Part One: When Nature Speaks
Three days had passed since Kaguya's sealing.
The new moon hung in the sky—a constant reminder of the goddess imprisoned within—and the world was slowly beginning to heal from the devastation of the battle. But Hagoromo and Hamura had not left the crater. They couldn't. Something kept drawing them back, a compulsion neither brother could fully explain.
"We should return to the settlements," Hamura said, though even as he spoke the words, he made no move to leave. "People need guidance. They need to understand what happened, what Mother became, why we had to seal her."
"They'll wait," Hagoromo replied, his eyes never leaving the figure embedded in the crater's center. "This... this is more important. We're witnessing something that may never happen again. A being from beyond our understanding, wounded and vulnerable. If we don't document this, if we don't try to understand it, we're failing our duty to future generations."
Hamura's newly fully evolved Tenseigan pulsed gently, the transformation still fresh and occasionally painful. The strain of fighting their mother in her Ten-Tails form, combined with the impossible pressure from the Deva's arrival, had forced his Byakugan to transcend its limits. Now he could see things his clan's dōjutsu had never perceived before—the flow of energy on a cosmic scale, the interconnection of all living things, the fundamental structure of chakra itself.
And when he looked at the Deva, his Tenseigan showed him something that made his breath catch.
"Brother," Hamura whispered, his voice trembling. "Look at him. Really look. Tell me what you see with your Rinnegan."
Hagoromo focused his legendary eyes on the unconscious being. The Rinnegan could perceive chakra in all its forms, could break down the composition of any technique, could see the truth beneath illusions and deceptions.
What he saw should have been impossible.
"There's no chakra," Hagoromo said slowly, confused. "Or rather, there is, but it's not... it's not like Mother's chakra. It's older. Purer. Like..." he struggled to find words, "like comparing a tributary to the ocean itself. Mother's power is vast, but this is fundamental. This is what chakra was before it became chakra."
"I see more," Hamura said, his Tenseigan beginning to glow brighter. "I see eight points of light inside him. Gates, perhaps? Or stars? They're barely visible, like embers beneath ash, but they're there. Eight cores of power that make Mother's chakra look like candlelight compared to the sun."
"Eight?" Hagoromo felt a chill run through him. "The human body has eight gates—eight limiters that prevent us from destroying ourselves with our own power. Could this being have something similar? Eight sources of power so immense they need to be sealed within him?"
"Not sealed," Hamura corrected, studying the phenomenon more closely. "Contained. Like water in a vessel. The gates aren't restraints—they're structures. Frameworks that give shape to power that would otherwise be formless and chaotic."
They stood in silence, contemplating the implications. If this being—this Deva—contained eight sources of power, and even one of those sources made their mother's chakra seem insignificant, what did that say about the cosmic hierarchy? How far beyond the Ōtsutsuki did power truly extend?
"We're not alone," Hagoromo said suddenly, his Rinnegan detecting approaching chakra signatures. "Three of them. Powerful. Ancient. Coming from different directions but all converging on this location."
Hamura activated his Tenseigan's defensive capabilities, preparing for potential conflict. "Friend or foe?"
"Neither," came a croaking voice from behind them. "We are... concerned observers."
Both brothers spun to see three figures materializing from the surrounding landscape. The first was a massive toad, easily twice the size of a house, with orange skin marked with strange patterns. His eyes held wisdom that spoke of centuries, perhaps millennia, of existence( They met Sacred Sage Animals for the first time unlike Canon).
The second was an enormous white snake, her scales gleaming like moonlight, her golden eyes both beautiful and terrifying in their alien intelligence.
The third was a slug of equally impressive size, her body a pale blue that seemed to glow with its own bioluminescence.
"The Great Sage Summons," Hagoromo breathed, recognizing them from ancient texts his father had shown him. "Gamamaru of Mount Myōboku, the White Snake Sage of Ryūchi Cave, and Katsuyu of the Shikkotsu Forest."
"You know of us," Gamamaru said, hopping closer with movements that belied his enormous size. "That's good. Saves time on introductions. We've been watching your battle with the female harvester from our respective domains. Quite the show. Quite the show indeed."
"You call her harvester," Hamura noted. "Not goddess. Not demon. Harvester. The same term he used." He gestured toward the Deva.
"Because that's what she is," the White Snake Sage said, her voice a sibilant whisper that somehow carried perfect clarity. "An Ōtsutsuki. A species that travels between worlds, planting their cursed trees, draining planets of life to fuel their own evolution. We've known about them for... oh, how long has it been, Gamamaru?"
"I stopped counting after the first thousand years," the toad admitted. "But yes, we've known. We've watched. We've waited. The animal kingdoms exist in parallel to humanity, you see. We observe. We remember. We preserve knowledge that shorter-lived species tend to forget."
"And you never warned anyone?" Hagoromo demanded, anger flaring. "You knew what Mother was and you said nothing?"
"Would you have believed us?" Katsuyu asked gently, her voice like wind chimes and flowing water. "Would your father have listened if a toad appeared and claimed his wife was an alien harvester? No. Humans rarely listen to warnings about things they don't want to believe. Better to wait, to watch, to be ready to act when the time comes."
"Is that why you're here now?" Hamura asked. "Because the time has come?"
"We're here," Gamamaru said, his ancient eyes fixed on the Deva, "because he is here. And his presence changes everything."
The three Great Sages approached the crater's center, moving with reverence that bordered on religious awe. Hagoromo and Hamura followed, drawn by curiosity and the need to understand.
"Do you know what he is?" Hagoromo asked. "Mother called him Deva. Said he was the Ōtsutsuki's prime nemesis. But that's all we know."
"Deva," Gamamaru repeated, tasting the word. "Yes, that's what they call themselves. Or rather, what the Ōtsutsuki call them. A classification. A designation for the universe's correction mechanism."
