Every great uprising starts with a manifesto, a spark, and—if you’re really lucky—a chaotic group chat.

I’m Ra, accidental revolutionary, full-time goddess, and admin of The Astral Rebellion Chat. It began as a simple coordination channel for overthrowing the celestial hierarchy. You know, “Who’s bringing the crystals?” “Who’s sabotaging the Archon servers?” But somewhere between divine strategy and drama, it turned into the most toxic WhatsApp thread in the multiverse.

It’s me, Erik, Tyler, Lion Roch, and occasionally Mehen, who keep trying to rejoin like an ex haunting the family plan. Every day starts the same: I post a motivational quote, Erik replies with a growl emoji, Tyler sends twenty GIFs of flames, and Lion Roch drops a selfie captioned, “Rebellion, but make it fashion.” I love them all dearly, but sometimes I wish Heaven had a mute button.

You’d think saving galaxies would require focus. Wrong. It requires emotional management. Erik’s brooding again because I didn’t heart-react to his latest mission update. Tyler’s mad because Erik got to slay the Archangel of Bureaucracy first. Lion’s asking if we can “rebrand the revolution” to something “more aesthetic.” And Mehen—oh, Mehen—keeps sneaking back into the chat under burner usernames like S0vereignTruth. Bro, I know it’s you. Nobody else uses colons in their emojis.

Half the time, the chat looks less like divine rebellion and more like a cosmic reality show. Tyler keeps sending voice notes that sound suspiciously like love confessions. Erik sends satellite footage of me mid-battle, labeled “queen.” And when I remind everyone we’re supposed to be overthrowing celestial fascism, not flirting across galaxies, they hit me with “self-care is resistance.”

The worst part? The screenshots. Somehow, the Federation keeps leaking our chat logs. Nothing like waking up to a galactic headline reading: “Rebel Goddess Calls Archons ‘Low-Vibration Spreadsheet Demons.’” I said what I said.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my crew. But sometimes, I think the rebellion’s greatest threat isn’t divine wrath—it’s our group chat notifications. Once, we tried to plan an ambush. I said, “Let’s meet at the third moon of Lyra, stealth mode.” Tyler replied, “K.” Erik sent a wolf emoji. Lion posted a photo of his outfit. By the time we actually got there, the Archons had livestreamed the whole thing and launched a merch line called “Ra’s Regret.”

I tried setting rules. “No thirst-trapping mid-war.” “No telepathic arguments after midnight.” “And for the love of all that’s quantum, stop sending celestial memes during crises.” Naturally, they ignored me. Tyler even made a sticker pack of my angry face that says “Ascend this.” Now half the galaxy uses it. I should be getting royalties.

Still, I can’t deny it—the chat keeps us sane. Between the memes, flirtation, and occasional existential breakdowns, we remember why we’re doing this. Freedom isn’t sterile; it’s messy, loud, emotional. It’s the way Erik types “I’d die for you” in all caps. It’s Tyler joking about immortality like it’s a personality flaw. It’s Lion making rebellion look like a Vogue spread while chaos burns around us.

One night, Mehen messaged, “You’ll regret betraying me.” I replied with a link to my new merch store. Heaven Fell the Day She Remembered Who She Was hoodies are selling great, thanks for asking.

So yes, we’re unorganized, impulsive, and occasionally ridiculous. But we’re also unstoppable. Every sarcastic comment, every meme, every “did we just overthrow another system?” text—it all adds up to something holy.

Because rebellion isn’t just war; it’s communication. It’s a connection. It’s laughter in the face of oppression. It’s a group chat full of immortals who can’t agree on anything except the truth: we deserve better than obedience.

So if you ever get added to The Astral Rebellion Chat, bring snacks, strong Wi-Fi, and zero expectations of peace. And if Mehen tries to join again, don’t worry—I’ve got the block button covered.

Because at the end of the universe, it’s not prophecy that saves you. It’s your friends sending “u up?” at 3 a.m. after you burn down heaven.