There was no grand fortress. No sprawling empire or sect. No sign of civilization at all. The fierce winds kept searingly cold temperatures year round in the peaks that dominated the region.
Over the billions of years, ice had grown until it became the deepest black for unknown reasons. The few cultivators that ventured there, never found a way to survive on their own for long.
No plants or even beasts called it home. At least, none now.
Long ago, a single man entered those peaks and forever made it his. He spent a billion years engraving his mark into the very ice itself.
After that, he simply returned to rest at times and try to progress on the path of cultivation.
He had short cropped white hair with ash gray skin. It shone with a healthy luster but unlike any other of his race, he was not impossibly beautiful. His clothes were a simple leather vest and dark cloth pants.
