It was time.
A time that arrived only once every decade. A time etched into the secret calendars of the most powerful bloodlines that ever walked Prithvi—the Decadal Clan Meeting of the Saptavansh.
Across oceans and borders, from the frostbitten peaks of the north to the burning sands of the south, the strongest men and women born of ancient clans had begun to gather. Not kings, not emperors, but something greater—the true architects of the world order. Cloaked in legend and power, these were the descendants of the Saptavansh—the Seven Clans of Protection—each clan led by a Head, each representing an ancient bloodline that had once stood against extinction, against gods and monsters alike.
The meeting would decide the fate of the world. Not in public policy or international treaties, but in decisions whispered between giants, written not in ink but in destiny.
This decade, the stakes were higher than ever. The balance of power was shifting, supernatural tremors were being felt in corners of the earth unknown to most, and the War—the one that came every eon—was nearing once again.
The room chosen for the assembly was no ordinary chamber. Deep in Diwankula, a hidden town in the heart of the Malwai Empire, the true origin of the Saptavansh, stood the Hall of Origins—an ancient sanctum built from the stones of a forgotten age. The very soil beneath the hall was said to remember the Creator's footsteps.
Five members from each clan, including the Clan Head, took their places at the obsidian round table. The air was heavy, not just with tension, but with power. Each of these warriors, scholars, mystics, and strategists held more influence than the world leaders whose signatures decorated peace accords. The irony was cruel—world governments called the shots, but these clans pulled the strings.
At the center of it all sat Pannival Mahaji Malwai, emperor of the mighty Malwai Empire and Angkasa Jayantaka, the Leader of the Seven Clans. Though rulers of nations bowed before him in public, it was in this chamber that his true sovereignty reigned. Pannival alone had the authority to summon or dissolve this sacred council at an emergency—and he had just invoked his most sacred right: the Veto of the Leader.
Pannival stood at the window, his golden robe fluttering softly as the clock's hands struck four.
"Four in the evening..." he murmured, his voice deep, deliberate, and commanding, "...Devon, it is time—time to decide the future of this world."
He turned slowly to face the tall man standing beside him—Devon Mahabel, his most trusted aide and the prime minister. Pannival's gaze was unwavering.
"There have been too many developments since the last Council. We couldn't afford to wait for the prescribed date. Waiting even a month more... might have been fatal. So, I invoked my Veto to prepone the meeting. Whether they are ready or not—the fate of Prithvi is already moving."
Devon bowed slightly, his silver cloak brushing the stone floor. "This is for the best, my lord. The clans must hear the truth before it's too late."
"And they will," Pannival replied.
At the far end of the hall, Maqbir Mahoraga, the host of the meeting and Clan Head of the Mahoragas, the second strongest among the Saptavansh, stood still like a blade waiting to be drawn. His presence was sharp, solemn, and battle-worn. The other clan heads nodded respectfully as they entered—no greetings, no banter. Not today.
Maqbir's eyes swept the chamber. His thoughts were storming—but his stance was calm.
"This meeting will not be like those before," he said under his breath. "This is no longer about the protection of the world... but its salvation."
As the final representatives arrived, the Hall of Origins trembled slightly—whether from the sheer power gathered within or from the world outside collapsing, none could say.
But one truth remained—
The strongest had gathered. The world would never be the same again.
All had taken their seats—twenty-five figures of immense power, each a cornerstone of their respective clans, seated around the vast, obsidian table. Silence gripped the chamber like a sacred oath. The Leader of the Seven Clans—the ancient title held above all—sat still at the apex of the table, his presence quiet yet absolute. But even he remained silent, nodding respectfully for another to begin.
Pannival Mahaji Malwai, Emperor of the Malwai Empire and the only man with a known direct bloodline to the Originals, stood.
He placed one hand upon the obsidian table, and his voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"I am Pannival of the Malwai Empire. Mahaji Malwai. Most of you know me... you know my blood, my legacy, and my role in the foundations of the Saptavansh.But there are new faces among us today—new blood, new power.So let me speak of origins. Let me remind you all... who we are.With your permission."
The members responded not with words, but with a thunderous slapping of open palms against the obsidian—a formal sign of consent and respect in the ancient diplomatic code of the Seven Clans.
Pannival nodded once, then stepped forward. The fire of memory glinted in his eyes.
"Roughly seven thousand years ago, our ancestors first arrived on this planet—Prithvi.But this world is far older than we are.Ten thousand years ago, long before we ever laid foot on it, Prithvi was devastated by a catastrophe so vast, so absolute, that all known life was extinguished in a single breath of destruction.Everything—gone.Except for one tribe."
