The years passed.
Not in mortal measures —
but in the slow, endless tide of stars being born and dying.
The Silent Abyss remained unchanged,
the Black Throne standing as the axis of all things,
Veyrath still sleeping at its center, wrapped in Authority.
Level 29.
Primordial Origin.
Before him:
Seraphis — Empress of the Primordial Otsutsuki,
kneeling in eternal devotion.
Caelora — First Knight of the Void,
standing sentinel with her blade of endless dusk.
Beyond the veiled borders of the Abyss,
the six primitive clans endured.
They thrived.
Not by conquest —
but by faith.
The Kozurai Clan trained warriors who whispered prayers before every battle.
The Xavora Clan manipulated empires in the King's name.
The Myraku Clan wandered the void, sowing songs of loyalty.
The Zorak Clan hid prophecies in stone.
The Ravael Clan raised armies who swore eternal vigilance.
And among them,
one clan rose differently:
The Selvane Clan.
The Selvane Clan became planters of sacred trees.
Wherever they traveled — to newborn worlds, to forgotten planets, to barren moons —
they buried seeds drawn from their own altered blood.
Seeds that would grow into towering, radiant trees —
living conduits of life-force, chakra, and devotion.
To the Selvane, the act of planting was a holy vow.
Each tree was a silent prayer to the Sleeping King.
Each root was a chain of memory, binding world after world to the coming of His return.
They called them World Trees.
Sacred and immense,
their branches reached toward the cold stars,
as if yearning to touch the slumbering hand of the Sovereign.
From the Selvane Clan,
new bloodlines slowly splintered and spread.
The trees they planted changed the worlds around them.
Civilizations rose around the trees.
Beings were born stronger, faster, hungrier for power.
Entire species evolved from the silent blessings hidden in the roots.
And among these descendants — thousands of years later —
one name would rise above all others:
Kaguya.
The first true manifestation of the forgotten bloodline.
A woman who would eat from a sacred fruit —
a fruit birthed by one of the ancient Selvane World Trees.
She would inherit a fragment of the King's Will —
wild, uncontrolled, desperate for purpose she could not understand.
She would be called a goddess.
A monster.
A savior.
But she would never know her true origin.
She would never know that her power —
her destiny —
her very existence —
was born from a vow sworn by primitive ancestors
to a King who still slept beyond the stars.
Veyrath.
The source of it all.
The sovereign for whom all things waited.
Within the Silent Abyss,
Seraphis knelt before the Black Throne, watching the ripples of life spreading across the multiverse.
"They grow," she whispered,
"yet they do not remember your name, my King."
Caelora stood silent beside her.
"They will," she said grimly.
"When you rise, they will kneel in truth — or they will be wiped away."
Above them, the Throne pulsed once more.
Slow.
Inevitable.
The dream was ending.
The day of waking drew near.
And the seeds planted by faithful hands so long ago would bear fruit —
for loyalty, or for judgment