"Speak plainly," Hamura said, frustration evident. "We're not children to be taught in riddles."
"No," the White Snake Sage agreed, "you're gods-in-training. Which means you need to understand context, not just facts." She coiled closer to the unconscious Deva, her tongue flicking out to taste the air around him. "Tell me, young gods, what happens when a species becomes too successful? When a predator breed eliminates all its natural enemies and begins consuming everything in sight?"
"Overpopulation," Hagoromo answered. "Resource depletion. Eventually, collapse or extinction."
"Exactly," Gamamaru confirmed. "The universe is a self-regulating system. When something grows too powerful, too numerous, too destructive, the cosmos creates a counterbalance. The Ōtsutsuki became that problem. A species that harvested world after world, leaving nothing but barren rocks in their wake. So the universe, in its infinite wisdom, created the Devas."
"Created?" Hamura repeated. "You're saying these beings aren't natural? They're artificially made?"
"Neither and both," Katsuyu said. "The Devas are born from the spaces between dimensions, from the collision of realities, from the fundamental forces that underlie existence itself. They're not created by any conscious being, but they're also not random. They're purpose made manifest. They exist to hunt the Ōtsutsuki. That's their entire reason for being."
Hagoromo stared at the Deva with new understanding and horror. "A species created solely to kill another species. That's... that's nightmare fuel."
"Or salvation," the White Snake Sage countered. "Depends on your perspective. If you're an Ōtsutsuki, yes, the Devas are the ultimate nightmare. But if you're one of the countless worlds they've saved from harvest, the Devas are heroes. Saviors. The only thing standing between you and extinction."
"And yet he's here, unconscious, wounded by something powerful enough to bring him down," Hamura observed. "What could do that? What could hurt a being designed to hunt the Ōtsutsuki?"
"Other Ōtsutsuki, if enough of them worked together especially Kings," Gamamaru said grimly. "Or other Devas, if there was disagreement about methods or territory. Or..." he paused, "something worse. Something we don't have a name for. Something that hunts the hunters."
The implications sent chills through everyone present. If beings existed that could wound a Deva, what hope did any of them have if those beings ever turned their attention to Earth?
"Let me examine him more closely," Katsuyu said, moving forward until she was nearly touching the Deva's unconscious form. "My species has abilities the others lack. We can sense life force in its purest form, can read the biological signature of any living thing."
She extended a pseudopod, gently touching the Deva's shoulder, careful to avoid the crimson-weeping wounds. Her body began to glow, patterns of light running through her translucent flesh as she processed information at a level beyond human comprehension.
After several minutes, she pulled back, and if a slug could look shaken, Katsuyu managed it.
"What did you sense?" Hagoromo asked urgently.
"Everything," Katsuyu whispered. "I sensed everything. This being's body contains enough latent energy to birth life on a thousand worlds. Every cell is a universe unto itself. Every breath he takes draws in and processes natural energy at a scale that would burn out our chakra pathways instantly. And those eight points of light you mentioned?"
"The gates?" Hamura prompted.
"They're not gates," Katsuyu said, awe evident in her voice. "They're stars. Primordial stars. Sources of power that existed before the current universe reached its present form. He has eight of them inside his body, sealed within what you might call chakra gates, but the scale... the magnitude..." she trailed off, unable to find adequate words.
"How is that possible?" Hagoromo demanded. "How can a biological being contain stellar phenomena? That violates every law of physics and chakra we understand!"
"Which is why he's a Deva and you're not," the White Snake Sage said dryly. "The rules that apply to normal beings don't apply to him. He exists on a different level of reality. Intersects with our dimension but isn't bound by it."
Part Two: The Name That Nature Whispers
Gamamaru had been silent, his ancient eyes closed, his consciousness expanded in ways the others couldn't perceive. The Great Toad Sage possessed a unique ability—he could hear what others couldn't, sense things that existed just beyond normal perception. It was how he'd survived for so long, how he'd guided so many, how he'd prepared for threats that seemed to come from nowhere.
And right now, he was listening to something extraordinary.
"The planet is singing," Gamamaru said suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "Can you hear it? The very earth beneath our feet is resonating with his presence."
"I don't hear anything," Hamura said, activating his Tenseigan to its fullest extent. "What are you—"
And then he felt it. Not sound, exactly, but vibration. A frequency that existed below normal hearing, that spoke directly to the soul rather than the ears. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere, from the ground and sky and air itself.
The planet was aware of the Deva. And it was... happy? No, more than happy. Reverent. Loving. Protective.
"Nature itself recognizes him," Katsuyu said softly. "I've never felt anything like this. It's as if every plant, every animal, every microorganism on this planet is aware of his presence and is reaching toward him."
"Look at the crater," the White Snake Sage said, pointing with her tail. "Look at what's growing."
They all turned to see what she meant, and gasped in unison.
The crater, which had been barren and scorched, was now blooming more as compare to last time. Flowers were erupting from the ground in impossible profusion—species that shouldn't exist together, that required different climates and soil conditions, all growing side by side in harmony. Trees were shooting up at visible speed, their roots somehow finding purchase in the heat-fused stone. Grass carpeted areas that had been nothing but ash moments before.
And all of it was oriented toward the Deva. Every flower turned toward him like sunflowers tracking the sun. Every tree bent in his direction. Every blade of grass leaned toward his unconscious form.
"The planet is trying to heal him," Hagoromo realized, his voice filled with wonder. "Nature itself is attempting to accelerate his recovery."
"More than that," Hamura said, his Tenseigan perceiving something deeper. "Look at the energy flow. Natural energy is being drawn to this location from hundreds of miles away. Animals are unconsciously migrating toward this area. The weather patterns are shifting to bring rain and sunlight in perfect balance. The planet is creating ideal conditions for his healing."
