Ancestor Wun-Tao

The Bloomfather of Forgotten Paths

Wun-Tao was not born—he was cultivated in the rootbed of three dreaming elders who combined spores from rival gardens. Rather than choosing a single school of thought, Wun-Tao grew curious of all truth. To explore its infinite forms, he seeded himself—not through mating, but through splitting spores of divergent emotion.

Each of his forty-nine known progeny bloomed in different biomes of Thalos, each embodying a different virtue:

• Serenity grew in the salt caves.
• Conviction in volcanic ash.
• Sorrow beneath the Coreview mist.
• Joy in a ruined Velari archive.

Every child formed a garden, a song, or a lineage. Though some withered or went rogue—like Spoilborne cultist Moldreth, believed to be an echo-split of Wun-Tao’s Disappointment—his legacy remains vast and tangled.

Today, pilgrims carry fragments of his spores wrapped in memory silk, believing that inhaling them at dawn can inspire purpose.

They say Wun-Tao still dreams beneath the Nulith Bloomfields, where his root network has grown so wide it whispers through multiple tribes—offering not commandments, but questions.

Lost Child

Brenshi of the Empty Pulse

Born from Wun-Tao’s moment of doubt, Brenshi was a sporebud twisted with self-denial. Unlike their siblings who bloomed in harmony, Brenshi emerged in the Riftshadow Hollows, feeding not on fertile soil, but on memory loss and ambient sorrow.

• Form: Pale moss-veins run across cracked fungal plates. Their bioluminescence pulses faintly, but never warms. Brenshi does not sing—they hum fractures.
• Belief: “If roots bind us, let mine be cut.” Brenshi abandoned the Garden traditions and founded the Echofade Sect, believing memory was a sickness, and forgetting was the cure.
• Influence: Followers tattoo themselves in smudged, fading ink that erodes over time. They walk silently through groves and cities, erasing monuments with sporedust and planting seeds of willful amnesia.

Though Wun-Tao never named them, some Mycelians whisper that Brenshi is the final truth of renewal—not birth, but the letting go.