Chapter 29

Chapter 29
Jax's POV

Moonlight bathed Free Port in silver as I wove through familiar alleys toward the towering lighthouse. The worn cobblestones clicked softly beneath my boots, and I quickened my pace, my heartbeat accelerating with each step.

Today was my birthday.

Twenty-one—for most people, just another ordinary day. But for me, it meant I could finally spend a real night with Celeste, one that truly belonged to us.

We'd made a plan: tonight I'd steal this "goddess" from her tower prison to celebrate my birthday.

The thought made me grin. Grandmother had baked me a small piece of bread this morning, stuck with a stub of candle she'd broken off an old one. With trembling hands she'd lit it and told me to make a wish. I didn't tell her what I'd wished for—that tonight would go smoothly, that Celeste could feel real freedom in the outside world, even if only for a few hours.

The lighthouse's silhouette stood stark against the night sky. I slowed, pressing against the wall, moving without sound. I'd memorized the guard rotation schedule long ago, and now was the loosest moment in their watch.

I reached the outer wall and looked up at Celeste's window. Faint candlelight flickered inside. She was still awake.

Taking a deep breath, I began to climb—my specialty, honed by years as a thief, my fingers finding purchase in the smallest cracks.

Just as I neared the window, voices drifted from inside. I froze, flattening myself against the wall, holding my breath.

"Celeste, I'd meant for you to visit the Albatross tonight." That was Quillon's voice, low and carrying a certain weight. "Your birth father worked on that ship for so many years. You should pay your respects."

I heard Celeste reply softly but firmly, "Father, I... I'm not feeling well tonight. Could we go another time?"

Silence stretched for several seconds. I could imagine Quillon's expression—that scrutinizing gaze, as if trying to see through someone.

"Very well," Quillon finally said, his tone unreadable. "Get some rest then. Tomorrow's blessing ceremony still awaits."

Footsteps gradually faded. The door closed gently.

I waited, making sure Quillon had truly left, before continuing upward. My fingertips tapped the window glass in our agreed-upon rhythm.

The window opened quickly. Celeste leaned out, moonlight washing over her face, making her look both nervous and excited.

"You came," she whispered, her eyes bright in the darkness.

"Happy birthday, Jax," she added, a small smile playing at her lips.

Warmth flooded my chest. She'd remembered.

"Ready?" I extended my hand.

This time she didn't hesitate, gripping my hand and climbing out. Compared to last time's clumsiness and tension, her movements were much smoother—still somewhat unpracticed, but no longer afraid.

"You've improved," I murmured, steadying her as we descended.

"I had a good teacher," she whispered back, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

We finally reached solid ground. Celeste stood there, breathing deeply, wearing that familiar expression of excitement—the kind that only appeared when she left the lighthouse.

"Let's go." I took her hand and led her through the shadows, avoiding the patrolling guards.

Free Port at night was completely different from daytime.

The streets no longer teemed with crowds, only the occasional drunk or stray cat passing by. Moonlight painted everything silver-white, the sea breeze carrying its salt-tinged scent.

"Where do you want to go?" Celeste asked quietly, her steps light as she followed beside me.

"Everywhere," I answered, feeling as excited as a kid. "Tonight this city is ours."

We strolled along the coastline, soft sand beneath our feet. Waves crashed against the rocks in rhythmic percussion. This time Celeste wasn't so cautious—she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot on the beach, her stride bolder than before.

"Last time you brought me here, I was too scared to walk fast," she suddenly said, a touch of self-mockery in her voice. "Now it feels... more natural."

I turned to look at her.

In the moonlight, her profile appeared especially soft, the sacred air she was forced to maintain daily gone, replaced by a real girl who could smile and feel confused.

"This is how you should be," I said. "No acting, no pretending."

She stopped, looking at me, something I couldn't quite name flickering in her eyes. Then she smiled—that genuine, unguarded smile, more relaxed and real than last time.

"Thank you, Jax. Again."

We kept walking, chatting about trivial things. Before I knew it, the conversation had turned to the Albatross.

"Quillon wanted you to visit that ship tonight?" I asked, remembering the conversation I'd overheard.

Celeste nodded, her expression growing complicated. "Yes. He said it was where my father worked, that I should pay my respects."

"But you refused."

"Yes." She looked down, drawing circles in the sand with her toe. "I... I didn't want to go."

