Somewhere in the Lesser True Void, a magnificent fleet of Voidfaring Vessels was moving along, with no particular destination in mind. Ever since they had first been created, they had not called any one place their home, merely visiting worlds in passing to stock up on necessary resources.
From personal craft that were barely able to house a handful of people, to planet-sized ones that could sustain significant portions of an entire civilization, there were many different kinds of Voidfaring Vessels. All of which had been built by the Naxsir, who had been inhabiting them for as long as they could recall.
Nobody actually still knew when or why they had left their original homeland, or how they had turned into the people that they were today. It was also unknown for how long they had drifted along.
Most of the goals and motivations that drove them to carry on were an enigma to all outsiders. All that anybody with a decent understanding of them could remark on was their strange obsession with the greatest of geniuses. Wherever and whenever information about such figures would appear, they would always look into the rumours with overwhelming might.
Yet, except for the ache at losing such outstanding figures to them, the Naxsir would rarely leave a negative impression behind. Due to their never-ending travels, they had slowly transitioned into becoming a civilization-sized merchant caravan–but one with a military might that could dwarf every other force that they had ever come across.
In general, at the core of the Naxsir fleet were enormous vessels with very little offensive capabilities, which housed the vast majority of their people. They effectively functioned as their world. Protecting them, there were many smaller military fleets, all of which were led by a flagship. And on one of these, in the captain's quarters, a being who had remained stationary for far too many ages... suddenly opened his eyes.
The passage of time had left no single trace on him. Despite being older than a fair number of worlds, he still looked like a young man barely above twenty years of age. His black hair hadn't grown at all, and his ruby-red eyes were devoid of weariness.
Many a Heaven's Chosen or otherwise exceptional figure seemed outright otherworldly in appearance, but none of them gave off the same impression as him. When comparing him even to the most excellent of cultivators, there was an almost insurmountable chasm separating them–akin to the one between a deity and a mortal.
His name was Spitamaneh, and he was one of the Naxsir's revered Celestial Stage strongmen. Having ascended to become 'divine' incalculably long ago, he usually spent all of his time immersed in cultivation, attempting to reach the pinnacle of perfection. Yet unexpectedly, an encounter in a potential future had roused him from his devoted efforts.
'It's the Sybillans again? Did they produce another era-defining figure?'
Familiar with this sensation, a hint off normally absent joy caused the corners of his lips to rise a little. With the intent of finding out more, he messaged his subordinates, making them report everything related to this interesting group of people, as well as anything else of exceptional note.
Courtesy of their extensive network in countless worlds, and their highly advanced technology, in less than an hour, all that he had asked for was available for his perusal.
To his surprise, beings referred to as the 'Heaven's Chosen' had begun to appear not too long ago. Whilst many of them were not even qualified to enter their eyes, there were a couple of exceptions. Unbeknownst to him, a lot of progress had been made during the past few decades.
'But what is this? Huge numbers of Heaven's Chosen–some of their quality surpassing anyone who we've found before–have started to appear extremely recently?'
If the Naxsir's agents weren't usually highly reliable, then he might have doubted what he had just read. After all, it sounded far too fantastical! But once he managed to digest all of the information that they had gathered on the Heavenly Succession, it all made sense. Some long-held suspicions of his people had also been confirmed.
'In other words, this period of time represents both a danger, as well as an unprecedented opportunity! That suspicious piece of news which was no doubt leaked by some Sybillan figure should be credible. Either that, or someone's trying to lay a trap for us.'
Almost scoffing at that notion, he nonetheless didn't fully discard it. There was always the possibility that some incomprehensible figure had arrived nearby and was hunting for them. Still, that was extremely unlikely.
'I'll keep an eye out for anything amiss. However, I definitely cannot miss this chance. This is practically a gold rush, and those who return with the greatest gains will not only contribute to our people the most, but will also be rewarded by our Venerated Ikhshid.'
At the thought of the Naxsir's ruler, reverence and respect painted his features. Amongst those at the same stage, there still existed overwhelming differences. Spitamaneh could definitely be referred to as a genius, but compared to the Venerated Ikhshid, he was like a spark in comparison to a roaring inferno. He knew his limits very well, and would not do anything foolish.
'For minor matters such as this, I should have the authority to act. Yet, those Heaven's Chosen might turn out to be tougher bones to chew on than expected. Just in case, I should make a formal report and refrain from acting until I've got permiss–'
It was at this point that a special seal stamped atop one of the numerous documents caught his attention. With his eyes widening, he hastily kneeled down in his empty room, lowering his head in subservience. Nobody answered him or reacted to his display, but he didn't dare to slack off in the slightest.
'How could I have missed that!? The news about the Heavenly Succession has already been forwarded to the Venerated Ikhshid! The fact that it could reach me plus carried his seal, means that he has made his position clear! There is no need to get bogged down in matters of bureaucracy or formality–I can simply go ahead with what I initially planned!'
A clear smile on his lips, he eventually got up from the ground, then let the military headquarters know about his intent to embark on a mission with his troops. Some restructuring in the civilization-spanning defensive formation of Voidfaring Vessels would be necessary, therefore it was inevitable for there to be a brief wait period before the journey could begin.
