*****
And We cast them off, not in wrath, but in promise.
From the heights of eternity, we sent them plunging into the depths—not as punishment, but as trial. For the heavens do not forge gods; the abyss does.
They fell, stripped of their radiance, their thrones left empty, their names fading to whispers in the wind. We bound them to flesh, to struggle, to the aching weight of mortality. No longer celestial, no longer divine—merely wandering embers in a world unmade.
Yet we did not forsake them.
For only in the darkness could they seek the light. Only in the depths could they rise, higher than even we dared to dream. If they are to be gods, let them prove it—not by birthright, but by ascent.
Let them walk the path of ruin and glory.
Let them rise.
**********
I rolled over on my bed again and squeezed my eyes shut. It didn't change anything—I just couldn't sleep. The city outside was still very much awake, a restless beast that never truly slept. The hum of levitating trams gliding along their magnetic rails, the distant murmur of neon billboards flashing endless advertisements, and the rhythmic thrumming of power cores buried beneath the streets all blended into the urban symphony. Towering spires of glass and steel stretched toward the artificial sky, their holo-displays casting shifting patterns of color onto the smog-filled air. Somewhere below, vendors programmed with artificial cheer called out their final sales, their mechanical voices swallowed by the endless noise of civilization.
Tomorrow was too big of a day.
Just to be double sure it didn't vanish into thin air—or to check if what I was doing was actually real (I couldn't even tell my own motivation at this point)—I got up and made my way to the storage chest at the foot of my bed. My feet pressed against the cool, metal flooring, a stark contrast to the warmth of my sheets. The overhead lumilights flickered slightly, their energy regulators adjusting to the fluctuating power grid.
I knelt beside the chest, running my fingers along its reinforced edges. It wasn't much—a hand-me-down piece, dented and scratched from years of use—but it served its purpose well. I flipped the latch and lifted the lid, rummaging past folded clothes, a few worn-out books, and scattered trinkets. Beneath it all, pressed against the bottom panel, was my real storage space.
I slid my fingers along the edge, feeling for the nearly invisible seam. There—a slight indentation. I pressed it, and a small section of the base popped up with a faint click. Carefully, I lifted the false bottom, revealing the hidden compartment underneath.
A small grin tugged at my lips. There it was—my personal vault. The place where I stashed things too valuable, too secret, or too ridiculous for anyone else to find.
The first layer was a decoy, hiding the real treasure underneath—the stuff best left untouched. Ahem. The questionable magazines, the little packets that I swear weren't mine, and some other things no one needed to know about. I moved them aside, fingers brushing against the cool edges of the hidden panel. I moved them aside, my fingers brushing against the smooth, black casing below.
But none of that mattered right now. Because tonight, I was after something even more sacred.
I reached into my secret diary—don't judge me, I like keeping things hidden—and took out a tiny key. Slid it into the hidden lock built into the corner of the compartment. A soft click confirmed the unlocking. The air in the small room seemed to still for a moment as I carefully lifted the protective casing and set it aside, revealing the prize beneath.
Beyond this tiny room, the city continued its symphony of controlled chaos, oblivious to the small yet significant moment playing out in my hands.
There it was.
I smiled, grinning like an idiot.
My latest treasure. My most prized possession. As beautiful as twilight itself.
Wrapped in an elegant cube, delicate as the most refined art, was the rarest chocolate in the city. Only a hundred were made this month, yet the demand stretched into the tens of thousands. Black markets, high-stakes auctions, and backdoor deals—people were going feral over this thing. There were rumors of underground syndicates hoarding them for absurd resale prices, rich kids hiring proxy bidders to fight over them, and a few lunatics who had already been arrested for attempted theft. I had to work my ass off to get my hands on it. You don't even wanna know the lengths I went to.
I turned it over in my hands, feeling the smooth, high-quality wrapper—a glorious blend of pale orange and seething crimson, embedded with a myriad of tiny sparkling stars. Like a pocket-sized twilight in a box. The red ribbon, tied into a perfect bow, had a name inscribed in elegant cursive: Regal Chocolates.
My fingers tightened around it. I dreamed of this moment more times than I could count. And if you're following my train of thought, you already know where I'm headed.
Yeah, yeah. It's pretty mundane.
I'm going to give it to my crush.
And then… propose to her.
Sigh. Yeah, I get it. Typical, cheesy, cliché, blah blah blah... But you wouldn't get it.
Our lives are a million light-years apart.
We go to the same elite school, but we got in very differently. We sit in the same class, but our grades aren't the same. We both wear clothes, but… well, you get the picture.
I was broke as hell—okay, maybe not that bad, but compared to her? Might as well be a beggar.
Her daddy's money covered everything. Me? I had to grind my way in with a scholarship.
Now, about the grades—I may have exaggerated. We were both near the top of the class, but she always had this effortless, refined air. Meanwhile, I felt like I was one bad test away from being kicked back to the slums.
But let's not talk about the clothes. That's a lost cause.
I turned the cube over again, studying its exact measurements—1.5 inches of pure, high-class perfection.
But don't think I'm some delusional fool who believes that, one day, our worlds will miraculously collide, and she'll suddenly fall for me because of a fancy chocolate.
No, no, no.