Fractirea | Faraway Paradise
The sky fractures like brittle glass, and the stars—those cold, distant sentinels—are swallowed whole by a darkness I cannot name. I hear the echoes of voices long silenced, their cries stretching across eternity. I feel the weight of something far beyond me, pressing down, shaping my steps, guiding my hand to a fate I do not yet understand.
But I know, deep in my bones, that this is not a fate I can escape.
I am a pawn in a game played by gods, pieces moved across a board older than time. Perhaps I was always meant to be this—a harbinger, a vessel, a sacrifice. I do not know who I was before. I do not know if I was ever given a choice.
And yet, they expect me to choose.
To build or to destroy. To save or to end. To hold onto the fragile strings of a world I do not remember, or to sever them and let it all collapse.
They tell me I have power. They tell me I am at the center of it all. But what is power to a puppet? What is choice when every path leads to ruin?
The people I meet, the ones who take my hand, who call me friend, who look at me with trust and hope—I wonder, when the final moment comes, will they curse my name? Will they see the truth of what I am, or will I hide it from them until the very end? I do not know which is the greater cruelty.
I dream of an answer. Of a different path. But the vision never changes.
The world will burn.
And I will be the one to set it alight.