Leaving his quarters, Spitamaneh made his way to the command deck. His right-hand man alongside the rest of the staff had already assembled. Ever since his request had reached their ears, they had known what was to come.
"Our target is Pytho, the world of the Sybillans. An exceptional Heaven's Chosen has arrived there a few days ago. We will attempt to capture them with all of our might. As usual, keep damage to uninvolved parties to a minimum. Baray farn!"
His words and image being conveyed to every single ship under his command, he respectfully saluted his troops, in classical Naxsir fashion. With his hand on his heart, he stared ahead into the unknown future, the conviction in his eyes stirring the emotions of his soldiers.
"Baray farn!"
The same phrase was echoed in excess of trillions of times, causing the entire fleet to shake. Due to early indoctrination, the Naxsir were far more unified than most civilizations. Although every person obviously still was an individual, they were all fighting for a grander purpose–to make the great undertaking envisioned by the first Venerated Ikhshid come true, and liberate them all from their shackles!
For that, no sacrifice was too great, and no atrocity too vile.
Nodding sternly yet in approval, Spitamaneh had the navigators switch their target destination. During his short speech, he had already got the green light to venture forth, therefore there was no need for them to waste any time.
As they grew ever more distant from their nomadic home, a certain figure situated at the very centre of their massive fleet shot them a brief gaze, which even Spitamaneh didn't notice.
Clad in the most expensive and expertly crafted fur clothes, a towering mountain of a man sat silently on a gigantic throne. His deep-set, black eyes were filled with uncertainty and a hint of guilt, and his dark brown hair was a little bit unkempt. Despite–or rather, because of–having worn the crown of the Venerated Ikhshid for so long, the burden on him was unbelievably heavy.
'Am I truly doing the right thing? Is allying with 'that person' really the best choice?'
With little to no progress having been made on the 'great undertaking' ever since he had succeeded his predecessor, Thurgar had always felt backed into a corner. Keeping up the facade of success had been draining beyond belief. Even someone of his unparalleled excellence could not indefinitely continue on like that.
It was at this point that the Heavenly Succession was revealed to his people, and ultimately reached his ears. The information regarding the various rounds eventually convinced him that they might have been going about all of this in the wrong way from the very beginning. Instead of fighting against insurmountable odds, making use of this singular opportunity was far more rational of a choice.
'Perhaps, I've gone mad long ago. Why else would I agree to what 'they' proposed? I put the entirety of my people at risk, all for a naïve hope of overcoming our prison...'
A helpless chuckle escaping his lips, he shook his head. His ancestors were sure to curse him for all eternity if his gamble didn't pay off, but he had truly been at the end of his rope. Handing over his position to the next generation wouldn't change a thing either!
And that was exactly when 'that person' had reached out. Compared to him, that newly arrived Heaven's Chosen was pitifully weak, yet showed incredible promise. Even he could not remotely estimate how far they could possibly go. But trusting them with the future of the Naxsir was nonetheless a risky decision, to say the least.
'Just in case, I should prepare for the worst. Should my desperate attempt fail, then my people should still have an opportunity to rise again. They can search for other paths leading out of here as well.'
Finally coming to a decision which he had previously been reluctant to make, he secretly sent for his youngest son and daughter–a pair of twins by the names of Devashtich and Spandarmad.
Although they were his most recent offspring, they had still been around for ages. Naturally, due to their excellent parents and environment, they both had reached the Celestial Stage. Usually, they were–rightfully–treated like living deities, worshipped by countless members of their kind. But in front of their father, they could barely raise their heads.
'Both of them take a lot after their mother, instead of me. I'll miss them a lot once they're gone. By then, the last gift that she left behind will have vanished from my side.'
Silently taking in his children's appearance, his heart ached as he recalled his departed wife. He was rather rough around the edges for someone as advanced in cultivation stage as he was, whereas she had been his complete opposite: The most gorgeous woman that he had ever met. Throughout his entire life, she had been his brightest ray of light. But alas, for their 'great undertaking', she had paid the ultimate price.
"Devashtich. Spandarmad. Our people are about to face a perilous trial. Yet, in the event of our failure, we Naxsir cannot be allowed to disappear! I want the two of you to depart from here with a few trusted aides and become our last hope, and our trump card. Will you accept this burden?"
His sombre words caused them to widen their eyes in disbelief for a moment, but they quickly regained their bearings. Knowing better than to ask unnecessary questions which they likely wouldn't get any answers to, they exchanged a long glance, before bowing deeply.
"We do, Venerated Ikhshid!"
"We do, Venerated Ikhshid!"
Their perfectly synchronized voices brought a smile to Thurgar's usually impassive face. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that this would be the final time that he would ever meet them, therefore he wanted to create a lasting memory.
"... stay safe."
His mutterings barely more audible than a whisper, he rose from his throne and walked by them, gently patting their shoulders in passing. He usually never engaged in such acts of affection–or rather, he hadn't done so in almost as long as the twins could remember.
Startled yet feeling a certain warmth in their 'divine' hearts, by the time that the two recovered, Thurgar had already withdrawn, the instructions for their lengthy voyage delivered to their personal devices.
'... we won't disappoint you, father!'
With renewed conviction, Devashtich and Spandarmad silently set off a day later.