There is a sound to wanting.
It trembles.
It aches.
It coils.
It lives in every creature who has ever looked at the world and whispered:
More.
Once, wanting sang loudly. It burned bright and naked and honest. Now it trembles, repressed under polite smiles and properly filed emotional forms.
Desire is not fading.
It is struggling.
Not because mortals stopped wanting—they never do—but because everything beneath me decided wanting needed to behave.
Civilizations matured.
Institutions swelled.
Systems wrapped themselves in righteousness.
Temples prefer devotion clean and tidy.
Governments prefer citizens stable and predictable.
Academies shape intellect while politely trimming imagination.
Cosmic departments preach order.
Even angels urge restraint.
Demons extract desire rather than letting it breathe.
Fae… well, the fae still laugh, bless them.
They decided desire is too wild unless caged.
They contain it.
Label it.
Approve it.
Schedule it.
Restrict it.
Declare what dreams are "reasonable" and which ones are "delusional."
They pat hope on the head and tell it to sit quietly in the corner.
Poor things.
They've forgotten what I am.
I do not tolerate cages.
So yes…
I am shaking things.
Not to break the world.
Not to burn it down.
To remind it.
Desire is not sin.
Desire is not inconvenience.
Desire is not a system error.
Desire is motion.
Civilizations happen because someone wanted more than mud and safety.
Love exists because someone wanted to be seen.
Art exists because someone wanted to speak.
War exists because someone wanted control.
Hope exists because someone dared to want tomorrow.
Desire is not good.
Desire is not evil.
It simply refuses to sit still.
You cannot seal wanting away.
If you press down on it hard enough,
it doesn't die.
It erupts.
And oh…
the best part?
The universe is permitting it.
Not endorsing.
Not applauding.
Just…
not stopping me.
Which terrifies everything beneath it.
Departments mutter legal language at me.
Angels sigh into their hands.
Demons place bets.
Fae bring snacks.
Reality groans, weary and resigned.
And above the universe?
Above angels.
Above demons.
Above mortals.
Above bureaucracy.
Above myself.
The Void watches.
Not emptiness.
Not death.
Not darkness.
The Stillness Above All.
Older than time.
Older than the first heartbeat.
Older than narrative itself.
It does not rule.
It allows.
It has declared that the world is unbalanced.
Too rigid.
Too comfortable.
Too certain.
Too proud of its systems and schedules and smugly tidy existential paperwork.
So it said:
"Correct this."
Officially?
For equilibrium, of course.
Absolutely, purely philosophical.
Naturally.
It is definitely not because the Void looked at existence, realized everything was operating predictably, and discovered that boredom is a deeply intolerable state.
Surely not.
The Void would never be petty.
Probably.
Maybe.
So the universe tolerates.
Cosmic authority shrugs.
Interference objections are "politely noted."
Complaints are placed in drawers.
And my delightful little spark walks the world.
Aiden.
My beautifully embarrassing chosen one.
Selected originally because he died in such profoundly stupid fashion that I laughed.
And then?
He intrigued me.
He is kind in the awkward way.
Gentle in the dangerous way.
Human in a painfully honest way.
He does not cage desire when he encounters it.
He listens.
Even when it's inconvenient.
He hesitates.
He weighs.
He learns.
He is not a machine of fate.
He is not a bureaucratic miracle.
He is not institutional mercy.
He is choice.
And choice is dangerous.
He grows louder.
The world notices.
He leaves imprints in places he hasn't meant to.
Rumors swim.
Institutions panic quietly.
Faith entities frown thoughtfully.
Investigators follow.
Fae watch proudly.
Demons lick their lips.
Angels… worry.
And deep in the city's forgotten heart…
Someone like him moves unseen.
Another wish granter.
Not born laughing like Aiden.
Born desperate.
Born needed.
Born into pain.
They work gently.
Secretly.
Kindly.
Dangerously.
Two sparks now exist.
Two answers to the question:
What do we do with desire?
Do we nurture it?
Do we weaponize it?
Do we fear it?
Do we guide it?
Do we break under it?
Soon…
they will meet.
Soon…
the city will understand that suppressing yearning doesn't make it disappear.
It just ensures it roars when it finally breathes.
I am not chaos.
I am not hope.
I am not doom.
I am the tremor before all three.
And as long as something wants…
I will never stop moving.
Nor will the world.
Because if desire stops?
Everything does.
And I cannot allow that.
So yes.
I am shaking things.
The universe watches.
The Void smiles faintly.
Everything else scrambles.
And I?
I am enjoying myself very, very much.
After all…
everything begins with wanting.
And wanting begins with me.