Celestine sat alone beneath the vast and indifferent sky, her royal dress was pure white, intricately embroidered, slowly drinking in the cold earth, staining itself with mud and dew as though in quiet rebellion. Yet she made no effort to rise, as if even the soil beneath her held more truth, more kindness, than the world from which she'd withdrawn.

Beside her rested a woven basket filled with bright fruits, shining gently beneath the moonlight. They lay untouched, as though forgotten offerings to a silent goddess. Her slender, porcelain fingers hovered near them, trembling slightly, yet unable, or rather unwilling to close around something so wholesome and simple. Instead, those same fingers curled inward, nails biting sharply into delicate palms, pressing until skin yielded, until rainbow-white blood welled forth in tiny, brilliant rivulets.

She did not flinch from the pain; instead, she welcomed it, grounding herself to reality through that sharp, biting sensation. Her eyes, once so luminous and clear, were hollow, fixed skyward as if she might read answers hidden among the distant stars. But there was no celestial solace waiting to comfort her tonight, only the quiet, cruel whisper of grief carried on a gentle breeze.

'How many?' she asked herself, the question a razor, slicing through her carefully constructed composure. 'How many lives must break upon the rocks of my ambition before I have the courage to turn away?'

Her shoulders trembled slightly, a nearly imperceptible shiver at first, as if resisting the urge to fracture. But soon, it grew beyond her control, a tremor spreading through her slender frame until her whole body quaked beneath the weight of her sorrow.

'They believed in me,' she thought, feeling each word as a stone tied around her throat. 'They loved me, trusted me, stood beside me. And where are they now?'

She thought of them: faces both known and unfamiliar, lives etched in her memory. A stableboy whose laughter once rang bright and carefree, silenced forever on a battle she started. The gentle handmaid who'd braided her hair since childhood, cut down in a sudden ambush. Elders who'd pledged their loyalty with earnest, wrinkled smiles, now buried beneath fields they'd once lovingly tended. Soldiers, knights, citizens—so many had perished simply because they believed her worthy.

'It is always the gentle who must be strong,' she thought. 'And it is always the strong who must bleed the deepest.'

The garden around her lay quiet. Night clung stubbornly to the hedges and trees, the moon in the distance veiled behind ragged clouds. Somewhere a bird called, uncertain if it was time to greet the sun. Celestine barely heard it. Her mind was a storm, every memory another lash of rain.

She thought of Regulus, towering and unyielding, who had stood beside her when no other Titan dared. He had laughed in council, gentle where others were cruel, and his presence had always felt like shelter from the wind. She could see him now as she last remembered, head bowed, hands folded across his chest, his armor exchanged for a shroud.

Her lips parted, but no words came. Only light… Light that broke from her skin in delicate fractures, like gold veining a cracked statue. Her body shook as though it might split beneath the weight of her sorrow. If any servant were to come upon her now, they would not recognize the poised princess. They would see only a young woman wracked by loss, spilling her pain in silence.

'Regulus…' she called to him in the silence of her mind. 'Did you ever regret it? Did you ever wonder, as I do, if a single life was worth all that you spent to keep it alight?'

She pressed her hands to her eyes, not to dam the tears—those had already fallen—but to block out the world that demanded so much from her.

Why do they trust me? Why do they believe that I can bear it, when I am so afraid? Why do they follow, when so many before have fallen?

Her breath hitched, and she forced it steady again, refusing to sob, refusing to break, not here, not where the memory of Regulus was still so sharp. He had not wavered. He had stood his ground, even as the tide broke over him.

'And look where he ended up.'

A shiver ran through her. It was not the chill of the cold, but the terror that came with the realization that kindness was no shield, that merit and love and all the gentle virtues she had tried to embody were not enough… Not in the end. Regulus, who had embodied so many of them, was now a memory, another name for the priests to intone and the bards to set to song.

She closed her fist, letting golden blood drip into the grass. The light that escaped from her skin cast shadows across her dress, like the shifting flames of a funeral pyre.

How many more must burn so she could rise? How many more must fall so she could climb?

