The years passed.
Not in mortal measures—not in calendars, not in seasons—but in the slow breath of the stars themselves. Suns were born and died like sparks flickering within an infinite forge. Galaxies spun and crumbled into silence. The multiverse turned. And still, the Silent Abyss remained untouched.
At its center stood the Black Throne, unmoved, immutable—the axis of all things. Upon it, Veyrath slumbered still, cocooned in Authority, Sovereign of a dream that shaped reality in his absence.
Level 29.Primordial Origin.The First.
Before him, unchanging through endless time, stood his two eternal guardians.
Seraphis—Empress of the Primordial Ōtsutsuki. She knelt without pause, eyes lowered in eternal devotion, her presence a prayer carved in divine stillness.
Caelora—First Knight of the Void. She stood ever-vigilant, hand resting on the hilt of a blade forged from endless dusk, her gaze ever outward, watching the boundaries of the Abyss.
And beyond those veiled borders, in the ever-churning chaos of the lesser multiverse, the six primitive clans endured.
They did not conquer.They did not rise by tyranny or fear.They thrived through faith.
The Kozurai Clan whispered prayers before every battle, their blades baptized in promises of loyalty. The Xavora Clan molded empires with invisible hands, weaving fate in preparation for a sovereign they had never seen. The Myraku Clan became celestial pilgrims, wandering the void to carry songs of loyalty from world to world. The Zorak Clan etched prophecies into stone, hidden within ruins only their blood could read. The Ravael Clan trained armies across generations, soldiers born into oaths older than the stars they marched beneath.
But it was the Selvane Clan that rose… differently.
They did not seek war.They sought memory.
Planters of sacred trees, the Selvane traveled to newborn worlds, to forgotten moons, to places where no name had ever been spoken. And wherever they went, they buried seeds—seeds drawn from their own altered blood, infused with slumbering loyalty and the echo of the King's forgotten Will.
From these seeds, World Trees rose.
Towering, radiant, and impossibly vast, the trees became living conduits—branches reaching toward the cold heavens, roots burrowing into the bones of barren worlds. They became silent beacons. Prayers made of bark and breath. Vows cast into the soil.
Each tree was a whisper.A promise.A thread in the tapestry of the Day of Waking.
And over time, the bloodline scattered.
The trees changed the lands around them.
Civilizations sprouted at their feet.Species evolved in their shadow.Beings were born stronger, faster, more attuned to the hunger for power that danced just beneath the surface of their souls.
And from this slow convergence of blood and myth, across centuries turned to eons…
One name emerged.
Kaguya.
The first true manifestation of the forgotten bloodline.
She would eat from a sacred fruit—one birthed by a Selvane World Tree, a fruit not meant for mortal mouths. She would inherit a sliver of the Sovereign's Will—wild, unshaped, desperate for order in a world she could not understand.
She would become a goddess.A tyrant.A legend.
But she would never know the truth.
She would never know that her power… her fate… her very existence had bloomed from a vow sworn by primitive ancestors. That her hands now wielded echoes of a god who still slept—who had not yet risen to claim what was his.
Veyrath.
The source of it all.The King without a name.The Sovereign for whom even the stars had learned to wait.
Within the Silent Abyss, Seraphis remained where she had always been—kneeling at the foot of the Throne, watching the long ripples of life drift outward through the void.
"They grow," she whispered, voice quiet and mournful. "But they do not remember your name, my King."
Caelora stood beside her, silent and steel-bound. "They will," she said, her voice grim. "When you rise, they will kneel in truth—or they will be wiped away."
And above them, the Throne pulsed once more.
Not in haste.Not in fury.But in inevitability.
A heartbeat vast enough to rattle the skeletons of entire galaxies.
Veyrath stirred.Still silent.Still dreaming.
But the dream was ending.
The Day of Waking approached.
And the seeds planted by faithful hands in forgotten soil so long ago…would soon bear fruit.
For loyalty.Or for judgment.