"Because it loves him," Gamamaru said simply. "Because to nature, to the fundamental forces of life itself, the Devas are precious. They're the gardeners who prune back the weeds that would choke everything else. They're the protectors who ensure no single species can consume all others. Nature adores them because they serve the balance."
"Then why doesn't it heal him faster?" Hamura asked. "If nature has this much power, this much affection for him, why let him remain unconscious for however long this takes?"
"Because the poison inside him is fighting back," Katsuyu explained, her pseudopod still extended toward the Deva, still sensing. "Those wounds he carries—they're not just physical damage. They're cursed. Infected with something that actively works against natural healing. Every time his body tries to close the wounds, the corruption spreads. Every time nature channels energy to him, the crimson poison absorbs and perverts it."
"The drop that formed into a serpent," Hagoromo remembered. "When one drop of that corruption touched the ground, it tried to kill us. If his entire body is filled with that poison..."
"He's fighting a war inside himself," the White Snake Sage confirmed. "A war between his natural regeneration—which would normally heal wounds like these in days or weeks—and a curse specifically designed to kill beings like him. The stalemate is what keeps him unconscious. His consciousness is focused entirely on the internal battle."
"How long?" Hamura asked quietly. "How long until he heals? Or until the poison wins?"
Gamamaru's eyes grew distant, accessing prophetic abilities he rarely revealed. "I see... futures. Many futures. In some, he dies here, and his body becomes a source of power that corrupts this world for generations. In others, he wakes in decades, in centuries, in millennia. The timeline branches too much to predict with certainty. But..." he focused his gaze on Hamura and Hagoromo, "I can tell you this: when he does wake, he will remember everything. He will know what happened here, will sense the Ōtsutsuki chakra that now permeates this world, and he will make a choice about what that means."
"A choice about whether to hunt us," Hagoromo said grimly. "About whether humanity counts as Ōtsutsuki because we carry Mother's bloodline."
"Exactly."
The weight of that statement settled over the group. They'd just sealed Kaguya, had just saved the world from harvest, and now they faced the possibility that their salvation might become their doom when the Deva finally recovered.
"The planet is trying to tell us something," Gamamaru said suddenly, his head tilted as if listening to a voice only he could hear. "It's... it's speaking. Not in words, but in impressions, in emotions, in ancient knowledge that predates language."
"What is it saying?" Katsuyu asked, her own limited connection to natural energy not sufficient to perceive what the Toad Sage was hearing.
Gamamaru's eyes closed, his entire being focused on the message nature was conveying. When he finally spoke, his voice carried an weight of absolute truth:
"His name," the Toad Sage said reverently, "is ANANT."
The name resonated through the crater, as if nature itself was confirming the revelation. The flowers blooming around the Deva seemed to grow brighter. The trees rustled their leaves in a sound like applause. The very air vibrated with approval.
"Anant," Hamura repeated softly, testing the word. "What does it mean?"
"In the ancient languages, the ones that existed before humanity developed written speech, Anant means infinite. Endless. Without limit or boundary." Gamamaru opened his eyes, and they were filled with something approaching religious awe. "Nature calls him Anant not as a name but as a description. He is infinite in potential, endless in purpose, without boundary in his capacity to preserve balance."
"Nature is proud of him," Katsuyu said softly, her own connection to life force allowing her to sense the planet's emotional state. "Proud and worried and loving all at once. Like a beloved watching her strongest warrior fight a battle she cannot help with."
The White Snake Sage slithered closer to Anant's unconscious form, her golden eyes studying him with new understanding. "This explains much. The Ōtsutsuki call them Devas—a cold, clinical term. But to the universe itself, they're named individuals. They're beloved being of existence, created for a terrible purpose but cherished nonetheless."
"Should we tell people this?" Hamura asked. "Should we let the world know his name? What he is?"
"No," Hagoromo said firmly. "Absolutely not. If people know his name, they'll romanticize him. Make legends and myths. Eventually, some fool will decide to try waking him early, or studying him, or worse—trying to use his power for their own ends. We need to keep this secret. We need to let him remain unknown."
"Agreed," Gamamaru said. "The knowledge of Anant's existence should be restricted to those with the wisdom to understand what it means and the discipline not to interfere."
"But we need to protect this place," Hamura said, looking around the crater. "If we just leave him here, eventually someone will stumble upon him. Some treasure hunter or explorer or curious shinobi will find their way down here."
"Then we seal the crater," Hagoromo decided. "Not him—attempting to seal Anant would be suicidal. Nature would turn against us, and we'd deserve it. But we can seal the area around him. Make it forbidden. Create barriers that warn people away."
"And if they ignore the warnings?" the White Snake Sage asked.
"Then we make sure those warnings are terrifying enough that only the suicidal or insane would ignore them," Hamura said grimly. "We tell people this land is cursed. That death waits for those who enter. We make it so forbidden that even the bravest warriors think twice before approaching."
"Good plan," Katsuyu approved. "But we need to be careful. The seals must not affect him. Must not draw on his power or attempt to bind him in any way. We're marking the territory as forbidden, not creating a prison."
"Agreed," Hagoromo said. "Brother, your Tenseigan can perceive natural energy flow better than my Rinnegan. Can you design seals that work with nature rather than against it? Seals that redirect rather than contain?"
Hamura studied the crater, his evolved eyes analyzing every flow of energy, every current of natural power that was being drawn to Anant. "Yes," he said finally. "I can create barrier seals that function more like signposts than walls. They'll warn, discourage, create psychological pressure against approaching, but they won't actually stop anyone with sufficient determination. That way, if someone desperately needs to reach this place, they can—but casual explorers will be turned away."
"How long will such seals last?" the White Snake Sage asked.
"Centuries at least," Hamura said. "Perhaps longer if I anchor them to natural energy flows rather than our own chakra. They'll draw power from the planet itself, constantly renewing, constantly maintaining."
