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, eternal… and absolute.
But fate was not born to protect us.
It was born as a prison for someone — and humanity was dragged into its chains.
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, sealed away.
That is the law of this world.
At least… that's how the fairy tale goes.
I lay on my back, staring at the heavens. The stars shimmered softly, the moon glowed pale and gentle.
Around me, the quiet field was alive with small companions — tiny white furballs rolling through the grass, squeaking as they chased each other. A chipmunk-like creature tugged at my dark hair with playful persistence. On my stomach perched a strange white owl with catlike ears and a long tail, its golden eyes fixed on the sky beside me.
Their warmth filled the silence, but even surrounded by them, I couldn't shake that fairy tale from my mind.
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 that vast night, with the cool grass beneath me and my hand reaching up toward the stars, I thought of those chains.
One day, I will grow wings — metaphorically, of course.
Not angelic ones sung of in hymns, not radiant wings meant for saints. Mine will be forged from failure, from ruin, from every scar I've carried.
Each feather, a burden I endured.
Each thread, a pain I swallowed in silence.
My wings won't be beautiful.
But they will be unyielding.
I don't seek heaven's approval.
I want wings to fly freely — to rise above fate, to break the chains, to carve my own sky.
And if the world burns me down again and again, I'll only stitch stronger wings from the ashes.
And when I take flight...
Not even fate will stop me.
My name is Astri Funtin Gravitas.
And right now — I'm dying.
"Gods, I'm so tired!" I shouted, collapsing face-first into the dirt.
My lungs burned. My arms shook. Dust and grime clung to my sweat-soaked clothes. Chains were wrapped tight around my waist, and the battered training dummies around me seemed to mock every breath I took.
"Tsk, tsk," came my father's voice, steady and calm as ever. "Stand up, Astri. How do you expect to survive at Temperance if you collapse at this level of training?"
I groaned and looked up.
Lord Aaron Gravitas, head of the house — my father — stood at the edge of the training yard, arms crossed, eyes sharp as tempered steel. His hair had turned partly gray over the years, but everything else about him looked carved from the same iron as his will.
I followed the chain at my waist to its anchor — a massive block of black iron, three meters tall and two wide. My personal training partner.
"Gods damn it, old man," I wheezed, trying to stand. My knees trembled. "Give me a break already!"
Aaron raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"I've been doing your insane drills all day!" I snapped. "Just five minutes! Five minutes of not dying would be great!"
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. His voice was calm, but carried that weight that made people listen.
"Trust me, Astri," he said. "I'm doing this for your own good. Strength is what rules this world. Not blood, not titles — strength."
I gritted my teeth, straightening despite the pain lancing through my legs. The chain clattered against the iron block, heavy and unyielding.
"Yeah?" I muttered, wrapping my hands around the links. "Then maybe one day I'll be strong enough to chain you to one of these things."
For a split second, I could've sworn he smiled.
"Then I'll consider my lessons a success," he said.
And just like that, he turned away, leaving me in the dust as the morning sun climbed high behind him.
I huffed, trying to catch my breath as I watched him walk away.
Then he stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and clean up," he said. "Get your equipment. We're going hunting before your coming-of-age ceremony and the farewell banquet for Temperance tomorrow."
He gave a short nod, then truly walked away — the sunlight catching on his pauldrons as he disappeared toward the grand manor in the distance.
I lay there for a few seconds, breathing heavily, staring up at the sky.
"...Well, I guess I'll go prepare," I muttered, finally pushing myself upright.
I took one step forward — and immediately stopped short. My leg refused to move.
I looked down. The chain was still wrapped around my waist. Its other end? Still attached to the massive iron block that hadn't budged an inch.
I stared at it. Then at the direction my father had gone.
He was already long gone.
The training grounds were empty. Silent.
I took a deep breath.
"FATHERRRR!" I shouted.
The cry echoed across the yard, bounced off the marble walls of the manor, and was swallowed by the morning wind.
Nothing answered.
I sighed, glaring at the iron block.
"...Yeah. Figures."