Destiny.
The word was a chain. It was one of the few words that could express the highest praise and the lowest insult, but in Garig, it was the pillar that kept the nation united.
Its power was rooted in a single, unshakeable belief: the Astras - the gods who had brought abundance - had decreed that everyone would have a place.
This promise had devolved into a rigid system that determined one's fate at puberty.
For Relik of the Von Vino Lordship, the social contract was simple: once your role was assigned, you had to perform it cheerfully. If you tried to abandon it, you were branded an agent of chaos. Your family abandoned you, and the public was encouraged to ignore you. Relik knew this reality well; he had even enjoyed tossing a tomato or two at his local bum.
Now, staring down the consequences, he could not be more terrified.
It didn't matter that he had dedicated his life to winemaking. If the deities decreed he spend the remainder of his existence threshing wheat, he was supposed to smile through it.
He was scared. Not just of change, but of the arbitrary nature of the assignment. He had no spiritual contact with the Astras, unlike his parents or the younger children in his village who were called years ago.
Here he was, a seventeen-year-old, still waiting.
His parents' advice was two-fold: lower your expectations, and sell as much wine as you could before getting in line.
Growing up on a winery meant money mattered more than common sense, and the lack of control in this moment felt like the ultimate insult to his profitable family line.
He knew his destiny should be a winemaker. His family expected it. The village knew it.
Still, he stood in line, forced to travel to Remu - the largest city and the destination for thirty percent of the Von Vino vintage - waiting for the gods to render their verdict.
He wanted to flee, but the certainty of being branded and bringing shame to his family name kept him frozen. The penalty for acting selfishly was social death.
A sharp, impatient push to his back dragged him out of his silent self-loathing. It was his turn.
He lifted a silent prayer, reaching for the ruby on his necklace, then stepped through the auditorium doors. He had envisioned the hall many times, but every bit of preparation was swept away by dumbstruck awe. The inclined rows stretched into hundreds, filled with shadowed figures—the observers, the employers. He could feel their palpable uneasiness.
A proctor motioned him to the raised platform at center stage. He rushed to it.
"Place your hand on the Ankh-Ra."
Relik stared at the podium. There sat a bronze-colored glowing ball, pulsing with a strange light. He had expected something grander; it was small enough to steal, if he dared.
With hesitation, he cupped the ball with his open palm.
"Relik of the Von Vino Lordship," a woman's disembodied voice boomed.
He froze. He hadn't given his name to anyone.
"Speak!"
He was whisked into a trance.
The world dissolved, accelerating into a terrifying future. He watched the building crumble and rebuild around him. He looked down, and his hand seemed to grow frail and old with the swift passage of time. He tried to pull away, but his body collapsed, and he fell face-first into the carpet, blacking out.
Relik woke with a sickening spasm, struggling for air. When it finally stopped, he popped up onto his feet, ready to defend himself, only to find himself in blinding, infinite white.
Panic set in. He reached for his necklace, found nothing, and looked down. His clothes were gone, replaced by stark black markings that patterned themselves across his torso and limbs.
"Hm," a loud, booming voice echoed, with no visible source.
"You seem kind of scrawny to be the son of a guardian."
Relik spun, realizing he was fully exposed to multiple unseen observers.
"He doesn't seem to be an appropriate fit at all, not even as a bellman. Maybe as a squire?"
"You need to be at least smart for that position."
"Wh-who's there?" Relik stammered.
"We are your gods," another voice cut in.
Relik's bemusement momentarily overtook his terror.
"We have never heard of you before, but all of Iké past, present and future points towards you becoming a guardian—"
Relik stomped his bare foot on the infinite floor. "A what?"
"A guardian," they repeated, "Isn't that the dream of every young man?"
"It's only a dream when your reality sucks," Relik argued.
"Well, too bad. I already made up my mind."
"Unmake it then," Relik challenged. "I'm kinda good at this wine thing."
"I grow bored of your insolence."
A sound like cracking thunder stopped him cold.
Relik swallowed, "I was obviously just kidding."
"Good. Now go back out there and ENJOY it."
Relik jolted back into consciousness, finding himself still standing on the platform.
"Hm," the lead proctor frowned, turning to face the rows, "I would like to introduce to you the fifth guardian on this day. The Astras have selected Sir. Relik of the Von Vino lordship."
The audience shifted, the silence broken only by creaking benches.
"May the bid begin."
The room held its breath as to not accidentally make a bid.
Relik stared at the ball near his hand, convinced the celestial bastards had left him without a plan.
"I have a question!" someone yelled from the back.
"What did you say his name was?"
"Relik of the Von Vin—"
In a rush of wind and a strong whiff of alcohol, a tall, dark-haired man appeared next to him, hand outstretched. Relik sniffed the air and kept his hands to himself.
"Well, kid, from this day onward, consider yourself an important piece of the Burning Tempest."
That statement marked the beginning of hell on earth for the boy. Oh, how he resented the decisions made on his behalf.