In a dimly lit observation room at Grimstone, dozens of tutors hovered over screens, monitoring the progress of tens of thousands of graduating students. Each screen displayed a different Divine Domain,tiny fragment worlds the students had to create as their graduation project.
Their real purpose wasn’t curiosity or office gossip. They were here to catch mistakes. A misstep in a graduation project would not only result in the failing to graduate buy could doom a student’s future as a world-builder forever.
"This alien civilization, from student Bailey Coulthard..."
Vice Principal Warren broke the silence. Instantly, all the tutors leaned forward, Bailey’s advisor quickly pulled up the live feed.
"Well..." Warren stroked his chin after a moment, "the rules are solidly structured. It’s just an ordinary world, but the foundations are strong."
Bailey’s advisor visibly relaxed.
Warren smiled slightly. "Looks like your students have been taught well this year. Our graduation rate might finally climb."
Conversations buzzed through the room.
But then, Warren spoke again, his tone sharper. "Now let’s review the Transcendent projects."
Grimstone always valued Transcendent projects most,these worlds boosted the university’s reputation. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⚑𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖⚑𝕟𝕖𝕥
Warren scrolled further down the list. "Interesting,more Transcendent entries this year. And even a High‑Martial World... good."
Then his brow furrowed.
"Hold on... what is this?" He tapped a feed, then stopped, staring at the display.
The room fell silent.
On every screen was the Endless Abyss,a world-layering project unlike anything they’d seen.
"Has he lost his mind?"
"He’s using the world origin to build... pieces of nothing?"
Inside the Abyss domain, Cillian Carter was oblivious to the panic above. He had his eyes closed, every ounce of his focus on weaving increasingly complex rules into his world.
"First... the four elements."
He infused Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water into his Six‑Six layered planes. Immediately, the layers began to mutate.
In one, scorching magma bubbled. In another, frozen tundras stretched to the horizon. Some planes were wrapped in toxic mists; others were nothing but barren deserts.
Because his domain was based on pure chaos, the elements didn’t spread evenly. Each layer became its own extreme.
Now, the transformation accelerated.
Cillian threaded the gravity rule into his prototype. The composite world-shifts were dramatic. Planes collapsed, coalesced, fragmented... some sank toward a low‑latitude core, others floated upward.
He watched as different layers displayed bizarre gravitational anomalies—some crushing everything, others so light they floated like wisps.
"These anomalies," he whispered, "will shape the creatures that evolve here."
Soon even the tutors outside noticed the unexpected patterns.
Inside the observation room, voices exploded again:
"He’s already destroyed everything!"
"He’s risking his graduation!"
Warren held up his hand.
He turned toward the feeds.
"He’s not breaking it. He’s trying something new."
"New? He’s just overwriting the entire textbook on world-building."
Warren didn’t flinch. "He’s building a low-latitude world."
Murmurs ran through the room. "Impossible..."
"Thousands have tried and failed."
Warren held the room’s attention. "Silence! Let him do it. If this works, he could change our understanding of domains"
He stared at the swirling planes on screen.
"This... could be something rare."