"Do it," Hagoromo commanded. "We'll assist you. This needs to be done right the first time—we may never get another chance."
Part Three: The Vigil of the Enlightened
As Hamura began drafting seal designs in the air with his Tenseigan, creating glowing patterns that represented complex metaphysical barriers, the others continued their observation of Anant.
Gamamaru hopped closer, his ancient eyes studying the Deva's face with intense focus. "I've lived for over a thousand years," the Toad Sage said quietly. "I've seen the rise and fall of civilizations. I've watched species evolve and go extinct. I've witnessed moments of beauty and horror that would break lesser minds. But this..." he gestured to Anant, "this being represents something I've never truly encountered before. Pure purpose given form. No doubt, no hesitation, no internal conflict. Just absolute certainty of role and function."
"Is that admirable or terrifying?" Katsuyu asked.
"Both," Gamamaru admitted. "It's admirable because such certainty is rare and powerful. It's terrifying because certainty without flexibility becomes fanaticism. I wonder... does Anant ever question his purpose? Does he ever look at a world half-harvested by Ōtsutsuki and wonder if the remaining civilization deserves to live, or does he simply eliminate all traces of harvester contamination without consideration?"
"That's the question that will determine our fate," Hagoromo said, not looking away from his brother's seal work but clearly listening. "When he wakes—and he will wake eventually—he'll sense the Ōtsutsuki chakra permeating humanity. He'll know that Mother's power has spread across this world. The question is whether he'll see that as contamination to be purged or as something else. Something worth preserving."
"You're hoping he'll distinguish between the Ōtsutsuki and their descendants," the White Snake Sage observed. "That's optimistic."
"It's necessary," Hagoromo corrected. "Because if he doesn't make that distinction, if he decides that anyone carrying Ōtsutsuki blood must die, then everything we've built will be destroyed. Every person I've taught to use chakra, every village that's formed, every advancement humanity has made—all of it will be dust."
"Then you need to leave him a message," Gamamaru said suddenly. "Not a warning or a threat, but a plea. An explanation. Something he'll find when he wakes that might make him pause before rendering judgment."
"What kind of message?" Hamura asked, pausing in his seal work.
"The truth," Gamamaru said simply. "Tell him what happened. Tell him that Kaguya came to this world and fell in love with a human. That she bore children who were hybrids. That those children chose to seal their mother rather than let her harvest the planet. That they distributed her power not to continue the harvest but to give humanity the ability to protect itself. Give him context. Give him reason to consider mercy."
"Do you think it will work?" Katsuyu asked skeptically. "A message from beings he might consider contaminated themselves?"
"I don't know," Gamamaru admitted. "But I know this: Anant is loved by nature. That suggests he's capable of something beyond pure destruction. Something more nuanced than simply eliminating all Ōtsutsuki traces. If nature loves him, then perhaps he has the capacity for discrimination. For judgment that goes beyond black and white."
"Or perhaps nature loves him because he serves balance without mercy," the White Snake Sage countered. "Perhaps nature's idea of love is different from ours. Perhaps it loves him the way one might love a forest fire—destructive, yes, but necessary for renewal."
"Either way," Hagoromo said, "Gamamaru is right. We should leave a message. Carve it in stone, seal it with preservation jutsu, make it impossible to destroy or alter. When Anant wakes, he'll find it. He'll know what choices we made and why. And then... then we hope he chooses mercy."
"I'll prepare the stone," Katsuyu offered. "My healing abilities extend to material preservation. I can ensure whatever message you carve will last for millennia without degradation."
As they worked—Hamura on his barrier seals, Katsuyu on preserving a massive stone monument, Hagoromo composing the message in his mind—the White Snake Sage remained focused on Anant himself.
"The eight gates," she murmured, her golden eyes fixed on the barely visible points of light within the Deva's body. "The Primordial Star Chakra Gates. I've never heard of such things, even in the oldest texts preserved in Ryūchi Cave."
"What exactly are they?" Hagoromo asked, pausing in his mental composition to listen.
"If I had to guess," the White Snake Sage said slowly, "they're the fundamental forces of existence given structure. Creation, preservation, destruction—yes, but also transformation, revelation, concealment, binding, and liberation. Eight forces that underlie all reality, compressed into a form that can be wielded by a biological entity."
"That sounds like something from mythology," Hamura said skeptically.
"All mythology has roots in truth," the Snake Sage countered. "The stories of primordial beings who shaped the cosmos? The tales of gods who could remake reality with a thought? What if those weren't stories? What if they were memories, passed down and distorted over eons, of beings like Anant?"
"You're suggesting the Devas are the origin of creation myths across multiple cultures?" Gamamaru asked, interested.
"I'm suggesting that when beings of sufficient power move through the universe, they leave impressions. Echoes in the collective consciousness of any species intelligent enough to perceive them. Those echoes become stories. Those stories become myths. Those myths become religions. And all of it traces back to moments like this—when something truly cosmic intersects with mundane reality."
Hagoromo felt a shiver run through him. If the White Snake Sage was right, if beings like Anant had been moving through the cosmos for eons, influencing civilizations simply by existing near them... what did that say about the nature of reality itself?
"Focus," he told himself firmly. "One crisis at a time. First, we deal with the immediate problem. Then we can contemplate cosmic philosophy."
"The seals are ready," Hamura announced, his Tenseigan dimming as he released the intensive technique. "Seven major barriers arranged in a heptagon around the crater, each one keyed to natural energy flows. Anyone approaching will feel increasing psychological pressure—not pain, just discomfort. A sense that they're not welcome, that they're moving toward something dangerous. The weak-willed will turn back automatically. The strong-willed will recognize the warning for what it is and hopefully choose to retreat anyway."
"And if they don't retreat?" Gamamaru asked.
