She had fallen once.From grace. From memory. From the arms of a god too afraid to hold her twice.
And yet, she rose again—not as a girl,not as a flame,but as a question the heavens had no answer for.
He had waited in silence.Not because he had forgotten—but because he remembered too much.Every laugh. Every scream. Every goodbye that never got to be spoken.
Now, she burned.
Not to die.Not to destroy.
But to live, even if it meant unraveling the sky itself.
And beside her, the god who never fell… finally stepped forward,knowing that this time,if she broke—he would not catch her.
He would fall with her.
And so ended the first thread.
A thread bound not by prophecy,but by the quiet, defiant act of loving againin a world that forgot how.