The chapel was filled with an expectant hush as the priest’s voice softened, drawing his story to a close. Mira sat among the other children, feeling the weight of his words settle over her like a blanket. It had been an epic tale, one that stretched from the birth of the gods to the creation of the world. These gods, he explained, were not born mortal, nor had they ever been human. They were gods from the start, shaped by powers beyond mortal understanding and bound to an eternal existence from the moment of their creation.

Mira found herself lingering on that thought: Born as gods. How could they ever understand the struggles, fears, and hopes of those who lived mortal lives? How could beings that had never known weakness or need truly comprehend what it meant to be human, to grow and learn through experience?

It was an idea that unsettled her, though she knew better than to let her discomfort show. The gods in this world were not only powerful but revered beyond question. Their ways were law, and the priest spoke of them with a reverence that bordered on awe.

“And so,” the priest continued, his voice rising with solemnity, “the gods gifted humanity with their final blessing—the system.”

The children shifted, hanging on his every word. Mira’s own curiosity prickled at the edges of her unease. She had heard whispers of the system before, but this was the first time anyone had explained it to her fully.

“The system,” the priest said, “is like a mirror, one that watches over your life from the moment of your birth. When you reach adulthood, it will awaken within each of you, assessing your actions, your choices, the talents you’ve developed. Based on this, it will offer you options—paths that reflect the essence of who you are, classes that align with your purpose.”

His words hung heavy in the air, filling the room with a kind of holy significance. Mira looked around at the other children, noting the awe and wonder in their expressions. To them, the system was a promise, a beacon guiding them toward their destinies. But to her, it felt strange and foreign. A path chosen for her by a force she couldn’t fully understand? It didn’t sit right.

In her previous life, her choices had been her own. She had been free to define herself, to pursue the person she wanted to become. The idea of a “class” assigned by divine design felt like a chain around her neck, binding her to a destiny not of her choosing. How could any system, even one crafted by gods, truly know her?

The priest’s gaze swept over the boys in the room, his expression warming with pride. “For the young men,” he said, his voice filled with encouragement, “the system will reveal paths that honor your sacred duty—to provide, to protect. It may offer you the role of a warrior, a craftsman, a hunter. These are roles that build strength, not just for you, but for your families and your community.”

A few boys straightened their backs, their faces lighting up with pride. Mira understood that feeling. She remembered what it had been like to take pride in being strong, responsible. Once, she had felt that same pull to stand firm and protect those she loved. But now, in this new body and life, that path seemed closed to her.

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The priest’s gaze softened as he turned toward the girls. His tone became tender, almost condescending, as he addressed them. “And to you, young ladies, the system will offer paths suited to your unique role in the world. You are meant to care for the family, to nurture and support. Your paths may lead you to skills in the household, in healing, in maintaining the well-being of those around you. These are noble roles, given by the gods to bring harmony to your families and homes.”

Several girls looked down with shy smiles or cast sidelong glances at the boys. Mira’s throat tightened as she listened, an old, familiar frustration stirring within her. It was all too familiar—the way society divided and limited people based on nothing but their gender. In her past life, she’d seen and felt the effects of those expectations, even if they were often subtler. Here, it was laid out as law, as divine truth. And her life, the life she now held, was bound within that same restrictive framework.

To the children around her, the priest’s words were a comfort, a reassurance that the world had a set order, a safe and predictable structure. But to Mira, it felt suffocating. These roles were expectations she couldn’t accept without question, not after a life where she had been free to choose her own way.

The priest continued, his voice reverent. “Each role, children, is a gift from the gods. To fulfill it is to honor them, to bring balance and harmony to the world. And in honoring your path, you also honor the gods.”

Mira swallowed, feeling a tightening in her chest. Balance. Harmony. She understood what he meant, but to her, it felt like balance was something one half of the world held while the other carried the weight. How could a system be balanced if it dictated lives based on something as simple as gender? Why should strength, ambition, or talent be bound by roles decided before a person was even born?

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, hidden by her skirt. She knew that these thoughts were dangerous here, questions she couldn’t voice aloud without risking everything. But the questions pulsed inside her, growing with each word the priest spoke.

Did these gods truly understand the mortals they had created, these fragile beings bound by flesh, need, and choice? Could they, born as gods, really know the desires and struggles that came from having to live, grow, and learn as a human?

As the priest’s story ended, he encouraged the children to rise for a final blessing. Mira stood with them, bowing her head, though her mind was far from the words he recited.

At the close of the ceremony, the children were ushered outside, their faces still aglow with the promise of the system and the divine paths they would one day follow. Mira hung back, her thoughts tangled and unsettled. She watched the other children chatter and laugh, imagining their futures with ease and acceptance. Is that all it took to find peace here? To trust blindly in paths dictated by those who’d never walked in human shoes?

A voice cut through her thoughts, jolting her back to the present. “Mira!” called a familiar voice.

She looked up to see Lucas bounding over, his young face flushed with excitement. “Did you hear what the priest said? We’ll all get classes one day! I bet I’ll be a warrior, just like Father says.”

A faint smile touched her lips. Lucas was so sure, so ready to embrace whatever destiny the gods saw fit to give him. “You’d make a good warrior, Lucas,” she said softly, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“What about you?” Lucas asked, his bright eyes full of expectation. “What kind of class do you want?”

The question lingered, thick with possibilities Mira knew she couldn’t explore—not here, not now. “I don’t know yet,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “I suppose I’ll wait and see what the gods decide.”

It was a safe answer, one that shielded her from further probing. Lucas nodded, seemingly satisfied, before darting off to join his friends. Mira watched him go, her heart heavy. His path seemed so clear, so attainable, while hers felt like a labyrinth with no way out.

Would she ever truly fit into this world? The question gnawed at her, echoing through her mind long after she returned home.

And as she lay in bed that night, staring into the darkness, Mira knew that, despite the priest's teachings, she would not—and could not—accept any destiny blindly. If she was to live in this world, she would find her own path, one that honored both who she had been and who she wished to become.

The gods, after all, could only see so far. But she, she would walk every step, fight every battle, and shape a life that was undeniably her own.