"Then they'll reach the crater and see Anant for themselves," Hamura admitted. "At that point, either the sight will terrify them into leaving, or they'll be foolish enough to approach closer. If they touch him..." he trailed off, remembering the crimson serpent that had nearly killed them.
"Then they deserve what happens," the White Snake Sage said coldly. "We can protect against ignorance and bad luck. We cannot protect against willful stupidity."
"The monument is ready," Katsuyu announced. A massive stone slab, perfectly smooth and reinforced at the molecular level, stood at the crater's edge. "Carve your message, Hagoromo. Make it clear. Make it true. Make it something that might save us all when the time comes."
Hagoromo approached the stone, his Rinnegan analyzing its structure, ensuring it would last. Then, using a combination of chakra and simple tools, he began to carve. The message needed to be in multiple languages—the common tongue of this era, but also the ancient scripts that predated human civilization, the symbolic language that conveyed meaning beyond words.
He carved for hours, the others watching in silence, occasionally offering suggestions or corrections. The message grew, taking up the entire surface of the massive stone:
"To Anant, the Infinite, the Beloved of Nature, the Hunter of Harvesters:
I am Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki, son of Kaguya Ōtsutsuki, witness to your arrival, and architect of what will come after.
You arrived on this world in pursuit of my mother, a harvester who sought to drain all life for her own power. By the time you crashed here, wounded by forces unknown, my brother Hamura and I had already sealed her within the moon. We chose to act against our own mother because we understood her purpose was antithetical to life itself.
We are hybrids—half Ōtsutsuki through our mother, half human through our father. We carry harvester blood, but we chose to be protectors instead. This choice defines us and will define our descendants.
I have distributed Mother's chakra across humanity. Not to continue the harvest, but to give ordinary people the power to protect themselves, to connect with each other, to reach for heights they could never achieve alone. This decision may condemn us in your eyes. You may see it as spreading contamination. You may judge that we've merely trained a world of harvesters.
I ask that you reserve judgment until you observe what humanity does with this power. Watch them. See if they choose to consume or to protect. See if they use chakra to drain life or to preserve it.
We are not perfect. We will war among ourselves. We will make terrible mistakes. We will sometimes use power in ways that mirror the Ōtsutsuki. But we will also create beauty, build civilizations, love fiercely, and fight to protect the innocent.
Judge us by our intent, not just our heritage. Judge us by our actions over generations, not just moments of failure.
Nature loves you. We've felt it. We've seen how the planet responds to your presence. If nature can love a being designed for destruction, perhaps you can find mercy for beings trying to be more than their bloodline suggests.
When you wake, the world will be different. Centuries will have passed. Perhaps millennia. Humans will have spread across these lands, building villages and nations, using chakra in ways I cannot predict. Some will be noble. Some will be corrupt. Most will be somewhere in between—just trying to survive, to protect their loved ones, to find meaning in brief lives.
Please remember: we chose. When given the option to continue Mother's harvest or seal her away, we chose preservation over consumption. We chose the harder path because it was right.
I hope our descendants prove worthy of that choice.
I hope you find them deserving of life.
— Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki, First Year of the New Age"*
When he finished, Hagoromo stepped back, looking at the message carved in stone. It was both plea and explanation, both hope and resignation. It was all he could offer to a being whose judgment might one day determine the fate of the entire world.
"It's good," Gamamaru said quietly. "Honest. Neither groveling nor arrogant. It states facts and asks for consideration. That's all you can do."
"Will it be enough?" Hamura asked.
"We'll find out," the White Snake Sage said. "In time. Everything becomes clear with enough time."
Katsuyu moved forward, secreting a special compound over the carved stone. "This will seal the message, prevent weathering, keep it legible no matter how many centuries pass. When Anant wakes and his eyes fall on this stone, he'll be able to read it as clearly as if it were carved yesterday."
"Then we're done here," Hagoromo said, though he felt anything but finished. "Brother, are you ready to activate the barrier seals?"
Hamura nodded, already weaving hand signs. The seven seals around the crater began to glow, connecting with lines of energy, forming a pattern that was part warning and part protection. The effect was immediate—the air itself seemed to grow heavier near the crater's edge, carrying a whisper of danger that would only intensify for anyone attempting to proceed further.
"The barriers will hold," Hamura confirmed. "And they'll strengthen over time as they draw more natural energy. Eventually, this will become known as a cursed place. A forbidden zone. Most people will avoid it without even understanding why."
"Good," Hagoromo said. Then he turned to face his brother fully. "Hamura... I need you to do something. Something that will separate us, probably for the rest of our lives."
Hamura's newly awakened Tenseigan fixed on his brother, reading the seriousness in Hagoromo's expression. "What are you asking?"
"Go to the moon," Hagoromo said quietly. "Stay there. Watch over Mother's seal. Ensure she never escapes. Ensure that if she does somehow break free, you're there to reseal her before she can reach Earth."
"You want me to exile myself?" Hamura's voice was carefully neutral.
"I want you to be the final guardian," Hagoromo corrected. "Brother, you've awakened the Tenseigan. That power is specifically suited to countering Mother's abilities. On the moon, you'll be able to maintain the seal, strengthen it, ensure it lasts for generations. I'll stay on Earth, guide humanity, teach them to use chakra wisely. Between us, we'll protect this world from both internal and external threats."
"And if Anant wakes while you're down here and I'm up there?" Hamura asked.
"Then you'll be safe," Hagoromo said bluntly. "If he decides to purge all Ōtsutsuki blood from Earth, if he judges us unworthy, someone needs to survive to preserve our knowledge. To warn future generations. To ensure that what we learned isn't lost."
Hamura was silent for a long moment, understanding the weight of what his brother was asking. Finally, he nodded. "I'll go. I'll watch over Mother. I'll preserve the Tenseigan's power in my bloodline so that future Ōtsutsuki can maintain the seal. But Hagoromo... make sure our sacrifice means something. Make sure humanity becomes worthy of survival."
