Chapter 6: Celeste

A single sheet of paper curled into the fire, its inked words surrendering to the consuming red.
The flames reflected in Johannes’s deep blue eyes, their dance holding him in a gaze he did not break.

Yet the heat they radiated felt neither warmer than the fire nor colder than the drizzles of spring pattering on the window.

This morning, a courier delivered a sealed memo stamped with the insignia of High Command. Inside was an information he had known bound to happen.

Operation Helios is estimated to reach its completion in 72 hours.

Hollow, like a blank canvas.

It is perhaps the closest word to describe what stirred inside him as he read the memo now reduced to ash.

He sat like a shadow before the crackling hearth, its warmth denying to seep into the chill that clung to his body. His jawline looked sharper than usual, carved by the shadow across his face.

An operation to conquer the sun. A striking name, indeed.

He smirked at the thought, though his eyes never smile.

After thirteen months of execution, and years of preparation, his father was about to secure another milestone in his relentless ascent.

Another sun led toward the gallows: the young king of Seirya.
The one and only royal blood tied to his captive.

His jaw tightened, hand reached for his cigarette case, lighting one with slight urgency.
The ember flared like crackling fire as he inhaled, letting the first breath of smoke thicken the air. The scent of tobacco filled the room.

Only then did he allow himself to lean back into the chair, his eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling focusing on the sound of drizzles that filled the void room, the clock ticking on the wooden panel.

But an uninvited image intruded, dark hair like ink, wide doe-like eyes fixed on him,

And.. that faint jasmine scent trailing behind her like a shadow.

He drew in another lungful of smoke, diluting the trace of jasmine with the tobacco.

Nonetheless, a single truth shaped in his mind.

I should have killed her that day.

Yet just as a moth is drawn helplessly to its light, he had found himself drawn to the solemn moon.

Johannes scoffed under his breath.
The end of his cigarette glowed bright in the dim room. He rose at last, pressing the burning stub into the ashtray with a controlled, deliberate force and stepped into the hallway.

*****

In the wooden-ceiling room, the faint scratch of pencil against paper filled the atmosphere. On the bed, Celeste stretched her upper body in a slow, lazy motion.

Why did I never ask why he chose that name?

She pondered as she sketched in her bedroom. On the white paper, a vase slowly took shape, a porcelain vase with faint floral relics on its surface. A picture from her dreams, tugging at her as though it belonged to her past.

Yet she still did not know which flowers to draw.

Lost completely in thought, she failed to notice the gray weather outside, the gentle drizzle tapping against the window.

He is such a weird man.

The memory of his laugh rose suddenly, those small wrinkles beside his eyes, that crisp, deep voice, the golden waves of his hair catching the morning sun… Her pencil froze mid-stroke.

This is crazy. Remember, he is from Falkenreich.

She let out a long exhale, closed the sketchbook, and rolled onto her back, hugging it close to her chest. She let the gentle drizzle to echo like a lullaby.

Their conversation about her name had ended naturally, just like every breakfast they shared when Johannes was at the villa. They rarely ever shared lunch or dinner neither could she ever tell when he would return to the villa to stay. He rarely stayed more than two or three nights and when he did, he mostly was gone from noon until night.

It seems it was only her that begin to ponder the true weight of her name.

“At least we can talk normally until I regain my memory,” she murmured to herself.

But what if I never regain it?

The future darkened at the thought. Too bleak to understand, too frightening to name.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed outside her door, interrupting her darkened mind.

She decided to listened in to the movement of the steps. They moved in slow, deliberate circles… then paused. Then moved again, the same steady rhythm.

Celeste lifted her head toward the doorknob, her eyes fixed, her fingers tightening around the sketchbook. Waiting for something—anything.

But nothing came.

After a moment, the footsteps retreated, descending the stairs before fading away like wind.

An indescribable hollow seeped into her chest. Her gaze remained glued to the unmoving doorknob. Outside, the drizzle continued to patter, a quiet melody echoing her heartbeat.

Well… who were you expecting, Celeste?

It was the first time she ever used that name for herself, tasting of hollowness…

It was also the first time she dared name the loneliness that clung to her during these eerily peaceful days. As if receiving a name had given birth to a new identity.

One that could feel.

Her long eyelashes began to feel wet, and she curled onto her side, arms wrapped around her knees.
In the muffled quiet, soft footsteps approached, unhurried followed by two gentle knocks.

“Lady Celeste, it is coffee time. The young master requested your presence,” the maid’s voice whispered, as soft as the drizzle against the window.

No… Johannes had never once asked for her company outside the single breakfast they shared when he happened to be in the villa. And yet—

“Is that an order?”
She wiped her eyes quickly, steadying her voice.

“No, Lady Celeste. The young master is taking his coffee in the drawing room. You may join him, if you wish.”

Being alone felt like trying to fill a jug from the rain, drops falling unbearably slow, and you tell yourself you will grow accustomed to it. But eventually…

“Tell Johannes I will come down in a minute.”

…eventually the jug fills, and can hold no more; the rain spills over, becoming a stream that runs past every boundary meant to contain it.

Celeste rose from the bed and stood before her vanity mirror. She studied the woman reflected there, someone foreign to her eyes. Her hand lifted to her chest, curling tightly into a fist before she stepped away from the figure on the mirror.

She picked up her sketchbook, turned the cool metal of the doorknob, and crossed the threshold of her room.

*****

Johannes sat on the long sofa, gaze fixed on the closed door. A cigarette burned on the ashtray beside him, forgotten yet stubbornly filling the drawing room with its heavy scent of tobacco.

