I Lied to the Gods on the Heavenly Level

I was born without authority In this world, authority is the only evidence of existence - it determines how high you can climb and whether you will be remembered after your death. Some people are born as bright as dust, and some are as gray as dust throughout their lives. I belong to the latter. On the day I was born, a meteor without a tail flame escaped from my body and burned up before hitting the ground. It took away the only authority I inherited, leaving behind a test stone with cracks on the back and a line of faded words: That dead meteor is your name. The oldest junk vendor in the market told me that the gods do not lie. Deception was invented by humans themselves. Later I found out he was right. There is no one who goes up without injuries. This is a story about climbing. About a lame old yellow dog lying at the entrance of the alley waiting for six thousand years, about a child who never looked up at anyone and called "Brother" when saying goodbye, about a junk dealer hiding a stone that will never shine again in the deepest part of his leather bag. About a meteor who gave himself a name before he died, and only I can look up that name.