Sovereign of Ten Thousand Eras

Night had deepened into pitch-black obscurity , shrouding the landscape in impenetrable darkness. Yet the mountains refused slumber. Savage beasts roared, shaking the very rivers and peaks, while ancient trees trembled, sending leaves cascading down in whispering torrents. Far within the mountain range, a soft, ethereal glow pulsed against the boundless night, a solitary candle flame flickering defiantly amidst ten thousand shadowed peaks. This glow emanated from a Lightning-Scorched Ancient Willow. Long ago, a bolt of heavenly fury had shattered its once-mighty canopy and devoured its vibrant life force. Now, only a colossal stump remained above the earth, standing eight or nine meters tall but of astonishing girth. From it grew a single, slender willow branch, shimmering like an emerald chain of celestial light. Its gentle radiance enveloped the village below, cloaking the settlement in a dreamlike haze, transforming this refuge within the vast wilderness into a realm of profound, otherworldly mystery. "Screeeech--!" A shriek of pure malice tore through the high heavents, sharp enough to pierce metal and shatter stone. Its source was no mere storm cloud, but an avian leviathan of unimaginable scale, bllotting out both moon and sky. Its wingspan stretched beyond mortal reckoning. A long stillness followed, broken only in the dead of night. The earth itself began to tremble. A colossal, indistinct silhouette approached from the distant horizon, towering level with the mountain peaks ! As it drew near, its form clarified: a bipedal creature of humanoid shape, yet monstrously vast. It stood mountain-tail, its hairless body encased in dense, overlapping plates of radiant golden scales. Its face was unnervingly flat, dominated by a single, vertical eye whose lid opened and closed with the flash of a golden thunderbolt, piercing and terrifying. An oceanic tide of primal life force rolled off it, marking it as a true demon god incarnate! At dawn, a ten-meter long, barrel-thick centipede, gleaming like molten silver,wound its sinuous path through the mountains . Each articulated segment shone with a predatory gleam. Its passage over stone sparked metallic clashes and showers of fire. Yet , ultimately, it veered away from Woodgrove Village, choosing not to trespass. Where it slithered, a miasma of black fog billowed, scattering all beasts before it. A single, delicate vine, adorned with tender buds that shimmered with a soft jade light, swayed gently in the breeze... Dawn broke, the morning clouds ablaze with molten gold, their warmth spilling over the village like a gentle embrace. A powerfully built man, his corded muscles rippling like a great cat's beneath his hide tunic, stood watch. His skin was the deep bronze of sun-baked earth, dark hair loose about his shoulders, eyes sharp and assessing as they swept over each child, guiding their movements with stern focus. "Understood!" The group of children responded, their voices ringing with youthful vigor. "Understooood," came a small, delayed echo, a tiny voice thick with distraction and lingering sleepiness. "Heng! Ha! Hei!" The little one chanted breathlessly, his chubby arms flailing earnestly as he tried to mimic the older children's exercises. But he was far too young. His movements were clumsy, his steps wobbly and unsteady. A telltale smear of white milk crusted at the corner of his mouth, drawing fond smiles from onlookers. The little tyke was fair-skinned and beautiful, his large, dark eyes darting with lively curiosity. He resembled a delicate porcelain doll, utterly endearing. His earnest, uncoordinated efforts and soft baby babble were heart-meltingly charming. Even the elders seated cross-legged on massive boulders nearby, drawing in the sky's vital essence, cracked gentle smiles at the sight. Survival in this harsh land demanded strength. Lurking beasts and venomous insects haunted the wilderness. Men often perished young in the untamed wilds, seeking food, seeking survival. Fortifying the body was the only path to life. This predawn ritual of exertion – practiced by adults, elders, and children alike – was a discipline ingrained from the cradle. "Whew... Ee-ya, tired," the little one sighed dramatically, plopping down onto his bottom to watch the older boys train. But his attention span was fleeting. Soon, he wobbled back to his feet, toddling determinedly after a brightly colored five-colored sparrow hopping nearby. He stumbled and tumbled, landing on his backside several times. Yet he didn't cry. Puffing with indignation, he grunted and clambered up, chasing the elusive bird once more. A sharp command rang out. With a collective cheer of relief, the children rubbed their sore limbs and scattered like startled birds, dashing home for breakfast. Woodgrove Village was small, its population barely over three hundred souls. Houses, built from massive stone blocks, stood simple and sturdy, blending naturally with the rugged landscape. "Ooh! Earth dragon meat! Give me a piece!" Though surrounded by lush forests teeming with fierce beasts, the bounty of the mountains rarely translated to abundance on the village tables. Meals were simple: coarse barley cakes, wild fruits, and the meager portions of meat in the children's bowls. Entering the mountains was a choice made only out of dire necessity. For beyond the village boundary, bloodshed and loss were constant shadows. At the village head stood the stone compound of the Old Chief, Mu Yunfeng. Its heavy walls rose beside the charred, colossal stump of the ancient willow. Inside the courtyard, near a stone hearth, a clay pot bubbled with thick, white liquid, its rich, milky fragrance perfuming the air. The Chief tended the simmering beast milk, occasionally stirring in handfuls of herbs with a wooden ladle. The little one had lost his parents at just six months old. Raised on the milk of a hundred beasts, he was now a year and several months old. Most children would have been weaned long ago, yet he still savored this nourishing draught with infantile relish, stubbornly refusing to give it up – much to the teasing amusement of the older children. "The little one's getting his milk!" a chorus of older boys sang out mockingly. "None of us were still suckling at a year and a half! Hee hee!"