The world of Arae's darkness faded from Shojiro's mind.
The screams, the dripping blood, the gnashing horrors — all dimmed into silence.
And then, light.
It wasn't the gentle light of the mortal sun — this was structured, geometric. Every beam bent according to laws that felt older than time, older than existence. Circles intersected, runes pulsed, and through them came a voice — calm, resonant, and absolute.
"Shojiro Momo… the truth you must know is not one of myth — but of system. Creation is a machine, and every piece must move to balance the weight of Arae's corruption."
It was Artemis, her tone neither comforting nor cruel — simply factual, as if reality itself spoke through her.
Before Shojiro, the light folded itself into a moving tapestry — the story of eternity.
The Failsafe of Yggdrasil
"The universe cannot destroy what has already been defined. Even Arae, broken and bound, still exists. Existence itself is his loophole. Every thousand years, his corruption resurfaces — carried through dreams, echoes, and decay."
The tapestry shifted — showing the Primordials watching in dread as Arae's blood birthed his first children within the depths of Purgatory.
Their silent horror rippled across the void.
"We saw his spawn born of ichor and defiance. We saw his hunger reaching beyond the cage. And we knew… no prison lasts forever."
The runes changed again — Yggdrasil's roots glowing like veins of eternity.
"So, we created a failsafe. A self-correcting law built into the roots of Yggdrasil — the Cycle of Chosen. Every thousand years, when Arae's forces breach the mortal plane, Yggdrasil will awaken its fruit. The kins of the Primordials — our blood, our echoes, our legacy — will rise."
Figures of light appeared: humans, mortals, each born from divine spark. Their eyes glowed with faint fragments of the Primordials' essence.
"They are not reincarnations. They are not successors. They are the continuation — the necessary resistance to the inevitable corruption."
The Law of the Cycle
"The universe cannot unmake what has been sealed. Even Arae, broken and buried, still breathes within his cage. His curse festers across the ages — growing stronger every thousand years. To counter his rise, we — the Primordials — forged a law into existence: the Cycle of Chosen."
Images spun before Shojiro's eyes: countless mortals across time — warriors, kings, peasants, mothers, children — rising and falling through generations, their souls burning like candles.
"Each cycle births a fixed number of Chosen. The count cannot diminish — only rise. For as Arae's strength swells, so too must the will that stands against him."
The vision flickered — showing one warrior fighting alone… then two… then ten… each generation growing stronger, yet bearing greater burdens.
Borrowed Divinity
The tapestry shifted again — fragments of Primordials descending from the heavens like shards of color, merging with mortal forms.
"We cannot walk the mortal world — our touch would tear it apart. Instead, we lend fragments of our essence to chosen souls. These are the Shard Bearers — those who carry pieces of our domains: strength, shadow, flame, spirit, and more."
Each mortal shown wielded divine power for a fleeting heartbeat before their light faded.
"Their power is borrowed, not owned. When their task ends — when Arae is sealed once more — their essence returns to Yggdrasil. Their lives end, and their memory is forgotten."
The last word echoed like a dirge.
Offshoots of the Divine
"Sometimes, when the balance falters, we create new entities — Primordial Offshoots — smaller echoes of our existence. They are born to assist the Chosen, to balance the scale for that cycle. But once their duty is done, they too fade… leaving only faint ripples in eternity."
Shojiro saw brief flashes of radiant beings — lesser gods — flickering into life like sparks, burning bright, then vanishing into nothing.
The Curse of Forgetfulness
The light dimmed. The images turned gray.
"Arae's curse extends beyond the flesh — it seeps into time itself. Every thousand years, when a cycle ends, the world forgets. Mortals forget the Chosen, forget the wars, forget the deaths. Even those who witnessed their glory lose the memory as if it never existed."
Cities rose and fell in the vision. Statues crumbled. Names vanished from stone.
"Only Yggdrasil remembers. Only the roots whisper of what came before."
Shojiro clenched his fists as he watched generations erased by silence.
The Burden of Continuity
"With each passing millennium, Arae's seal weakens. His cunning evolves. By the three-hundredth cycle, even the laws of reality will tremble beneath him. That is your cycle, Shojiro — the Damned Ten."
The light flared — nine shadows appeared beside him, outlines of souls yet unseen. The others. Their images blurred but their presence felt real — heavy with destiny.
"You are not chosen by fate… but by necessity. You exist because the universe demanded resistance. Because without you — the seal breaks."