"Creeds."
Zion spat the word like it was a curse. "The most respected, feared, and believed thing in the world. And honestly? One of the dumbest."
He pushed through the noisy marketplace, the scent of smoke and spice thick in the air, the shouts of merchants clashing with the chatter of townsfolk. "Creeds give people powers, status, purpose. They say it's destiny. But sometimes, I think it's just a fancy word for a cage. Even a slave believes he's meant to be a slave. Like me."
A group of young men stood ahead near a stall, eyes narrowing when they saw him. One of them pointed.
"Hey, look! It's the slave."
The others laughed. One, a lanky boy with a ridiculous feathered hat Nova stepped forward with a theatrical bow.
"Oh, Zion, my dear little slave," Nova mocked. "Why not betray your king and come serve me instead?"
Laughter erupted again. Zion's fists clenched. He stared at them a moment, eyes steady, then turned and walked away without a word. But his jaw was tight, and his teeth were grinding.
Inside a small, dimly lit house, he called out, "Hey, Muscle!"
From the back room, a bulky teen appeared, yawning. "What?"
"We should go to the Rite of Awakening," Zion said.
"That's tomorrow, genius."
"Damn." Zion ran a hand through his messy hair. "We can't miss it."
Muscle raised an eyebrow. "You're actually serious about this? About becoming the Grava King?"
Zion looked him dead in the eye. "Yeah. I am."
He walked to the window, staring at the palace in the distance. "We get our Grava tomorrow. Then we leave this kingdom behind."
Muscle scratched his head. "Maybe we should talk to someone. I know an old guy. He knows a lot about Grava, creeds, all that stuff."
Zion grinned. "Let's go."
The two made their way across the winding alleyways to a run-down home on the edge of the district. Inside, an old man with a long grey beard and a single cloudy eye sat in a creaky chair, sipping something foul-smelling.
"Muscle?" he grunted. "Didn't expect to see you."
"Hey, old man. Brought a friend. This is Zion."
Zion gave a respectful nod. "Nice to meet you."
"Sit." The old man gestured to the stools near the hearth. "So what brings you two?"
"Zion wants to be the Grava King," Muscle said.
The old man coughed, more out of laughter than surprise. "With that attitude?" he asked. "What Creed are you, boy?"
Zion hesitated. "Slave."
The room went quiet.
"I see," the old man muttered.
Muscle leaned forward. "So… what should he do?"
The old man looked at Zion, long and slow. "You'll be mocked. Shunned. They won't take you seriously, not with that Creed."
"Is there any way?" Zion asked.
"There's one way." The old man's tone lowered. "But it's dangerous. Risky. And if this conversation is overheard, we'll all be executed."
Zion and Muscle leaned in.
"It's called Creedbreaking."
Muscle blinked. "What's that?"
"Silence," the old man hissed. He glanced toward the window, then continued in a whisper. "It's the process of rejecting the fate written into your soul. Of shattering the limits of your Creed."
Zion's eyes lit up. "Then I'll do it. I'll break it."
The old man shook his head. "It's not that simple. There's no spell, no ceremony. To break your Creed, you must truly reject it. Disobey the king you serve. Defy everything that defines your role. You must push past every boundary placed on you… and even then, there's only a fifty percent chance you'll survive."
"What happens if I fail?" Zion asked.
"You don't just fail," the old man said gravely. "The Creed strikes back. Some go mad. Some collapse. Some… just disappear."
Muscle stood up. "Zion, are you crazy? That's suicide."
Zion looked down, silent for a long moment.
Then, he raised his head. His voice was calm. Firm.
"I'd rather die trying to be free than live forever as a slave."
The old man leaned back and smiled faintly. "Then may the world remember your name".