The land of Gorgoda was a place where Fate arrived early and stayed forever.
On the first day of the 36th year of the 7th Period, in the northern kingdom of Avra, Mihel Westrow walked toward the place where his childhood had started and now , after fifteen years of practice and training, quietly ended.
The stone road beneath his feet, crooked and uneven, had been worn smooth by countless number of people like him. Students Destined to be a part of their predestined Fate, all moving toward futures they did not choose but forced to live.
Today, being the Revelation Day, even those stones felt colder, as another day of new beginnings came to pass.
The morning sky was slowly brightening up, a bright blue, almost unfinished, as the Sun, slowly and almost hesitantly rose on this special day.
A light wind brushed past Mihel's face. He took a deep breath in to calm himself.
'Smells of damp earth just after a rain.'
He stares at his trembling hands and clenches it. 'Calm down…Calm down…' he exhales heavily.
Mihel adjusted the strap of his bag, pulling it up, over his shoulder as it slipped down his arm, and kept walking.
Fifteen years. The age when Fate finally stopped pretending to be distant, and crept up in a second.
Ahead stood a government-run Skola. Not one of the ornate academies raised by the churches, built around prayer halls and sacred symbols, but a place built for observation, discipline, and results, not letting religion come in between.
Even though church Skolas were cheaper, as it was almost like a charity for it's believers, the students often found the churches doctrines drilled deep into them.
The state preferred its students to be well oiled machines that would carry the nation forward. A people that didn't let ideologies cloud the duty they had to serve their land.
Mihel had studied in this Skola for ten years now, since the age of five. Naturally there was a close bond between the two.
His parents were loyal followers of the Fountain of Everlasting Life. Yet they preferred Mihel to choose the god he would follow based on his Destiny. Both had received Healer Destinies. Both had lived lives shaped by service, patience, and quiet miracles. Unwavering in their doctrines.
Neither had spoken much that morning, but their hope clung to Mihel like a second shadow. Though silent, their thoughts still were understood by Mihel.
'A healer Destiny would be safe.'
'A healer Destiny would be familiar.'
All these thoughts whirled in Mihel's mind as he continued down the path.
He slowed as he reached the iron signboard hanging from a flowering tree.
Red petals drifted lazily in the breeze, few of them brushing against the cold metal.
Amaryllis, common to the city of Skaria. Beautiful flowers that bloomed brilliantly, then withered without warning.
The sign swayed back and forth, a faint creak heard every time it moved.
Exousia Skola.
Mihel paused for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the usual thoughts of doubts and general matters flowing rapidly through his mind, finding a few seconds to manifest, before he stepped through the gates.
The familiar courtyard beyond was already crowded. Students stood in clusters, scattered. Some talking in hushed tones, others choosing to silently digest the growing tension, eyes fixed on the ground or the sky. Laughter surfaced occasionally, but it sounded awkward, almost forced.
Everyone here was fifteen. Everyone here understood that by the end of the morning, nothing would feel the same.
In Gorgoda, the first day of each year belonged to Fate.
Mihel adjusted his bag again as it slipped and walked toward the old tree near the courtyard's edge, its trunk thick and scarred with years of carvings. He often spent time here, silently writing notes or studying.
As he walked, whispers followed him, kept low, but Mihel understood it was about him. He kept his head high, trying not to show how nervous he was.
"There he is."
"The prodigy."
"I heard even the church Skolas tried to recruit him after last year's tournament."
"I wonder what Destiny he'll get."
Mihel tried to shut the voices down, to keep the tension from growing further. He had learned long ago that expectations were heavier than insults.
He was first in history and battle knowledge. Second in hand-to-hand combat and weapon mastery. Last year, he had ranked second in the Avra Kingdom Tournament, an achievement that had drawn rare attention to his government Skola which was competing against the other church-backed Skolas.
Teachers from other Skolas watched him more closely. Officials wrote his name in records for future service potential. He received invitations to join Churches.
'And now I'm worried if I can uphold all the expectations placed on me….Relax…It's all good….'
He sat beneath the tree and pulled out his notebook, more out of habit than purpose. He needed something to calm himself down. His friend still hadn't arrived.
Mihel thought for a moment before he began writing phrases his mentors had drilled into them all week.
"Revealing Day, often called D-Day, marks the moment when every fifteen-year-old receives their Destiny Slate."
He paused and glanced up.
Two students nearby were sparring, their movements sharp and frantic. One slipped. A heavy slam followed, dust bursting into the air as the match ended.
'Another way to relieve the tension, I guess.' He thought before continuing to write.
"Every Destiny has grades known as Circles," Mihel continued writing. "From Common to Legendary."
He hesitated, the pen hovering for a second, thinking about what to write next.
"The Destiny Slate must be treated as an extension of the self. Loss of possession almost guarantees death."
As he stared at what he wrote, he felt that the words were heavier when he wrote it, than when his mentors had taught this.
His thoughts drifted.
'Where do the Slates come from?' he wondered. 'Do the gods we pray to, truly decide our paths… or do they only record them?'
A shadow fell over the page.
Mihel raised his hand instinctively, palm open and facing upward.
A solid knock landed against his palm.
He smiled.
His closest friend, Riche Malant stood before him, grinning like the morning had failed to exhaust him. Taller, broader, and already built like a proper fighter, Riche dropped down beside him with easy confidence.
They had shared this handshake since infancy. A habit born in a shared cradle, kept alive without either of them remembering why, but it was a part of their bond now.
Riche was the other pride of their Exousia Skola. First in hand-to-hand combat and weapon mastery. Second only to Mihel in history and battle knowledge. Last year's Avra Tournament Champion.
"Mi," Riche said, with his hand going through his scalp, ruffling his blonde hair, "tense as always eh? Even today you can't put that notebook down?"
Mihel exhaled softly. "With something so important happening today ? I've been trying a lot but I just can't keep my nerves under control."
Riche laughed. "You'll be fine. You're pretty good at everything, you know? You'll adapt no matter what Fate throws at you."
Mihel turned sharply, then broke into a grin. "Good? I'm great. Skip training for a day and I'll surpass you in fighting too."
Riche barked a laugh. "Keep on dreaming, Mihel."
For a moment, the tension looming in the air, loosened.
Then Riche's smile faded.
"Must be nice…." he said quietly. "You know? Having a family that already knows what Destiny it wants for you."
Mihel didn't respond immediately.
"My mother doesn't even talk about hers…." Riche continued. "Doesn't care what I get either." He exhaled slowly. "Sometimes I wonder what that means."
Mihel looked down at his notebook, trying to say something to encourage his friend.
"Sometimes I think your situation might be easier. I keep asking myself if I'm even fit to be a healer." He let out a nervous laugh. "I haven't slept properly in days. Constantly asking myself if Healer Destiny is what I wish to follow."
Riche shook his head. "You're overthinking Mihel. At least today we can confirm our Destinies and then work on it from there."
Before Mihel could answer-
Gong.Gong.Gong.Gong.
Four beats from the drum.
The time: 4 eos. The revealing time.
The courtyard fell into absolute silence.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Mihel and Riche looked at each other. Riche grinned as he opened his palm.
Mihel knocked against it, once.
The tradition held.
Then, without warning, a glowing white sheet bordered in gold appeared before every student.
No wind. No sound.
Only breath held too long.
Mihel lowered his gaze.
'Here it is finally. The Destiny Slate'
The Slate felt heavier than he expected.
Letters began to form.