They say the world is bound by fate.
The gods wove it long ago, a chain of threads stretching across every soul, every star, every breath. Fate is what holds the heavens steady, what keeps the seasons turning, what makes tomorrow certain. It is order, peaceful… and absolute.
But fate was not born to protect us. It was born as a prison for someone, and the people were dragged in it.
Long ago, the gods forged fate to bind the God of Chaos. For as long as fate exists, chaos cannot — and so the God of Chaos remains frozen in silence, stripped of power, a shadow sealed away. That is the law of this world. That is the law written into us all, at least that's how the fairy tale goes.
I was born into House Gravitas — nobles of weight, of pull, of responsibility… blessed by fate. Gravity itself bends to my bloodline. They call us respected. They call us steady. Yet I have always felt these invisible chains more keenly than others.
And as I lay beneath the night sky, with the grass cool against my back and the moon resting in my palm, I thought of those chains.
One day, I will grow wings… metaphorically, of course.
Not angelic wings sung of in myths, not the pure and radiant wings that belong to saints. No… mine will be wings forged from failure, from ruin, from every scar I endured.
Each feather will be a burden I carried. Each thread, the pain I swallowed in silence.
My wings will not be beautiful… they will be unyielding.
I do not seek heaven's approval. I do not seek to play the role of an angel.
I want wings to fly freely — to rise above fate, to defy chains, to carve my own path through the skies.
And if the world dares to burn me down again and again, I will only stitch stronger wings from the ashes.
And When I take flight… not even fate will stop me.