I could hear the conflict in her voice. "Why? If you miss your father—"

"Of course I miss him," Celeste interrupted, bitterness creeping into her tone. "But the Albatross... that ship doesn't represent his love for me. It represents his obsession with the sea."

She lifted her head, gazing at the dark ocean in the distance.

"My father Rowan was a remarkable captain. He loved exploration, loved uncharted waters. But because of that, he was almost never home. When my mother died, he was at sea. When I was sick, he was at sea. Every moment I needed him, he was at sea."

I fell silent. I didn't know what to say.

"So when Quillon adopted me and locked me in that tower, I felt this strange... relief," Celeste continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "At least he cared where I was, even if that caring was twisted and selfish. At least I wasn't a forgotten child anymore."

She turned to face me. "Do you understand, Jax? I don't want to go to the Albatross because it would remind me that my father chose the sea over me. I'd rather... I'd rather go back to our old home, the place he'd occasionally return to, the place that still holds some warm memories."

I looked at her, an indescribable emotion rising in my chest. I reached out and gently took her hand.

"Then let's go there," I said. "Show me your home."

Celeste paused, then nodded firmly.

We left the beach and cut through several narrow alleys, arriving at an old residential area on the port's edge. Most of the houses here had fallen into disrepair, some already collapsed. Celeste stopped in front of a three-story building.

The exterior walls were peeling and mottled, most windows broken, the wooden doorframe warped from years of neglect. The entire structure was shrouded in a desolate atmosphere, as if time had stopped here.

Celeste stood before the door, her eyes growing moist. She lifted her hand and gently touched the doorframe, the gesture as tender as if she were touching a precious memory.

"This is where I grew up," she said quietly.

I said nothing, just stood beside her in silence.

She pushed the door open—it wasn't locked, or rather the lock had broken long ago. Inside was complete darkness, the air thick with mildew and dust.

Celeste pulled a small candle from her pocket. I helped her light it. The weak flame illuminated a corner of the room.

It was a simple living room. Furniture lay buried under thick dust, faded paintings hung on the walls. Celeste walked to an old sofa and brushed away the dust, revealing deep blue fabric underneath.

"My mother loved this sofa," she said, nostalgia coloring her voice. "She said this color was like the sea, so even when Father wasn't home, we could feel him close to us."

She moved deeper into the room. I followed. She stopped before an old wooden cabinet, crouched down, and opened a hidden drawer at the bottom.

Inside lay neatly stacked navigation logs.

Celeste carefully removed the topmost one and opened to the first page. Her father's handwriting—neat and strong.

"He recorded every voyage," she said softly. "Every port, every sea, every storm."

I leaned closer to look. The logs contained not just text but hand-drawn sea charts. I noticed many places on one map were marked with X's.

"What do these X's mean?" I asked.

Celeste flipped through several pages, her brow furrowing. "I'm not entirely sure. But look—most waters are marked, only a few places aren't."

She pointed to several blank areas on the map. Those locations sat in remote waters far from major shipping routes, with almost no notation.

I picked up another log and opened it randomly. A passage caught my eye, and I found myself reading aloud:

"Voyage two hundred thirty-seven, day forty-two. Today we came up empty in those waters again. The crew's starting to complain, saying I've lost my mind, that the legend is nothing but drunken sailor talk. But I can feel it—we're getting closer to the truth. It's out there, I know it. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next time, we'll find it."

I stopped and looked at Celeste. Her face had gone pale, her eyes fixed on the log.

"What was he searching for?" I asked quietly.

Celeste shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don't know. He never told me."

She opened more logs. We read together. As time passed, Rowan's writing became increasingly urgent, increasingly... frantic.

"It's out there, I can feel it calling to me..."

"Today I dreamed of it, that green light..."

"The crew's threatening mutiny, but I can't stop. I'm so close now..."

The last page of the final log contained only one sentence:

"Close. I feel that day approaching. When I find it, everything will change."

Candlelight flickered between us. Celeste's hands trembled. I gently held them.

"He was searching for some kind of treasure," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "And he believed finding it would change your fate."

Celeste looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "But he failed, didn't he? He died, and I... I became a caged puppet."

I didn't know how to comfort her. I just pulled her into my arms, letting her cry against my shoulder.

After a long while, her sobbing gradually subsided. She lifted her head from my embrace and wiped her tears.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I ruined your birthday."

"Don't be ridiculous," I said softly. "Being with you is the best birthday present."

She looked at me, something tender in her gaze.