling the weight of cosmic cosmic injustice settling on his tiny six-year-old shoulders.
Two seconds later—in the skies above the small town of Vedgarh—something extraordinary happened.
A majestic flying beast soared through the clouds: a Chintamani Hawk, its feathers shimmering with celestial light, its wingspan broad enough to eclipse the moon. Its rider sat with the confidence of someone who had long surpassed the Seven Chakras of the Mortal Realm, someone who had touched power that transcended the normal limitations of cultivation. The cultivator wore robes that seemed to absorb starlight, and their presence was so overwhelming that even at this altitude, the air itself seemed to bend.
As the beast let out a cry—a sound like crystalline bells mixed with the roar of an avalanche—the cultivator's shoulder bag shifted. A strap came loose. And a single small potion vial, no bigger than a thumb, glowing faintly with golden-blue energy, slipped from a pouch that had probably contained treasures worth kingdoms.
It fell.
Down through the clouds. Down through the atmosphere. Down toward the sleeping earth below, a tiny mote of light descending like a falling star, completely unnoticed by its owner.
Below, in his backyard, Aryan sat sulking on a stone step, watching the sky darken as evening crept across Vedgarh. His small frame was hunched, his chin resting on his hands, his entire being radiating the particular despair of a six-year-old who had just learned he couldn't do what everyone else could do.
A soft tink! echoed behind him, sharp and crystalline.
He turned slowly, as if moving through thick water. "Huh?"
A bottle. Small, crystal-clear, and glowing softly with golden-blue energy that pulsed like a heartbeat. It had landed maybe three feet behind where he sat, as if the universe had just tossed him a gift with the precision of someone aiming for his exact emotional low point.
[SYSTEM]: "Well, that took less time than I thought. The universe works fast when Luck is involved. Which is terrifying, frankly."
"Congratulations, Host. You've received:
Heaven's Flow Tonic – Grade: Immortal-Tier (Lesser)
Effect: Permanently cures Chakra Deficiency and opens spiritual veins. Also tastes like desperation and hope mixed with starlight. Side effects may include actual competence."
Aryan stared at the vial. Then at the empty sky. Then back at the vial.
[SYSTEM]: "Yeah, so… about that whole 'never cultivating' thing I mentioned two seconds ago? Disregard it completely. Lady Luck is apparently drunk tonight—or has standards, which honestly might be the same thing."
"And unlike you, she's got a sense of timing."
He was speechless. Completely speechless. Literally unable to form words.
[SYSTEM]: "Drink up, hero. And try not to choke. Or do, I don't care. Actually, wait—I'd prefer if you didn't choke. You're becoming entertaining in your stupidity, and it would be a waste."
Aryan popped the cork—which came free with a sound like reality adjusting itself—and sniffed the potion. It smelled like summer and electricity and something he couldn't quite name. Something that made every instinct in him scream to trust it.
In a moment of desperate hope, he downed the entire vial in one long gulp.
A warm wave rushed through his limbs like he'd just jumped into a river made of pure light. His vision shimmered, colors bleeding into each other. He could feel something opening inside him—doors in his chest unlocking, pathways in his body lighting up like a city grid suddenly receiving power.
[SYSTEM]: "System Update Complete. New Chakra Pathways forming. Cultivation Access: GRANTED."
"Realm Status: Upgraded to First Chakra: Mulādhāra – Level 1"
[Updated Status Window]
Name: Aryanvaat Rishaan
Age: 6
Realm: First Chakra – Mulādhāra (Level 1)
Primary Attribute: Luck – MAX
Status Effect: None
Skills: [Pending]
Aryan looked at his hands in wonder. They were glowing faintly, just barely, with the same golden-blue light as the potion had been. The energy—it was real. He could feel it now. The flow of something moving inside him—soft, powerful, and alive. Like the universe had suddenly decided to let him in on a secret.
"Did I really just… start cultivating?"
[SYSTEM]: "Against all logic, reality, and common sense… yes. You picked Luck as your only stat, got handed an Immortal-Tier potion by cosmic chance, and now you're a six-year-old with more resources than most cultivators will see in their entire lives. The fact that this happened to you is either the best or worst thing I've ever witnessed. I haven't decided which yet."
"Enjoy it while it lasts. You'll find new ways to disappoint me soon enough."
Aryan smiled faintly for the first time that day. His hands were still glowing. His body still hummed with new energy. The chakra pathway inside him—the Mulādhāra, root of all cultivation—pulsed with potential.
"Maybe… just maybe… I'm not doomed after all."
He looked up at the sky, where the Chintamani Hawk was still visible in the distance, now carrying a cultivator who had no idea they'd just accidentally changed the trajectory of a broken orphan's entire existence.