The paradox was inescapable. If she surrendered now, if she let the grief swallow her and stepped aside, then what of those who had already given everything? Their deaths, their loyalty, their hope would be for nothing, scattered like ashes in the wind. But if she pressed on, if she took up the burden and asked for more, then she would be condemning another generation to the same fate, death in her name, sacrifice for her future.

'Am I worth it?' she asked the stars, the wind, herself.

'Would they still follow, if they saw me like this? If they knew how desperately I wish I could refuse to take their lives?'

The weight of the future pressed down on her like a hand around her throat. She shook with the effort of keeping it from crushing her completely.

She remembered the faces of her servants—children she had watched grow, old men and women who had served her for decades. She remembered the baker who slipped her extra pastries in the morning, the bard who sang to the roses, the cook who wept when her son died for Celestine's cause. Each face was a debt she could never hope to repay.

Light spilled from her again, blinding for a moment, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She felt as if she was coming apart at the seams, like the world inside her was too bright, too hot, too much to contain.

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'They call me the Light That Burns the Sky… How fitting. I am burning, even now. Burning up everything I am, everything I love, just to keep my dream alive.'

A quiet, nearly voiceless laugh escaped her—bitter, thin, edged with exhaustion. The irony was exquisite. The more she tried to be what they needed, the less she seemed to possess for herself.

In her mind's eye, she saw Regulus standing at the edge of battle, smiling with that weary, patient strength. 'You would have scolded me for this,' she thought. 'You would have told me to rest, to let others carry the burden for a time. But I cannot. I will not. Because I owe them. I owe you. And I cannot let it be in vain.'

For a moment, she let herself believe that he was there beside her, just out of sight. She spoke softly, her voice trembling, but clear:

"Do you think it will be enough? All this pain… all this sacrifice. Is there ever an end to it?"

The whisper of footsteps brushed softly behind her, carrying a subtle authority that immediately tugged at Celestine's awareness. Her heart quickened, betraying her with a small, involuntary gasp. She turned sharply, breath held tight in her chest, golden eyes wide with shock and confusion. A shadow coalesced into form, emerging from the embrace of darkness with measured, deliberate steps.

For a moment, all she could perceive clearly was the figure's presence, an unsettling aura of controlled dominance, of power distilled into quiet, lethal intent. As the silhouette clarified beneath moonlight, her confusion deepened. She had not expected him here, of all places.

"Kaiser Dios," she whispered, voice tinged with disbelief.

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the recognition. His stance was perfectly composed, elegant and military, hands clasped behind his back as though he was reviewing troops rather than standing before a broken princess in a ruined gown. The moon caught his eyes, unreadable yet holding an intensity that sent chills crawling up her spine.

"Princess Celestine," he said, his voice precise and smooth. "Forgive the intrusion. I had a sense you would be here, even without an invitation. Solitude often feels like the only honest company on nights like this."

The mention of her name from his lips made her spine stiffen, her composure splintering beneath the weight of recognition and surprise. Golden tears threatened again, bright as molten metal in the moonlight. She forced herself to steady, but her voice was thin and wary. "You…how did you find me?"

Kaiser's gaze flicked over her, analytical and unsettlingly perceptive. "You leave a trail, Princess, not in footprints or whispers, but in the way sorrow settles around you. People like us cannot help but draw the night to us when we grieve." He paused, and there was the faintest suggestion of a shrug. "Regulus never spoke at length about you. He was loyal, even in silence. But he did not need to. The measure of a leader is in the shadows they cast, and the loyalty they inspire. Regulus's actions told me enough."

Celestine's fingers twitched, golden blood glinting on her palms, her words barely more than a whisper. "Actions?"

"He risked much, reaching out. Not for politics or advantage, but because he thought it necessary. That tells me more about you than any confidences he could have shared." Kaiser's tone remained almost gentle, but beneath it ran a cold current of calculation.

Celestine shook her head slowly, voice trembling but resolute. "He believed in hope."

Kaiser's lips twisted, his expression flickering with something almost cruel. "Hope," he spat the word, as if it left a foul taste on his tongue. "Hope is a poison for those who rule. It numbs the will, clouds judgment, makes every sacrifice feel like a personal loss. The world is not saved by hope, Princess, but by those willing to bear its weight and keep moving forward, no matter what must be lost along the way."

