Chapter 8

Celeste's POV

Inside the Wind Lighthouse.

I knelt before that ancient weather instrument, the hem of my white robe spreading across the cold stone floor. Cold sweat slid down from my forehead along my cheeks, hitting the ground with faint sounds.

That prophecy had drained every ounce of my strength.

The door suddenly burst open.

Two burly guards walked in, their boots hitting the floor with sounds heavy enough to make my head throb.

"Lady Goddess, you've worked hard." One of them said, his voice carrying no warmth whatsoever. "The president asked us to bring your dinner."

They set a tray on the table—a piece of cold, hard bread and a bowl of clear water. That was it.

I stared at that bread, my throat tightening.

This was the so-called "goddess" treatment.

The guards stopped before leaving, turning back to warn me: "Tomorrow at noon there are important guests coming to see you. Don't embarrass the president."

The door closed.

I collapsed onto the floor, trembling all over.

The price of prophecy was too high. Each time I felt like a piece of my soul was being torn away. The information those air currents brought was too chaotic, too painful, like countless knives stirring inside my head.

Just when I thought I could finally have some quiet, the door opened again.

This time it was Quillan Rhodes who entered—president of the merchant guild, and my adoptive father.

He carried an exquisite food box filled with hot food—roasted meat, fresh fruit, and even a small bottle of wine. The aroma hit me, making my stomach clench violently.

"Celeste." He called my name gently, crouching down in front of me and setting the food box on the floor. "Eat something. You look very weak."

I raised my head, about to call out "Father"—

Crack!

The slap landed hard across my face.

My head whipped to the side, my cheek burning with pain.

My ears rang, my vision blurred.

"Today's prophecy was three minutes and twenty seconds later than yesterday's." Quillan's voice was cold as a knife. "At this speed, how can anyone see you as divine?"

I covered my face, tears spilling uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry..." My voice shook badly. "I... I already tried my best..."

"Tried your best?" Quillan sneered. "You think 'trying your best' is enough? Do you know those people outside kneel in the plaza every day to pray? They pin all their hopes on you! Every delay of yours could send a ship to the bottom of the sea, could shatter a family!"

I bit my lip, not daring to argue back.

Since childhood I'd been able to hear the voices of air currents. Those winds whispered in my ears, telling me weather changes, telling me when storms would come and when they'd leave. At first I thought this was heaven's blessing. Later I understood—it was a curse.

Each prophecy brought those air currents flooding into my mind, carrying everything they'd passed through—the despair of those who met disaster at sea, the final struggles of the drowning, and those who went to sea because of my divine oracle, their fear and pain.

All these emotions swamped me like a tide, making it almost impossible to breathe.

"Recently... recently the air currents around Free Haven have been too chaotic." I said timidly. "I can't concentrate, so... so that's why the timing was late..."

"Chaotic?" Quillan cut me off, his voice even colder. "Then you should work harder to listen, to distinguish! Do you think I brought you out of that orphanage to raise a useless piece of trash?"

Orphanage.

That word hit my chest like a hammer.

I remembered that place—dark, damp, filled with the smell of mold and despair. Orphans crowded on filthy floor mats, each day getting only a small piece of moldy bread. I spent five years there, five years thinking I'd die in that place.

Until Quillan appeared.

He said he would be a good father, said he'd take me away from that hell, give me a better life. I'd cried and clung to his leg then, thinking I was finally saved.

But I was wrong.

I'd only moved from one cage to another.

"Tomorrow," Quillan continued, his tone softening slightly, "tomorrow noon you'll meet an Alpha. From the Silver Moon Pack. Remember, you are a goddess. You need to act like one."

I nodded, not daring to say more.

Quillan stood up, looking down at me from above. "You don't want to go back to that orphanage, do you?"

My body went rigid.

"I love you, Celeste." His voice suddenly turned gentle, like coaxing a child. "I brought you out of that hell, gave you food, gave you shelter, made you everyone's hope. You are a goddess, you are this city's light. Without you, Free Haven would fall into chaos, those fishermen would perish in storms, merchant ships would sink to the bottom of the sea. Do you understand? You are their hope."

He crouched down, using his finger to lift my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.

"So you need to do better." He said. "No mistakes, no delays. You need to make everyone believe you're truly divine."

I stared into his eyes. Those eyes held no love, only cold calculation.

But I still nodded.

Because I knew if I didn't obey, I'd be sent back to that orphanage.

Or worse—thrown onto the streets to be trampled by anyone.

Quillan smiled with satisfaction, releasing my chin and standing up. "Rest well. Don't disappoint me tomorrow."

He left. The door closed again.

I sat on the floor, staring at that food box. The food inside still steamed, the aroma tempting. But my stomach was churning, appetite completely gone.

I crawled to the window, gnawing on that cold, hard bread. Outside was the sea, dark clouds gathering in the distant sky like a black curtain pressing down.

My hand froze in midair, the bread nearly falling to the floor.

Those clouds... they shouldn't be there.

This morning I'd issued a divine oracle saying—today the seas would be calm, safe for sailing.

But now those clouds were gathering, thicker and thicker, blacker and blacker.

The sound of wind came from the distance, carrying irritation and fury.

I was wrong.

My prophecy was wrong.

Those fishermen who believed me, those sailors who went to sea because of my oracle—they were still out there right now. And the storm was coming.

"No... no..." My voice trembled, the bread slipping from my hand.

The wind began to scream.

What it brought was no longer whispers, but heart-wrenching wails—those sailors' fear, their despair, their questioning of the "goddess."

Why? Why did you say today was safe? Why did we believe you?

Tears blurred my vision.

I knelt by the window, watching those gathering clouds, listening to the wails carried on the wind.

"I'm sorry..." I choked out. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I really didn't mean to..."

But what good were apologies?

Those people would die. Because of me.

A puppet locked in a tower, a pathetic creature forced to play goddess.