In a massive mansion, a young woman stood at the center of a ritual circle deep beneath its foundations. She looked up at the empty void and let out a single tear as she began to pray:
"O' great mother;
Queen of prosperous lands and vast seas;
Grant this virtuous follower a passage from which;
I can flourish."
As the woman finished her prayer, nothing happened.
A man's voice echoed from across the room.
"Another failure. What has become of the rising star of the Seraphyne household? I'm sure that dear father must be at his wits' end—how could a promising talent like you be rejected by every single god in the book? I mean, what kind of sin could you have committed to earn that kind of reaction from all of them? Even the neutral gods won't let a talent like you walk their path."
The woman glared at the man with mixed emotions and muttered beneath her breath, "Easy for you to say, Ivor... you were accepted by almost all 29…"
The man snickered and said, "What was that? I couldn't hear you even with my blessed ears."
The woman got up and left the room. The man sat in silence for a moment, then burst out in a silent rage—transforming the room into ice before restoring it to normal in an instant.
"Why can't they see Cait's talent…" he muttered to himself.
Caitlyn walked up nine flights of stairs and finally reached a gorgeous mansion filled with paintings of landscapes and a maid around every hall. A group of maids carrying laundry passed her, muttering as they went:
"Did she fail again? Why doesn't she just give up? I mean, she's already rich. Just marry another noble and she'll be set for life."
Caitlyn looked visibly upset as she climbed yet another flight of stairs. When she reached the top, she headed down the left hallway and opened two massive doors to enter her bedroom. As she threw herself onto the bed, her thoughts spiraled.
"Everyone in my family are travelers… why can't I become one too? Why won't any of the gods accept me?"
She stared at the ceiling, thinking deeply, her mind drifting back to everything she knew about the world.
"Everyone in my family had become travelers. They had gods watching over them, guiding them down their chosen Pathways—fire, water, wind, or something rarer. But me? I couldn't even take the first step.
In this world, power wasn't a gift—it was a contract. You needed a god's favor. And only the noble houses had the means to form those pacts. Born into it? Lucky. Married into it? Strategic. Worked for it? Maybe. But even then, the gods chose who to accept.
Then there were the Ascended—the ones who didn't need permission. Born already attuned, they just... knew. They could walk a Path without even trying.
I had tried everything, and still, nothing. And worse, there were the Abnormals. Pathways without gods. Truth, Foresight, Judgement—powers that came with no warning and no rules. Dangerous and rare, but undeniable.
Every Pathway had Steps—levels you had to climb. The more steps, the harder it was to rise. But if you slipped, even once… that was it. You become marked by sin. A hollowed, mindless version of yourself—a twisted and dangerous creature that makes even monsters shriek back in fear.
Everyone knows the risk. You either rise... or you lose everything."
Caitlyn rolled over to her side and stared toward the window, then at her dresser, where a crystal ball shimmered faintly in the dark. Her thoughts drifted once again—this time, to her late grandmother, who had died twelve years ago.
A young Caitlyn, around six years old, sat upon the lap of a woman shrouded in a gray fog. They gazed at the stars through the bedroom window. Her grandmother placed her hands beneath Caitlyn's, palms up, and recited an incantation:
"King of the Starry Night;
Father of creation;
I, Cleo, beseech thee;
Bring forth a gemstone which shines as brightly
As the look in my granddaughter Caitlyn's eyes."
The stars in the sky shifted to form the figure of a man. He slowly outstretched his hands and blew, causing a bright light—like a shooting star—to fall from the heavens into Cleo's waiting palms. It became a crystal-like ball, a one-of-a-kind gem.
Young Caitlyn smiled and hugged her grandmother. As the memory faded, tears streamed down her face.
"I miss you, Grandma Cleo…" she whispered.
Caitlyn cried herself to sleep. The crystal ball on her dresser stopped glistening.
Then, from somewhere unseen, a man's voice echoed.
"I miss her too… Caitlyn—"
In an endless void, an older man—roughly in his thirties—could be seen lying down with his arms behind his head, staring up at the dark ceiling.
"If they won't help you… I will…"