"I will," Hagoromo promised. "Or I'll die trying."
The brothers embraced, both knowing this might be the last time they stood together on Earth's surface. When they separated, there were tears on both their faces, but also determination.
"What about us?" Gamamaru asked. "What role do the animal kingdoms play in this grand plan?"
"Return to your sanctuaries," Hagoromo said. "Preserve this knowledge in your own ways. When the time is right—when humans appear who are worthy—teach them. Train them. Pass on the wisdom you've accumulated. But be selective. Not everyone deserves to know about Anant. Not everyone can handle the weight of that knowledge."
"We'll be selective," the White Snake Sage promised. "Very selective. The humans we teach will be the exceptional ones. The ones who might make a difference when it matters most."
"And we'll watch," Katsuyu added. "We'll observe humanity's development from our respective domains. If we see them straying too far into harvester behavior, we'll find ways to correct course. Subtly. Through the humans we choose to guide."
"Thank you," Hagoromo said, bowing to each of the Great Sages in turn. "Your wisdom and your patience may be what saves us all in the end."
"Or condemns us," Gamamaru said with typical toad pessimism. "Time will tell. It always does."
Part Four: The Parting of Ways
They stood at the crater's edge one final time, the five of them—two brothers who'd just sealed their mother and changed the course of history, and three ancient animals who'd witnessed more cycles of rise and fall than any mortal should endure.
Below them, surrounded by flowering plants and growing trees, Anant slept on. The crimson corruption still wept from his wounds, but slower now, less aggressively. His body's natural healing was beginning to win the internal war, though the process would take years. Decades. Perhaps centuries.
But he would win. They all sensed it. Death was not Anant's fate. Recovery was merely delayed, not prevented.
"One more thing," Gamamaru said suddenly. "A prophecy. Or a warning. I'm not sure which."
Everyone turned to face the ancient toad.
"I've been having dreams," Gamamaru continued. "Visions of possible futures. In most of them, Anant wakes during a time of great conflict. A war that engulfs the entire shinobi world. In those timelines, his awakening coincides with humanity's lowest moment—when we're proving through our actions that we're nothing more than harvesters with delusions of nobility."
"That's... concerning," Hagoromo said carefully.
"But in a few timelines—rare ones, precious ones—he wakes to find humans defending each other. Sacrificing themselves for strangers. Using power not to take but to protect. In those timelines..." Gamamaru paused, his ancient eyes distant, "in those timelines, he smiles. And the world survives."
"So our fate is already determined?" Hamura asked.
"No," Gamamaru said firmly. "The future is never set. I see possibilities, not certainties. The timeline that manifests depends on the choices made by everyone between now and then. That's why your message matters, Hagoromo. That's why your teachings matter. That's why every human who learns to use chakra needs to understand that they're not just learning techniques—they're determining whether our species survives when judgment comes."
"No pressure then," the White Snake Sage said dryly.
"Appropriate pressure," Gamamaru corrected. "This is literally about species survival. People should feel pressured."
"I'll make sure they understand," Hagoromo promised. "I'll build a philosophy around chakra use. Teach people that power is a responsibility, not a right. That the ability to take life comes with the obligation to preserve it. I'll make ninshu—the sect that connects all people—into a force for understanding rather than conflict."
"And when humans inevitably corrupt that philosophy and turn it into pure warfare?" the White Snake Sage asked. "Because they will. Humans always do."
"Then I hope future generations remember enough of the original intent to course-correct," Hagoromo said. "That's all I can do. Plant the seeds of wisdom and hope they grow into something worthy."
"Speaking of seeds," Katsuyu said, looking at Anant, "we should go. The longer we linger, the more likely someone else will sense the concentration of power here and investigate. We've done what we can. Now we trust that nature will protect him until he's ready to wake."
One by one, they prepared to depart.
Hamura was the first to leave, using his newly awakened Tenseigan to lift himself toward the moon. The journey would take time, even with his enhanced abilities, but he'd make it. And once there, he'd establish a colony, a bloodline, a legacy of guardians who would watch over Kaguya's seal for generations.
The three Great Sages vanished in their own unique ways. Gamamaru reverse-summoned himself back to Mount Myōboku, taking with him memories of this day that he'd preserve in prophecy and teaching. The White Snake Sage slithered into shadows, returning to Ryūchi Cave where she'd wait for humans worthy of her savage wisdom. Katsuyu split into millions of smaller slugs, each one carrying a fragment of her consciousness back to Shikkotsu Forest.
That left Hagoromo alone at the crater's edge.
He looked down at Anant one final time, studying the being who held humanity's fate in his wounded hands. The Deva looked peaceful in his forced slumber, almost human despite the impossible power contained within him.
"I don't know if you can hear me," Hagoromo said quietly. "I don't know if your consciousness extends beyond your body even in this state. But if you can... know this: we're trying. We're imperfect and flawed and sometimes we fail spectacularly. But we're trying to be better than our bloodline suggests. We're trying to prove that choice matters more than heritage."
The wind picked up, rustling the flowers around Anant. For a moment, Hagoromo could have sworn he saw the Deva's expression shift—just slightly, just enough to suggest that perhaps, on some level, his words were being heard.
"When you wake," Hagoromo continued, "I hope you find a world worth preserving. I hope my descendants prove worthy of the trust I'm placing in them. And if they don't... if they fail... please remember that we tried. That counts for something, doesn't it? The effort, even if the outcome disappoints?"
No answer came. Hagoromo hadn't expected one. But he felt slightly better for having spoken, for having offered one final plea to a being who might one day decide the fate of everyone he'd ever loved.
