Within a distant otherworldly space, there was only grayish-white desolation. An endless river descended from the far horizon, its source unknown, its destination unknown.
Day after day, the black-clad ferryman traveled back and forth between the riverbanks, delivering numb, listless souls to the true land of the dead.
Beside the river, a towering mountain emitted a gentle glow—the only light in this desolate world.
At the mountain's summit stood a young immortal in white, calmly gazing into the distance. In his sight, batches of newly arrived souls wandered about in confusion, following some special summons as they slowly made their way toward the River Styx.
Nine Truth-Seeking Orbs floated behind him. He raised a hand and touched the horn atop his head, as though pondering something, sinking into thought.
Suddenly, a roar sounded from the depths of his soul, and his expression abruptly changed. It was a roar only he could hear, and a sensation he had never forgotten in all his life.
"This feeling is..." He raised his head, his pure white eyes seeming to pierce through layer upon layer of spatial barriers to witness what was happening in the Main World.
"The Ten-Tails has been resurrected... So this day has finally come, Big Brother." He murmured, turning his gaze toward the other end of the River Styx. Then, the Sage of Six Paths was nowhere to be seen upon the mountain.
Before his eyes, a white figure rapidly flew over from the opposite bank. A gentle radiance emanated from its body, utterly out of place in this desolate world.
The figure stopped at the riverbank. The black-clad ferryman also paused his oars, then, after giving it some thought, continued toward the opposite shore. Once he delivered a boatload of souls across, the immortal in white swiftly came forward