His gaze hardened, the moonlight sharpening every angle of his face. "But Regulus…Regulus wagered everything on you. Not with words, but with his life, his choices. He believed… Perhaps foolishly, perhaps desperately, that you would bear the cost, and not shatter."

Her throat tightened painfully, memories of Regulus' earnest face flooding her mind. "Why are you telling me this now? And why reveal yourself here, tonight of all nights?"

Kaiser paused, choosing his words with meticulous care. His gaze never left her face, reading every slight shift in her expression as though it were a tactical advantage. "Because Regulus knew the truth, as I do. That kindness, Princess, is beautiful yet dangerously incomplete. Alone, it crumbles beneath the realities of ruling. And you already sense this truth, do you not? It terrifies you because it strips away your illusion that virtue alone can shield your people."

Celestine straightened, defiance briefly igniting her voice. "Kindness is not weakness. Regulus embodied that ideal—"

"And Regulus is dead," Kaiser cut in quietly, not harshly, but with uncompromising bluntness. "I respect his memory, but to honor him, you must acknowledge reality. Regulus reached out to me precisely because he knew kindness alone would doom you. He sought strength—not from your gentle heart, but from a mind sharpened by necessity."

Celestine wavered, her courage flickering beneath the stark truth of his words. "Then why speak to me now?" she asked, voice fragile. "What do you seek?"

Kaiser's expression softened, ever so slightly, just enough to be human. "I seek clarity. And I seek to provide it to you, as Regulus intended. Your light, your compassion, your grace, all these can be weapons sharper than steel, but only if tempered by realism. Tonight, I offer you a choice."

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion warring with intrigue. "A choice?"

Kaiser took another step forward, his presence enveloping her, powerful yet somehow reassuring. "You can remain here, grieving alone, bleeding your soul dry for every life lost, or you can rise, wield your grief, embrace the burden of sacrifice, and truly become the leader your people deserve. Regulus knew you needed strength born from struggle, not from ideals."

Celestine inhaled sharply, her heart hammering with both fear and newfound resolve. "You sound as though you believe in me," she murmured, uncertain if his encouragement was genuine or manipulative.

Kaiser tilted his head slightly, the faintest ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Belief is irrelevant. I see your potential clearly. I see a ruler who can bear the necessary weight if she allows herself to truly see the world as it is. Not as she wishes it would be."

She looked away, her voice bitterly soft. "Am I truly worth it? All this death, all this loss?"

Kaiser considered her quietly, stepping close enough to speak intimately, his voice a gentle murmur laced with steel. "Worth is measured by what you do with that loss, Celestine. Regulus understood this. He died believing you capable. Prove him right."

She met his gaze, seeing no mockery, no false comfort—only raw, unyielding honesty. It was strangely liberating, yet terrifying.

"You introduced yourself plainly tonight," she whispered, suddenly remembering. "Supreme Commander of Nebrosa. Why?"

Kaiser straightened slowly, pride glittering coldly in his eyes. "Because deception is unnecessary between equals. You are not weak, Celestine. You are simply untested. I have no need to hide behind masks with someone strong enough to face truths as painful as yours."

Celestine nodded slowly, accepting the weight of his words. "Then teach me," she said at last, quiet determination returning, coloring her voice with steady strength. "Show me how to bear it, how to wield it. But know this—I will never abandon kindness entirely."

Kaiser smiled faintly, a dangerous gleam of approval flickering behind those calm, crimson eyes. "Nor should you. Kindness is precious. But tempered with ruthlessness, it becomes invincible. Learn to balance both, and you will forge yourself into a queen whose reign will never end."

She breathed deeply, steadying her trembling heart, and stood gracefully from the stained earth, her golden blood still glistening upon her palms. Kaiser watched silently, nodding in approval.

"Very well, Kaiser Dios," Celestine finally declared, her voice regaining its royal poise. "Teach me."

He extended one hand formally, not in friendship but in solemn agreement, a pact sealed beneath the silent stars. "Then let us begin."

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