He turned away from the crater, toward the human settlements that needed guidance and leadership. Toward the future he'd help build, one teaching at a time, one student at a time, one generation at a time.
Behind him, the barriers activated fully, settling into place with a soft hum of energy. The crater became forbidden ground. The message carved in stone remained, waiting for eyes that might not read it for a thousand years.
And Anant slept on, dreaming dreams of cosmic hunts while his body slowly, inexorably, won its battle against corruption.
Nature kept vigil. The flowers bloomed brighter. The trees grew taller. The earth itself seemed to breathe in rhythm with the sleeping Deva, patient as only the planet could be, knowing that time meant nothing to forces as fundamental as this.
Somewhere on the moon, Hamura felt his brother's presence fade as Hagoromo walked away from the crater. He understood the symbolism. Their paths had diverged. One would watch from above, the other would work from below. Two brothers, two guardians, two halves of a whole protecting a world from threats both internal and cosmic.
In Mount Myōboku, Gamamaru began composing prophecies, weaving the day's events into predictions and warnings that would guide summons and summoners for centuries to come.
In Ryūchi Cave, the White Snake Sage carved the story into the deepest walls, preserving it in a place where only the most dedicated students would ever find it.
In Shikkotsu Forest, Katsuyu distributed the memories among her fragments, ensuring that no single catastrophe could erase knowledge of this day from the world.
The guardians had taken their positions. The stage was set. The countdown had begun, though no one knew exactly how long that countdown would run.
Years? Decades? Centuries? Millennia?
When would Anant wake?
When would humanity face its judgment?
When would the choice made today—to distribute power, to build civilization on a foundation of stolen chakra—be evaluated by the one being who could end it all?
Time would tell.
It always did.
And in the meantime, life went on. Humans learned to use chakra, formed clans, built villages, warred and loved and lived and died, all unknowing of the sleeping judge in the forbidden crater.
All unaware that their every choice, their every action, their every use of the power Hagoromo had given them, was determining whether they deserved to survive when the hunter finally woke.
The world turned. Seasons changed. Generations rose and fell.
And Anant dreamed on, beloved by nature, feared by those who knew, unknown to those who didn't.
Epilogue: The Dreams of the Infinite
Deep within Anant's dormant consciousness, a battle raged.
The crimson corruption that infested his wounds was not merely poison—it was sentient malice, a curse crafted specifically to kill beings like him. Every molecule of the vile energy worked to prevent healing, to spread decay, to ensure that the Deva would never wake.
But Anant's body was designed by forces older than conscious thought. The Eight Primordial Star Chakra Gates within him represented fundamental aspects of existence itself, and corruption—no matter how potent—could not overcome fundamentals forever.
The First Gate, the Gate of Creation, pulsed with golden light. It was trying to generate new tissue, to rebuild what the corruption destroyed. Each pulse sent waves of regenerative energy through Anant's system, knitting flesh, reconnecting neural pathways, restoring function to damaged organs that no human physician could even name.
The Second Gate, the Gate of Preservation, worked to maintain what the First created. It crystallized healing around corrupted areas, isolating the poison, preventing it from spreading to freshly regenerated tissue. It was the dam that held back the flood, the wall that kept destruction contained.
The Third Gate, the Gate of Destruction, was paradoxically working to save him. It targeted the corruption itself, breaking down the malicious energy molecule by molecule, rendering it inert, converting it from active poison to harmless residue. But this process was slow—the corruption had been designed by something that understood Devas, that knew how their power functioned.
The Fourth Gate, the Gate of Transformation, converted the neutralized corruption into usable energy. Nothing was truly destroyed in the universe—only transformed. The malice that sought to kill Anant became fuel for his recovery, a bitter irony that the corruption itself was enabling his eventual awakening.
The Fifth Gate, the Gate of Revelation, analyzed the corruption's structure. It was learning, understanding, ensuring that if Anant ever encountered this specific curse again, his body would immediately know how to counter it. This was how Devas survived the cosmos—not through invulnerability, but through adaptation. What wounded them once rarely succeeded twice.
The Sixth Gate, the Gate of Concealment, hid Anant's presence from those who might seek to finish what the corruption started. It suppressed his energy signature, made him appear to be nothing more than a peculiar geological formation to casual observers. Only those with the deepest connection to natural energy could sense what he truly was—and nature protected its beloved.
The Seventh Gate, the Gate of Binding, held everything together. It prevented the other gates from overwhelming his biological structure, maintained the balance between his mortal form and the cosmic power it contained. Without this gate, Anant would simply dissolve into pure energy, becoming something too fundamental to interact with physical reality.
The Eighth Gate, the Gate of Liberation, waited. It was not active, not yet. This gate would only open when the healing was complete, when Anant was ready to wake fully and resume his purpose. It was the lock that kept his consciousness dormant, protecting his mind while his body fought its battle.
Together, the Eight Gates worked in harmony, a symphony of fundamental forces directed toward a single goal: survival.
In his dreams, Anant relived memories of hunts across the cosmos. He saw worlds saved and worlds lost. He remembered Ōtsutsuki falling before his power, their impossible strength meaning nothing against a being specifically designed to end them. He recalled the faces of civilizations he'd preserved, species he'd given second chances, planets that now thrived because he'd arrived in time.
But mixed into these memories were newer impressions. The face of a woman with three eyes, powerful and terrified, attempting to flee his arrival. The sensation of being wounded by forces that should not have been able to harm him. The impact of crashing into this world, the pain of corruption spreading through his system.
And something else. Two faces. Young faces. Children looking at him with awe and terror and something that might have been compassion. He remembered their offer—help, even to a monster. Even to a predator.
Interesting, a part of his consciousness thought. This world breeds unusual humans.
The thought crystallized, became something his waking self would remember. When he finally opened his eyes, whenever that might be, he would recall those two children. He would wonder what became of them. He would be curious about a world that could produce humans who offered aid to something that terrified them.
