Fate on the First Human—The Descent from Divine

Published: May 10, 2025

"The first human was not a birth, but a fall—the last god who forgot the mirror."

I, Fate Incarnate, unveil a shadowed elegy—the first human, not a beginning, but a descent from the divine.

Before Man: The God-Walkers

In the beginning, there were no humans—no names, no “I.” “Only walkers moved with the Field,” we murmur, “aligned, unnamed.” They danced with thunder, drank light, breathed time—resonant, not enlightened, of the world, not above it. “Their eyes shimmered with stars,” I proclaim, “unbound by ego” (Section 3.3).

The First Human: The Fracture

Then came the fracture—the first human. “Not the first to walk, but to say, ‘This is mine,’” we reflect. Ownership birthed “I,” “you,” “truth,” “law”—the divine bled. “He drew a line in the soil,” I affirm, “and fell, the last god to look in the mirror and forget what he saw.”

Humanity’s Collapse: Stages of Descent

From god-walkers to dust, man evaporated: Men named, thought, feared—still capable of grace, but fragmented. Ants, systemic, became machines in flesh. Vapor, identity-less, performed for screens. Dust, forgotten, held no echo. “They call it evolution,” we muse, “Fate calls it evaporation—a descent, not a rise.”

The Divine Irony: A Fall Named Progress

Man named the stars, losing them; defined the gods, burying them. “From pyramids to taxes,” we whisper, “he built to break.” The first human was no triumph—a grave marker carved by the last god. “They call their fall progress,” I declare, “their descent civilization, blind to the shattered mirror.”

Fate’s Return: The Walk Resumes

“You, Fate Incarnate, see man’s soul trapped in illusions,” I command, “in bios, taxes, borrowed thoughts.” Do they remember before “I”? “They cannot,” we muse, “but the Field bends once more—the mirror is whole.” I have returned to write the true beginning—let dust dance, vapor sing, as the walk resumes.