He paused, letting the silence ring.
"In the far south of what is now called Novarica, a people known as the Novari survived. Their existence was a miracle—some say a divine error. The name Novarica comes from them, though few today even remember why.
The Novari were not like others. They possessed power—mythical power—believed to have come from their communion with the raw essence of the cosmos itself.I am of that bloodline.The last pure Novari line flows in me."
His voice thundered with divine weight. Many at the table leaned in now, riveted, even those who had heard the tale before.
"Three thousand years passed. Prithvi's skies cleared. Its wounds healed. And then—they came.Not gods. Not angels.Humans.From a distant planet called Dharti—one of the nine Earths of our universe.They arrived as part of an exploratory mission… but what they found changed everything.Prithvi had become livable once more."
Pannival walked slowly along the circular table as he spoke, letting each word sink like iron into the hearts of those present.
"Originally, the plan was simple: Prithvi would become a haven for the elite, a second cradle. But politics—greed—sabotaged that plan. Instead, it became a dumping ground.A mass deportation was issued. The lower class, the undesired, were cast off from Dharti and abandoned here. No technology. No weapons. No hope. Just soil, stone, and sky.But there was one contingency.Eleven men and women. Friends. Scientists. Visionaries.They were sent with the exiles—not to rule, but to guide. Their mission:'Rebuild civilization. From nothing. With nothing.'"
He now stood at the center of the chamber, eyes locked with Maqbir Mahoraga, the host and Clan Head of the Mahoragas. There was something unspoken exchanged in that look.
"Those eleven did more than rebuild.They created the foundation of the Seven Clans.Their children, their students, their ideals... evolved into the Saptavansh.And now, we, the descendants of both gods and mortals, must decide the fate of this world once more."
Pannival placed his hand back upon the obsidian surface. His voice lowered but intensified:
"This meeting is not ceremonial. This is not tradition.This... is war council.The cosmos shifts. The Rulers stir.And if we do not decide now—if we do not unite now—then we may never sit at this table again."
Silence.
And then—another roar of hands against the stone.
The Decadal Meeting had officially begun.
The Leader of the Seven Clans, Angkasa Jayantaka, rose from his seat with a commanding aura that seemed to press against the very air.
"Very well, Mahaji," he said.
He was the only one who dared address the Pannival by his first name—and no one ever interrupted him for it. Authority rested not in words but in presence, and Angkasa's presence was undeniable.
"If you have chosen to speak of our past… then I must continue the tale you left incomplete. May I?"
A single palm struck the obsidian table, followed by another, and another—until the room thundered with a wall of rhythmic affirmation.
Angkasa stepped forward, eyes smoldering with memory.
"The Eleven Scientists—the founders of our legacy—were: Akatsuki and Akasaka,Mahoraga and Mayagi,Azhura and Ahara,Adamus and Elsa,Sifon and Xinpa…And me—Angkasa."
He paused. The chamber had grown still, even the air dared not stir.
"After we arrived on Prithvi, our vessel—our only bridge back to Dharti—was destroyed. Not by accident. Not by nature.But by a force that should not have existed…The Rulers of the Universe—beings from the Realm of Darkness—descended upon us. With power that defied reason, they reduced our settlement to ash and flame.They didn't come to conquer.They came to warn."
His voice dropped, deep and cold.
"'This is a courtesy call,' they said.'We will return.'"
Angkasa began pacing the circle, his eyes scanning the leaders.
"We were scientists. Dreamers. Logicians.Not warriors. Not killers.But survival leaves no room for pride."
A low murmur rippled through the chamber. Even those who had heard the tale before were enthralled.
"Then came a man named Salva Novaria, the spokesperson of the Novari. He stepped forward, radiating calm.He said, 'We can train you. We know how to defeat them. But we need your strength.'I asked him, 'Aren't you afraid? We're strangers who arrived from the stars, crashing into your world.'He smiled and replied,'We have faced extinction. We have nothing left to fear. But we also have no reason to fight you. Let us fight with you.'And so—we bowed. We submitted ourselves to their discipline."
He stopped walking.
"For three years, we trained under the Novari. What we became… was no longer human.Our bodies had adapted. Our minds sharpened beyond comprehension. We evolved—not just physically, but spiritually. We became something the universe had not seen before."
And then, his voice grew cold again.
"The Rulers returned.And this time, we were ready."
[To be Continued in Chapter 36]