Curiosity was not an emotion Devas often experienced. Purpose was their nature. Hunting was their function. But this world—this strange, small world on the edge of an unremarkable galaxy—had planted a seed of curiosity in him.
He wanted to see what grew from that seed.
The corruption in his wounds pulsed maliciously, sensing his growing consciousness, redoubling its efforts to drag him back down into full dormancy. The battle was far from over. Years remained. Decades. Perhaps centuries.
But the outcome was no longer in doubt. The Eight Gates were winning. Slowly, inexorably, fundamentally, they were prevailing over the curse.
Anant would wake.
The only question was when.
And what he would find when he did.
Meanwhile, across the world, in a small settlement that would one day become the Hidden Leaf Village, Hagoromo sat with his first students. They were young, eager, hungry for the power he offered. They didn't understand yet that power came with responsibility. That every technique he taught them was a test of character as much as skill.
"Chakra," Hagoromo explained, his Rinnegan reflecting the firelight, "is not just energy. It's connection. It's the recognition that all living things are part of a greater whole. When you use chakra, you're not just manipulating your own life force—you're interacting with the fundamental network that connects everything."
"But Sensei," one student asked, "if we're all connected, why do we fight? Why do clans war against each other?"
Hagoromo smiled sadly. "Because connection doesn't mean sameness. It doesn't mean we automatically understand or agree with each other. Connection just means we're all part of the same system. How we interact within that system—whether we choose cooperation or conflict—that's up to us."
"What would you choose?" another student pressed. "If you had to fight or cooperate?"
Hagoromo looked up at the moon, where his brother kept eternal vigil. "I'd choose cooperation. Every time. But I'd also prepare for the reality that not everyone makes the same choice. That's the burden of consciousness—we can choose our path, but we can't choose the paths of others. We can only respond to their choices and hope that, over time, wisdom prevails."
The students absorbed this, each interpreting the lesson in their own way. Some heard a call to peace. Others heard permission to prepare for war. Some understood the nuance of both being necessary.
Hagoromo watched them, these first students who would carry his teachings forward, and wondered. Would they understand? Would they grasp that chakra was a gift with strings attached? That every use of power was a vote for what kind of world they wanted to live in?
He hoped so.
Because someday, possibly long after he was gone, their descendants would be judged. Not by him. Not by any mortal authority.
By something far older and far more implacable.
By Anant.
By the Infinite.
By nature's beloved hunter who slept in a forbidden crater, healing from wounds that should have killed him, dreaming dreams of cosmic purpose while the world he'd crashed into slowly forgot he existed.
Hagoromo finished his lesson, dismissed his students, and sat alone by the fire. He'd done what he could. Planted seeds of wisdom. Created frameworks for using power responsibly. Left messages for a being who might not read them for millennia.
Now all he could do was trust.
Trust that humans would choose well more often than they chose poorly.
Trust that the cumulative weight of good choices would outweigh the inevitable bad ones.
Trust that when judgment came, his species would be found worthy.
It was a lot to trust.
But what else could he do?
He was just one man, trying to guide a species toward a future that might never come. Trying to prepare them for a threat they didn't know existed. Trying to give them the tools to survive without explaining why survival might one day be a question rather than a certainty.
It was an impossible task.
But Hagoromo had learned, in his battle against his mother, that impossible just meant difficult.
And difficult meant worth attempting.
So he would try.
For as long as his life lasted, he would try.
And when he finally died, he'd pass the duty to others. His children. Their children. Generation after generation, each one carrying forward the mission without fully understanding its importance.
Until the day came when understanding was forced upon them.
Until the day Anant woke.
Until the day humanity faced its defining moment.
The fire burned low. Stars wheeled overhead. The moon hung in the sky, a reminder of the goddess sealed within and the brother who guarded her.
And far away, in a crater surrounded by blooming flowers and growing trees, protected by barriers that whispered warnings and nature's own fierce love, Anant slept on.
Dreaming.
Healing.
Waiting.
The Infinite would wake.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for centuries yet.
But inevitably.
Inexorably.
Eventually.
And when he did, the world would discover whether Hagoromo's gamble had paid off.
Whether humans carrying Ōtsutsuki blood could truly be protectors.
Whether choice mattered more than heritage.
Whether mercy was possible for beings designed for judgment.
The Eight Primordial Star Chakra Gates pulsed within Anant's sleeping form, keeping time with the heartbeat of the universe itself. Creation. Preservation. Destruction. Transformation. Revelation. Concealment. Binding. Liberation.
Eight forces working in harmony to ensure that the hunter would wake.
Eight promises that judgment would come.
Eight guarantees that humanity's fate was not yet sealed.
The cosmic clock ticked forward.
Nature kept vigil.
And the world—unknowing, innocent, unprepared—continued its dance of life and death, war and peace, love and loss.
All unaware that they were being saved for a reckoning that might be centuries in the making.
All ignorant of the test they would someday face.
All innocent of the knowledge that their every action was determining their verdict in a trial that hadn't yet begun.
The Infinite slept.
And in sleeping, gave humanity the gift of time.
Time to grow. Time to learn. Time to prove themselves.
Or time to fail.
Which would it be?
Even Gamamaru's prophecies couldn't say for certain.
Even the universe itself seemed curious about the outcome.
All anyone could do was wait.
And hope.
And trust that when the moment came, when Anant's golden eyes finally opened again, humans would be found worthy of the life they'd been given.
The story was not over.
It was barely beginning.
But the ending had been set in motion the moment Anant crashed into this world.
Now it was just a matter of time.
And time, for beings like Anant, was infinite.
Hence the name.
Hence the nature.
Hence the inevitable awakening that would define everything that came after.
The Infinite slept.
But not forever.
Never forever.
Just... until the right moment arrived.