Chapter 12

Celeste's POV

Night fell, and the servants helped me back to the top floor of the Wind Lighthouse. Each step pulled at the wounds on my back, that burning pain spreading from my spine all the way to my shoulders, making me barely able to stand.

The maids sat me down before the mirror and began cleaning my wounds. Warm water soaked through the white robe, blood dripping down the fabric and spreading dark stains across the floor.

I stared at myself in the mirror—face pale as paper, eyes hollow, like an exquisite doll.

When they peeled away the blood-soaked clothing, I felt no pain. Or rather, I'd grown accustomed to not feeling. The maids' movements were gentle, afraid of hurting me, but I only cooperated mechanically, letting them manipulate me as they wished.

"Lady Goddess, please bear with it," one of the maids said softly, her tone full of reverence.

I didn't respond.

They dressed me in a clean white robe, re-combed my hair, then withdrew. The sound of the door closing echoed through the empty tower top like some kind of verdict.

I sat alone in this gilded cage. By the table sat only a bowl of clear water and a piece of hardened black bread—this was the so-called "goddess's" dinner. I stared at that bread, my throat tight, nausea churning in my stomach.

Just then, the door was roughly pushed open.

Several servants entered carrying a table draped with snow-white cloth. They proceeded to set out an elaborate dinner—roasted squab glistening with oil, cream soup steaming hot, crystal glasses filled with deep red wine. The aroma of food spread through the room, forming a stark contrast with that hard lump of black bread on my table.

Then Quillan walked in.

He wore an elegant robe, his face carrying a gentle smile as he sat at the table. He placed a napkin, picked up his knife and fork, and began eating like a refined nobleman.

The sound of the knife and fork cutting through the roasted squab was especially clear in the silent room.

I stood before the bronze mirror, maintaining a wary distance, unmoving.

"My child," Quillan cut a piece of meat, his tone as gentle as coaxing a child, "you did exceptionally well today. Do you know? When you endured those five lashes, I saw true faith in the crowd—the tears in their eyes weren't sorrow, but awe."

He pushed a plate of dessert toward the empty seat before me.

It was a small cake covered in frosting, looking soft and tempting.

"You used your own pain to prove to them that even gods bleed for mortals," he continued, his voice carrying a certain satisfaction. "What a magnificent sacrifice!"

I remained where I stood, fingers gripping the hem of my white robe tightly. I didn't dare approach that table, didn't dare touch that food.

Because I knew every bite came with a price.

"I..." I began uncertainly, my voice hoarse. "Did I... did I do the right thing?"

Quillan set down his knife and fork, looking up at me, a flash of satisfaction in his eyes.

"You didn't just do right, you were perfect." He stood and walked toward me, his tone becoming even more reverent. "Celeste, do you know? You're not ordinary. From the first moment I saw you in that orphanage, I knew—you were born to be the divine incarnate among mortals."

I lowered my head, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Ordinary people cannot understand your mission," Quillan continued, his voice deep and powerful. "They're driven by desire, fear, greed—struggling for survival like beasts. But you're different. You transcend all of that."

He walked back to the table and speared a piece of fluffy bread laden with cream cheese, waving it before me.

It was the kind I'd never eaten—soft, sweet, the sight alone making my mouth water.

"The world outside is filthy, chaotic, full of danger," Quillan said, his tone like stating some indisputable truth. "People there kill each other over a scrap of bread, betray family for power. You saw those children in the orphanage too—fighting over food, brawling, bullying the weak, didn't you?"

I nodded. Those memories cut through my heart like knives—the dark room, the moldy straw, children grappling over a tiny piece of bread.

"So I brought you out," Quillan's voice softened, "not to let you become like them. I gave you this tower, gave you divine identity, to protect you—to keep you away from that ugliness, to preserve your purity."

He changed tack, pulling a thick ledger from his robe and placing it on the table.

"But, my child, divine power must also be maintained." He opened the ledger, its pages densely packed with dates and arrangements. "This is next month's ceremonial schedule. You need to prophecy the fishing season on the 5th, bless the merchant ships on the 10th, preside over the sea offering ceremony on the 15th, on the 20th..."

I looked at the tightly packed schedule and said unconsciously, "So many..."

"This is your mission, Celeste." Quillan interrupted me, his tone still gentle yet brooking no argument. "Gods cannot rest, because the faithful need you. If you tire, if you weary, if you want to give up—those fishermen will perish in storms, those merchants will lose their livelihoods, all of Free Haven will descend into chaos."

He leaned closer, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.

"Are you willing to see such an outcome?" he asked. "Are you willing to betray their trust?"

"No..." I shook my head hastily. "I don't want..."

Quillan smiled with satisfaction, reaching out to stroke my hair gently, his movements as tender as handling fragile porcelain.

"I knew you were a kind child."

Before leaving, he pointed at the starry sky outside the window.

"Look, those stars are so beautiful," he said, his voice carrying a certain sentiment. "But they can only hang in the sky, never descending to earth. Because once they fall, they'll be extinguished in the dust."

He turned to face me.

"You're the same, Celeste—you are a star, you belong to the heights. If you leave this tower, leave my protection, you'll be torn apart by those mortals' desires. Remember, only here are you safe."

The door closed again.

I walked to the window, gazing out at Free Haven—countless lights, voices bustling. Through the wind I could hear people in distant taverns raising their glasses, hear couples walking hand in hand by the sea, hear children chasing each other through the streets.

Those sounds were so real, so vivid.

But the chaotic waves from the depths of the sea also surged into my mind with the wind, making my head throb with splitting pain. I hugged my knees, curling up in the corner by the window.

I restrained myself from crying...

Because I wasn't even sure if I had the right to cry...

Do gods cry? Do gods feel lonely?

Just then, a faint scraping sound came from outside the window—something was moving.

I froze, holding my breath.

The sound grew closer, as if someone was climbing the tower wall...