Present
Seirou slowly opened his eyes.
Seiya sat beside him, the golden swan pin still in his hand. His voice came out quiet, but laced with something long buried.
"That day… when it happened. You rushed home ahead of us. You kept telling him not to go."
Seirou nodded once. His voice was low, steady but the pain lingered behind every word.
"I begged him not to. I told him something felt wrong. I saw… glimpses. Faint and flickering. But he wouldn't listen." He stared ahead, gaze distant. "He said if he didn't act first, the clan would fall. That it was the only way to protect us."
Seiya's breath caught. "Why? Was it a prophecy? Did he see something worse?"
Seirou shook his head, slow and heavy.
"It wasn't a prophecy. It was a warning. And the danger… was himself."
A silence fell between them. The breeze stirred the leaves above, soft and indifferent.
Seiya leaned back against the tree, eyes closed for a moment. "So it was always like that…"
Seirou exhaled. "I knew something was going to happen. I saw it coming. And yet… I couldn't stop it." He glanced at Seiya, voice quieter now. "That was the first time I realized the truth of my power—I can only see glimpses of fate… but I was never given the power to change it." He looked down at his hands, curling slightly.
"But still, I keep trying. Because maybe… just maybe, one day, I'll find a way to change the end. To use the power I have—not just to see what's coming, but to defy it." He looked up, eyes calm but burning beneath. "I want to challenge fate… and go against it, at least once."
A pause.
"And there are only two paths for the one who defies fate: To be shattered and forgotten as a fool who dared to fight destiny…Or to rise beyond fate itself—and become the miracle it never saw coming."
He fell silent for a moment, eyes drifting to the distant sky, voice barely above a whisper, "But I can't do it alone. I need someone who hates fate as much as I do… Someone still shackled to the past, drowning in regret. Someone who suffers,yet still refuses to kneel. The kind of soul who would tear through heaven's chains, just for a chance at freedom. Someone who'd rather rewrite destiny with blood than accept the story written for them. Even the gods couldn't escape their fate… But maybe together we can."
"Just to break free from the chains of a shadowed past. And run, unbound, toward a future unclouded. A future bright and clear, carved not by destiny… But by defiance."
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the wind stirred the silence, Seirou closed his eyes, his words still lingering like the last note of a fading song. He turned slightly only to find Seiya staring at him, speechless.
"…What?" Seirou blinked. "Why are you giving me that look?"
Seiya slowly pulled the broken wind wheeler from the box and held it up like evidence. "Owl Prince… You stay quiet for days, and then suddenly you start yapping like a wind-chime in a storm. I still don't understand a single thing you said. 'Change fate'? 'Challenge it'? You're weird. Why do you even need to fight it in the first place?" He twirled the wind wheeler once, smirking.
"If it's already written, what's the point in struggling to rewrite it? Fate didn't spare the gods—what makes you think it'll spare us? If everyone could change their fate, no one would be suffering in this mortal world. We're all stuck, walking blindly down a path someone else carved. That's what fate is it's not a choice. It's what becomes history."
Seirou let out a breath and gave a faint, knowing smile. "You're right. Not everyone can challenge fate. But fate still gives two roads, both filled with struggle. One—where you accept it and kneel. The other where you can fight to rewrite it, knowing you might fall. The difference? In one, you've already accepted defeat. In the other… even if the odds crush you, there's still a chance to win."
"And the cruel irony?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Every soul born into this world was given just enough strength to defy their fate… but most never realize it. They kneel anyway."
Seiya narrowed his eyes, scoffing as he tucked the broken wind wheeler back into the box.
"Tch. You always sound like some wandering monk who swallowed a book of riddles," he muttered, flopping back against the tree trunk. "Next you'll start preaching to the clouds."
Seirou raised a brow. "You're the one who asked."
"I didn't ask for a whole philosophical sermon on the meaning of existence, Owl Prince," Seiya grumbled, throwing a twig in his direction. "I just wanted to know why our lives got torn apart. Not a lecture on destiny."
Seirou caught the twig mid-air and flicked it aside with a smirk. "You're still just mad your aim's worse than my speeches."
"Oh please," Seiya said, sitting up with a dramatic wave of his hand. "We both know I've always been the better archer. You just got the fancy eyes."
"They're not just 'fancy eyes,'" Seirou said flatly. "It's a divine gift."
"Yeah?" Seiya snorted. "A divine gift that couldn't even see my arrow coming when I pinned your wind wheeler."
"That was one time."
"That was the time," Seiya said, pointing dramatically. "The day I dethroned the so-called chosen one."
Seirou rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"And you're dramatic."
The wind rustled again through the trees, cooling the edges of their tired banter. For a moment, they were quiet—two broken pieces sitting among memories, old pain, and the soft hush of things left unsaid.
Then, without a word, Seiya leaned against Seirou's shoulder.
Seirou stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. But he didn't pull away.
Seiya muttered, just loud enough to be heard, "Still think your speeches sound cool, though. Bit annoying, but cool."
Seirou let out a quiet breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he closed his eyes again. "…I'll take that as a compliment."
"You shouldn't," Seiya shot back without missing a beat. Silence settled again, not heavy this time, but softened by something warm and almost forgotten.
Then Seiya spoke, quieter now his voice rough with something deeper.
"Still… whatever you said back there? I hope you can really do it." He paused, eyes fixed on some faraway spot between the trees. "Because if you had succeeded that day… everything would've been different. Everyone would still be alive. I miss them. Even your group—gods, they were irritating, but I miss them anyway."
His voice cracked slightly, but he masked it with a half-laugh. "If changing what's written… if that's even possible, if someone can carve out a different ending with their own hands… then that's probably the greatest blessing anyone could ever be given."
——
The palace stood quiet beneath the hush of night, its spires gilded in silver where moonlight kissed stone. On the highest terrace, where the wind whispered between carved pillars and silence held its breath, Akira stood alone.
He leaned against the railing, head tilted back, Ashen eyes catching the shimmer of stars like twin mirrors of midnight glass.
He tilted his head upward, gaze tracing constellations only his heart remembered. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then quietly, to the stars and no one else, he murmured:
"If fate can be challenged then maybe the person I was… wasn't lost. Just waiting to be rewritten."
His voice just loud enough for the wind to carry away, he murmured,
"Didn't you say this once, Gege…?"
"That fate always offers two paths—one where you survive by surrendering… and one where you suffer by resisting. But only one of them holds the chance to win."
He let out a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sigh.
"So next time… you'll have to tell me… which one did I choose?"