Celeste had always believed fear would feel loud.
Sharp. Obvious. Like something screaming inside her chest.
But as she stood in the clearing, facing the stranger in dark armor, fear arrived quietly. It settled into her bones, heavy and cold, making her painfully aware of every breath she took.
The glow behind her pulsed again, soft but persistent, like a heartbeat that did not belong to her.
The man's gaze never left her face.
Up close, she noticed details she hadn't before—the faint scar near his jaw, the tired set of his eyes, the way his posture suggested control rather than arrogance. He wasn't young, but not old either. There was something worn about him, as though he had lived too much too quickly.
"You should step away from it," he said calmly.
Celeste's fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "I didn't touch it."
"I know," he replied.
That answer unsettled her more than if he had accused her.
The riders behind him remained silent, their faces hidden beneath hoods. They didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even shift their weight. It was as if they were statues placed there to remind her she was outnumbered.
Celeste swallowed. "What… what is it?"
The man hesitated.
For the first time since he had arrived, something like uncertainty flickered across his face. It was gone almost instantly, replaced by that same unreadable calm.
"Something that does not fall without reason," he said.
"That doesn't explain anything," she said before she could stop herself.
His brow lifted slightly, surprised. Not offended—just… curious.
"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."
The wind stirred again, brushing past Celeste's face. She felt it then—a faint tug in her chest, pulling her closer to the light behind her. It wasn't painful. It wasn't frightening.
It felt familiar.
She shifted her weight without realizing it, taking half a step backward—toward the glow.
The man noticed.
"Stay where you are," he said sharply.
The command snapped through the air, stronger than before. Celeste froze, heart racing.
"I didn't mean to—" she began.
"You feel it, don't you?" he interrupted.
She stared at him.
"Feel what?"
His eyes narrowed, studying her like a puzzle that refused to solve itself. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the glowing fragment embedded in the earth.
"It's calling to you."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
"No," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "It's just… light."
The glow brightened slightly, as if disagreeing.
The man exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that carried frustration. "You truly don't know," he murmured.
Celeste's chest tightened. "Know what?"
He looked back at her. This time, his gaze softened—not by much, but enough for her to notice.
"You are standing at the center of something that has shaped kingdoms," he said. "And you're treating it like a coincidence."
Her thoughts raced.
Kingdoms?
This had to be a mistake. She was just a village girl. She helped mend nets, carried water, kept her head down. She didn't belong in conversations about power or destiny or things that fell from the sky.
"I didn't ask for this," she said quietly.
Something shifted again—this time in him.
"No," he agreed, more seriously now. "You didn't."
Silence stretched between them. The glow hummed faintly, the sound barely audible but persistent enough to make Celeste's skin prickle.
One of the riders stepped forward. "Your Highness—"
Celeste stiffened.
Highness?
The man raised a hand without looking back, silencing them instantly.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"You're… a prince?" she asked.
He hesitated just long enough to confirm it.
"Yes."
Her mouth went dry.
She had seen nobles before—travelers passing through, escorted by guards, their clothes too clean for village roads. But this was different. This was royalty standing in the dirt, staring at her like she mattered.
"I'm not important," she said quickly. "You must have the wrong person."
"If that were true," he replied, "the star would not have fallen here."
The glow flared again, brighter than before.
Celeste gasped, instinctively lifting her hands. The warmth surged into her palms, spreading up her arms like sunlight beneath skin.
She cried out softly, startled—not in pain, but in shock.
The light responded.
It lifted.
The fragment rose slowly from the crater, hovering between them. Threads of silver light stretched outward, brushing against Celeste's fingers like curious sparks.
She stared, breathless.
"I'm not doing this," she whispered.
The prince's expression hardened.
"You are."
Panic bloomed in her chest. She shook her head, stepping back, but the light followed her, floating obediently at her height.
"I can't," she said. "I don't know how."
"You don't need to," he replied. "It recognizes you."
The words echoed too closely to the thoughts she had buried her entire life.
Recognizes you.
The light pulsed once, then drifted closer, settling into her palms. It felt warm—gentle, even. Like something long lost finding its way home.
Tears stung her eyes.
"I don't want this," she said again, more desperately.
The prince watched her carefully. "That may be the only reason it chose you."
Before she could ask what that meant, the ground trembled.
Not violently—but enough to send a ripple through the clearing. The light flickered, its glow dimming slightly.
The prince's head snapped up.
"Mount up," he ordered sharply.
The riders moved instantly.
"What's happening?" Celeste asked, fear creeping back in.
"Others felt it fall," he said. "And not all of them will ask questions."
The light in her hands pulsed urgently, as if reacting to his words. She felt the pull again stronger now, insistent.
"Come with us," the prince said.
Her heart dropped. "What?"
"You are not safe here."
"This is my home," she protested.
"For now," he said. "But it won't remain one if you stay."
She looked toward the village in the distance, barely visible beneath the fog. Her mother would be asleep by now. Her neighbors unaware of how close the night had come to tearing her life apart.
"I can't just leave," she whispered.
"You can," he replied. "And you must."
Before she could respond, a sharp sound cut through the air—a distant horn, low and ominous.
The prince's jaw tightened.
"That's them," he said.
Celeste's fear spiked. "Who?"
He met her gaze, and for the first time, she saw something raw in his eyes.
"Those who believe power should never choose kindness."
The horn sounded again, closer this time.
The light in Celeste's hands flared, reacting violently. She cried out, instinctively clutching it to her chest.
"I don't know what I am," she said, voice breaking. "I don't know what you want from me."
The prince stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"I want you alive," he said. "Everything else can wait."
Another tremor shook the ground. Shadows shifted at the edges of the clearing.
Celeste made a decision.
She nodded.
The prince released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He reached out not touching her, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his presence.
"Stay close," he said. "And whatever happens… do not let go of the light."
She swallowed hard. "And if I can't control it?"
His expression softened, just slightly.
"Then I'll make sure it doesn't control you."
As the riders mounted and the night closed in around them, Celeste cast one last look toward the village she was leaving behind.
The stars above shimmered faintly, as if watching.
As if waiting.
And for the first time in her life, Celeste understood the truth she had always been afraid to face.
The sky had never been distant.
It had been patient.