"To see fate is to lose sight. To believe without seeing — that is true surrender to the divine."
Among the seven domains, none are as paradoxical as that of Veyra, the Goddess of Fate. Her realm lies at the trembling edge between past, present, and future — existing in all, anchored in none. To walk her lands is to feel time breathe — to hear it slow, pause, and weep. Even the wind hesitates before it moves.
They say her domain unfolds as an endless tapestry of fate across the heavens — threads of silver and shadow woven with strands of memory and prophecy. Whose lives those threads represent, none can tell. Perhaps the faithful. Perhaps the forgotten. Perhaps those whose will was not strong enough to endure the weight of destiny.
The people of her land live suspended between reverence and despair. The truest of her followers — the Sightless Seers — are born without eyes, a divine curse and blessing in one. They believe that to see fate is to be broken by it; that true vision comes only through blind trust in what must be.
Others, born with sight, learn to lower their gaze. For it is said that one direct look upon Veyra's woven eternity is enough to burn sight from the soul forever.
Her temple stands as a monument to irony — a towering structure of interlaced dark-emerald crystal, reflecting fractured glimpses of all who approach. It rises from the domain's heart like a blade of sorrow and light. Within, the air thrums with the whispers of those who saw what mortals were never meant to know. The High Priestesses, all willingly blinded, move in sacred unison, their empty eyes weeping black tears as they chant the Canticle of Surrender — words not shaped for mortal tongues.
And her sacrifice… is as merciless as fate itself.
Each turning of the celestial cycle, a hundred children — the most faithful, the purest in spirit — are offered upon the Altar of Echoing Glass. Their lifeblood feeds the tapestry above, each drop becoming a new thread in the weave of what will be. It is a cruel and unyielding ritual, yet none dare defy it. Those who question — the grieving mothers, the defiant fathers — are stripped of sight and bound to the temple, serving eternity in silent witness.
Still, her people worship with trembling devotion. They whisper that to lose your sight is to gain true vision, and to suffer under Veyra's design is to walk hand-in-hand with destiny.
How strange it is — that fate demands not only faith, but blind surrender.