The primitives fled the Silent Abyss, their stolen blood thrumming with terror, awe, and something older—something they could not name.
They stumbled back into the scattered realms of the multiverse, crossing the ragged wound in space that had once dared to breach the realm of gods. They carried with them no treasures, no victories. Only fear. And yet, that fear would reshape them.
For something within them had changed.
Something true.Something ancient.
The six clans—Kozurai, Xavora, Myraku, Zorak, Selvane, Ravael—had entered the Abyss as arrogant pretenders, believing themselves gods simply because no one had yet shown them otherwise.
But they had left it kneeling.Shaken.Remade.
For in the presence of the Silent Abyss—in the cold gaze of Seraphis and the silent steel of Caelora—they had felt it.
A will that did not need to speak.A king whose slumber was heavier than their existence.A sovereignty that echoed inside their marrow, a truth encoded in the silence between their heartbeats.
They had not seen Veyrath.They had not even glimpsed the Cocoon atop the Black Throne.And yet…
Their loyalty became absolute.
Across forgotten worlds, in far-flung corners of reality, the primitive clans changed.
Temples were raised—not to gods they could name, but to the memory of one they could not forget.Monoliths carved from black stone towered into cloudless skies, bearing only one symbol: an empty throne, and a sleeping figure beneath it.Laws were spoken in whispers:
Honor the Silent Throne.
Never seek to rule what is not yours.
Prepare the multiverse for the Day of Waking.
Children were raised in these teachings.Songs were sung around the cold fires of dying stars.Wars ceased mid-battle at the mere whisper of the legend—he sleeps.
None spoke his name.None knew it.But they trembled in reverence nonetheless.
The six clans, changed forever, began to define themselves through loyalty.
The Kozurai forged brutal warriors, oath-bound to protect the Throne from all they could reach.The Xavora founded silent orders, manipulating planetary politics to prepare the cosmos for his rise.The Myraku became wandering prophets, spreading the dream of the Sleeping King like seeds carried by the stars.The Zorak crafted oracles and scribes, recording fragmented prophecies they could barely understand.The Selvane wandered the liminal spaces between dimensions, dreaming of the throne their blood remembered.The Ravael trained endless generations of disciplined soldiers, raised to fight in a war that had not yet begun.
Each clan walked a different path.Each remembered in a different way.But beneath all their creeds, one truth burned like a second sun:
He sleeps.And when he rises, we must be ready.
Within the Silent Abyss, untouched and eternal, Seraphis knelt once more at the foot of the Black Throne. Before her, the Cocoon of Authority still shimmered—silent, impenetrable, sovereign.
She watched the ripples of their terror. The roots of new myths stretching across reality. Loyalty growing in the shadows of ignorance.
And she smiled.
A slow, solemn smile.
"Even asleep," she whispered, voice soft as breath, "your will bends the blood of creation itself."
Beside her, Caelora stood unmoving, sword in hand, gaze fixed toward the horizon of possibility.
"They remember because they must," Caelora said, low and fierce. "Their blood calls them back to the Throne they have never seen."
Seraphis rose. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like a river made of moonlight.
"When you wake, my king," she said, her words rippling through the Plane, "you will find the multiverse already on its knees."
Caelora bowed her head in reverence.
"As it should be."
And high above them, the Black Throne pulsed once more.
A heartbeat vast enough to stir the bones of galaxies.A whisper powerful enough to silence the stars.
Veyrath stirred.
Still silent.Still dreaming.
But the dream was thinning.The edge of waking neared.
And when the day came—when the First Sovereign opened his eyes—every world that had whispered his name in fear or faith would fall silent in the presence of truth.
They would kneel…
Or they would be no more.