I was not meant to exist.
Not in the way mortals do, bound by fragile flesh and fleeting time. Nor in the way gods do, woven from divine light, untouchable and eternal. I was something else entirely.
A Vessel. A solution. A gamble.
Before I had a name, before I had a body, before I even had the will to choose my own fate, I was nothing more than a whispered idea in the halls of the gods.
---
The celestial realm was restless.
The sky above churned with shifting colors—silver and gold, deep violet and burning crimson, hues that did not belong to the mortal world. The great hall of the gods stood suspended in endless space, its towering spires formed of crystallized starlight, its foundations carved from the first echoes of creation itself. It was a place of perfection, of balance.
And yet, balance was slipping through their fingers.
Selion, the God of Order, stood with his arms crossed, his golden form emanating a cold, calculating light. Even in his silence, his displeasure was tangible. His voice, when he finally spoke, was heavy with restrained fury.
"They have fallen into ruin."
His words rang through the great hall, rippling through the air like an unspoken decree.
Across from him, Elaris, the Goddess of Fate, watched him with an expression that betrayed nothing. Draped in flowing gold and ivory, she looked every bit the untouchable deity she was. But there was something in her silver eyes, something that shimmered like the threads of destiny she wove.
"They have not fallen," she corrected. "They were pushed."
The murmurs of the gathered gods grew louder. Shadows flickered across the walls, cast by the shifting forms of those who stood in silent contemplation.
Torian, the God of War, let out a short, humorless laugh. His blood-red cloak swept the marble floor as he moved, his presence crackling with barely contained power. "Semantics, Elaris. Pushed. Fallen. The result is the same, is it not? The rulers have turned against one another. Their world fractures beneath their feet, and with it, the delicate balance we have upheld for centuries."
"The balance you uphold," Elaris murmured, tilting her head as she regarded him. "I have only ever recorded fate. I do not interfere."
Torian scoffed. "Then perhaps it is time you did."
A hush fell over the room.
Elaris let the silence stretch between them, her expression unreadable. Then, she lifted her chin and spoke the words that would change everything.
"We will create a Vessel."
The storm above them stilled, as if the very universe had paused to listen.
Selion narrowed his eyes. "A Vessel?"
"A soul that will bind them together," Elaris said. "A being of divine purpose, yet mortal enough to walk among them. She will be the thread that mends what has been torn apart."
The gods exchanged wary glances.
Torian smirked, folding his arms. "And how, exactly, do you propose this Vessel will accomplish such a task? The rulers are not children to be pacified. They are kings and queens of their own kind—prideful, dangerous, unyielding."
Elaris met his gaze without hesitation. "Because she will be their mate."
The weight of her words crashed through the hall like a tidal wave.
Even the lesser gods, who had remained silent until now, whispered among themselves in disbelief.
Selion's expression darkened. "You would bind them to a mortal?"
"Not a mortal," Elaris corrected. "Not fully. She will be something new. A creation born of our divine energy, yet shaped by the world below. She will be tied to them, to all of them, by a bond stronger than war, stronger than hate. A bond they cannot sever."
Torian arched a brow. "You speak as if they will have no choice."
"They won't," Elaris whispered.
Her voice was soft, but there was no kindness in it.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Selion exhaled, his golden eyes unreadable. "And if she fails?"
"Then so does everything else."
---
I did not ask for this.
I did not ask to be shaped by gods who feared the world they had once ruled. To be sent down like a lamb to slaughter, forged with the sole purpose of mending something that had been broken long before my first breath.
But fate is not a kind thing.
And my fate had already been written.
---
The gods began their work.
Their voices rose in a chant that was ancient beyond time itself, their words twisting through the air, weaving into something tangible. I did not yet exist, not in any way that mattered. But I felt them.
I felt the heat of Torian's power, sharp and searing, like the clash of a thousand blades meeting in battle.
I felt Selion's will, his rigid control wrapping around me like unyielding stone, ensuring that no flaw existed in what was being created.
I felt Elaris's touch, soft as silk, yet absolute. She wove the threads of my existence with careful hands, binding me to a fate I had no say in.
Each of them poured something into me. Strength. Purpose. Destiny.
They did not give me a choice.
And yet, as the magic swelled, as my form began to take shape from nothingness, something unexpected happened.
I became.
For the first time, I was aware. A thought. A whisper.
A presence in the void.
It was faint at first, barely more than a flicker of consciousness. But it grew. I became aware of the weight of my existence, of the pull of fate that wrapped around me like chains forged in starlight. I could not yet see. I could not yet breathe. But I felt.
And I knew.
I was theirs.
Whether I wanted to be or not.
---
The gods completed their work. The Vessel was born.
Far below, in the mortal realm, a heartbeat stirred.
A faint, fragile rhythm.
Like the fluttering of wings before flight.
Like the first note of a song yet to be sung.
My first breath.
My first moment of existence.
My fate, set into motion.