On top of the mountain, a twenty-five-year-old man stood alone. The wind howled around him, carrying away the warmth of the world. Above him stretched the endless heavens—vast, silent, and indifferent.
He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, and laughed softly.
"So this is Heaven's judgment…"
His voice trembled, yet every word was soaked in hatred.
"From the moment I was born, you branded me as a mistake. You took my talent, my future, my very right to stand among others—and still you expect me to bow?"
His fists clenched as tears slid down his face.
"They say fate is unchangeable. They say Heaven is absolute. But if Heaven truly governs all things, then my existence is its greatest flaw."
He raised his gaze toward the clouds, as if staring straight into the eyes of destiny.
"I will not beg. I will not kneel. If the path is blocked, I will carve it open. If the sky stands in my way, I will tear it apart."
A bitter smile curved his lips.
"One day, when I stand at the peak of all realms, you will understand—the mistake was never me."
The mountain remained silent. Only a mortal heart, burning against eternity.