The geometric light pulsed again — once, twice — before reshaping itself into a constellation of ten radiant shards orbiting around Shojiro. Each pulsed with a different hue: the spectral essence of the Primordials themselves.
"But you must understand, Shojiro Momo…
You are not the first shard-bearer."
The light fractured. Seven ancient silhouettes appeared — towering, luminous, their forms too divine to be fully human. Their eyes burned with the power of creation itself.
"Long before your kind learned to speak, the first cycle of Chosen walked the darkened void — The Perfect Seven.
They were the prototypes of hope — wielders of our earliest fragments from our strongest off shoots. But their purpose was flawed. They sealed Arae, not destroyed him… and for every victory, they sowed the seed of another war."
The seven figures vanished — erased as though even history dared not remember them.
Full Shard Power
"The Damned Ten are different."
Ten sigils ignited around Shojiro, blazing brighter than suns. He felt their pull, heavy with responsibility — each symbol a tether to something impossibly vast.
"Unlike the two hundred and ninety nine cycles before you — unlike even the Perfect Seven — your generation will not bear diluted echoes or offshoots.
You will carry the true shards of the Primordials.
Fragments unfiltered, unbroken — the raw essence of our divinity."
The light spiraled faster, forming ten sigils — each representing a Primordial domain. The air hummed with unbearable tension, like the breath before a storm.
"For this final cycle, there will be no half-measures. The universe can no longer risk containment. You will not merely seal Arae… you must erase him from all realities.
Permanently."
A sound — deep, cosmic — rolled through the void like the heartbeat of existence itself.
The Purpose
"Understand this: failure in your cycle will not lead to another.
There will be no reset, no rebirth, no memory wipe.
If you fall, creation falls with you.
If you succeed, the Cycle ends forever."
Images flickered: countless worlds collapsing, suns dying, civilizations screaming into silence — all erased by Arae's eventual return.
"This is the final stand of existence. You are the Damned Ten — born not from destiny, but from desperation."
Cosmic Implications
The tapestry widened. Shojiro saw the vast emptiness of time — worlds rising and falling, yet none remembering their saviors. Kingdoms built atop forgotten graves. Stars burning with false peace.
"No one remembers the cycles.
No one remembers Arae.
But Yggdrasil remembers — and through it, we remember. That is why you exist."
Ten lights surrounded him again, flickering like dying candles. Yet beneath their flicker lay unyielding resolve — the legacy of those who came before.
"The Damned Ten… the final generation of Chosen.
You carry the full weight of our power, and the last hope of the cosmos."
As the light faded, Shojiro felt his soul vibrating — each heartbeat echoing with the names of the unseen others.
He didn't know them yet…
But something inside him whispered that he soon would.
For what felt like an eternity, Shojiro drifted in nothingness.
No up, no down — only weightless stillness.
He could not tell if he was asleep or awake, living or dead.
Only the faint, amber glow around him gave proof that something — somewhere — still remembered his name.
His soul floated within a luminous void, a sea of translucent gold.
Vines thicker than mountains wound around him, their surfaces pulsing with light — veins of divine sap coursing through them like molten rivers of life.
They were warm, rhythmic, almost… alive.
Each vine carried whispers — ancient, wordless hums of the Primordials — like lullabies meant for creation itself.
Slowly, the vines began to loosen.
Threads of light untangled from his spirit, unraveling in delicate spirals.
Shojiro's incorporeal form — still dim, still incomplete — was gently lifted, guided upward by unseen hands.
Then, a voice — soft, melodic, and tinged with the sadness of eons — echoed through the sap.
Thanamira: "Aren't you excited, little soul? The shell awaits you. A new vessel, shaped from Yggdrasil's lifeblood… a gift even the gods could not grant twice."
Her tone was almost playful — yet beneath it lingered something reverent.
Her spectral form — wreathed in flowing spiritlight — descended beside him, arms outstretched.
She cupped Shojiro's essence in her hands like a fragile ember, the glow reflecting in her eyes.
Thanamira (softly): "Sleep has ended, child of strength. Breathe again."
She lowered him into the cradle — a pool of glowing sap suspended between roots that stretched beyond sight.
As his spirit sank into it, It was placed into his new body a husk of divinity
Then, silence.
No movement. No sound. Only stillness.
Until—
Thump.
A faint vibration rippled through the sap.
Then another.
And another.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythm grew louder, more defiant.
The holy fluid trembled, bubbles of divine energy bursting around his form as nerves, veins, and bones ignited into being.
The sap hardened, skin forming where spirit met substance.
Shojiro's fingers twitched first — then his arms — then his lungs expanded for the first time in his new body.
He gasped.
A shuddering breath tore through the silence, scattering waves of golden light through the chamber.
The Cradle pulsed in response, roots and vines flaring to life as though welcoming back one of their own.
Thanamira smiled faintly, her form fading into the ether.
Primordials: "Welcome back to the living, Shojiro Momo."
Shojiro's eyes fluttered open — and for a brief, perfect moment, he could see the reflection of Yggdrasil itself burning in his pupils.
The Cycle had begun anew.