Gabe_D_aka_Psalm

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.

Fractirea | Faraway Paradise

I see it again. The vision. The end of all things.

The sky fractures like brittle glass, the cracks spreading in jagged veins of pale, shimmering light before the pieces fall away into nothingness. Stars—those ancient, unblinking sentinels—are devoured by an abyss so vast and so consuming that even their distant glow cannot escape. The darkness moves like a living thing, stretching, writhing, swallowing the heavens whole.

In the void, I hear them. The echoes of voices long silenced, wailing in agony, their sorrow stretching across eternity like an unbroken dirge. They whisper names I do not know, stories lost to time, pleas for mercy that will never be answered. Their cries coil around me, a suffocating weight, pressing down until my breath comes in shallow gasps. I feel something beyond comprehension—an unseen force, ancient and indifferent—guiding my every step, molding my path toward a destiny I cannot yet grasp.

But I know, deep within the marrow of my bones, that this is not a fate I can escape.

I am but a pawn in a game played by gods, my existence nothing more than a piece set upon a board older than time itself. Perhaps I was always meant to be this—a harbinger, a vessel, a sacrifice. Perhaps I was never given a choice, merely the illusion of one, a cruel trick played upon a soul long since tethered to an inevitable end.

And yet, they demand that I choose.

To build or to destroy. To save or to condemn. To clutch onto the fragile, fraying threads of a world I do not remember, or to sever them entirely and let it crumble into oblivion.

They speak of power, of fate, of the weight I bear. They tell me I am at the center of it all. But what is power to a puppet whose strings are pulled by unseen hands? What is choice when every road leads only to ruin?

The people I meet—those who reach for me, who offer their hands and their trust, who stand beside me in battle and call me friend—do they see the truth lurking beneath my skin? Or do they still hold onto hope, blind to the inevitable? When the final moment comes, will they curse my name? Will they see me for what I truly am, or will I let them believe the lie until the very end? I do not know which is the greater cruelty.

I dream of an answer. Of another path. Of a world where the vision does not come to pass. But the dream fades, and the truth remains unchanged.

The world will burn.

And I will be the one to set it alight.

Prologue