The wooden floorboards whispered through the hall, soft creaks marking the approach of the woman who responded to his call. A sound that echoes with the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

In his mind, thoughts rose and collapsed like waves, each replaced by another before it could settle.

But one question refused to fade:

What expression would she wear when she stepped through that door, a fallen celestial, still shining through soot and blood?

And beneath that question, quieter, sharper..

What is it that I want from you?

The long golden needle on the wooden clock kept moving forward, while the gentle patter of the spring rain bathed the room in solemn music. At last, the door’s knob shifted. He eased his back against the sofa and rested an arm along the wooden armrest, a facade he wore to betray the well-trained soldier.

Two slender feet crossed the threshold.
Her white nightgown flowed softly around her as she stepped inside, the sketchbook pressed lightly to her chest. She did not look at him, but he caught the faint redness lingering around her eyes, signs that betrayed the defiance on her face.
He snickered at her.

She is indeed a princess. A princess that soon would be forgotten by her own people.

“Did you call for me?”
Her soft voice pulled him back into the present.

“It was a free-will invitation.”
A short, clear answer, tinged unmistakably with tease.

Celeste’s fingers tightened around her sketchbook. She knew this was his way of testing her patience.

“Well then,” she murmured, “I have a lot of time to kill anyway, since I’m not allowed outside.”

“I shall take this moment to enjoy your company.”

Her tongue moved with a smoothness she didn’t recognize, her tone slipping into the cadence of Falkenreich nobility without conscious effort. She chose a seat at the opposite end of the long sofa, leaving a careful distance between them. Lowering her sketchbook, she resumed her drawing in silence.

The soft scratch of pencil on paper blended with the ticking clock and the pattering rain.

Her quiet audacity never failed to stir something inside him.
He studied her, the woman who could now sit beside him without flinching, wholly absorbed in the world she sketched. Her hazel eyes did not lift, not even when he scoffed under his breath.

For a moment, time pause.. like a held breath between two notes.

Until the door finally clicked open.
Mary entered with a silver tray carrying two porcelain cups and two small pots. She set them on the side table and began to pour.

The first scent Celeste noticed was the roast of coffee, a familiar scent in this villa. Yet, the next scent was gentler, a scent that roused her past but not quite enough to sketch a memory inside her.

“This is a popular black tea from Elyndra, Lady Celeste,” Mary said, her tone soft and precise.
“I hope it will suit you. The young master sent us an order to find this in the market.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

Celeste’s eyes widened just slightly, a tiny crack in her composed facade.
She lowered her gaze to the steaming cup, where warm mist curled above the dark liquid. She felt something glowed faintly inside her, like a small candle in a long corridor.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the man beside her and there she met a deep blue ocean, the waves engulfing her.

In that strange moment, shame pressed quietly against Celeste’s ribs. In between that distance, Johannes felt something rise in him with the warmth and bite of liquor. Like oil and water, light and dark, their emotions met, parallel, with no bridge.

Yet the long golden needle moved forward, ticking toward a future neither of them could see.

Johannes did not look away from her.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured.

“Tell me a tale of your people, Celeste.”

“My people?” Her brows tightened, suspicion creeping in like a slow shadow.
The flicker of warmth from moments ago vanished.

Before her sat a man who felt suddenly unfamiliar, the deep ocean that engulfed her was no longer found, replaced by the icy winter. And he continued, relentlessly.

“How do they live? What values guided your life?”
A pause, intentional.
“Why do you never change?”

Her grip tightened around her sketchbook.

“What are you trying to gain from this?” she snapped, the question laced with heat.

No, she was not naive enough to deny that she had been treated differently by this man, not a servant but not like a hostage. Her nights grew shorter for her ponders grew in numbers,

Why could she speak languages she didn’t remember learning?
Why did she end up on the border?
Who was she before she woke up on that twilight day?

She wanted to believe, yes, she wanted to, that kindness existed even in a time of war.
But belief thinned under too many unknowns.

And what are you expecting, Celeste?

Her breath grew unsteady.
Words spilled faster than she could hold them, her thoughts racing ahead until her vision began to blur at the edges. Heat rose to her cheeks, her lungs drawing smaller, sharper breaths.

She didn’t notice when her fingers began to tremble.

Then, a warmth touched her cheek. Firm yet laced with hesitance.

“Celeste,” he murmured, the name coming out rougher than he intended.

Her unfocused gaze flickered to him. A man, his eyes are deeper than the ocean, the shadow of fire dances in his eyes.

“Breathe.”
His thumb brushed a stray tear, slow.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The warmth from the fire seeped into her, Celeste steadied herself against the warmth she did not wish for.

Yet the warmth vanished almost too quickly, replaced by the cold air between them.

“You tell me,” he murmured.

“What benefit could I possibly gain from your information?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, mocking, inviting, pulling her in like gravity.

No answer rose inside her. Only silence, and the relentless ticking of the clock.

Johannes let out a low laugh, reaching for his cup of bitter liquid as though its heat could rinse the dryness from his throat.

“Then,” she said, her voice hoarse yet steady enough to slice the quiet, “I want you to allow me to go outside.”

His hand froze around the porcelain. He angled his gaze toward her, tear-streaked, but burning with defiance. The sight unraveled him with an unsettling mix of disbelief, challenge, and something dangerously close to admiration.

“Are you offering yourself to the enemy, then?” he asked, voice cool as steel.
“When just a minute ago, a simple question about Seiryan favorite killing-time activity nearly broke you apart?”

He snickered, meeting her defiant gaze with his own.

The light inside her, dimmed moments before, glowed stronger again, alive and stubborn. Her fingers curled into a tight fist at her side.

A sharp, firm knock interrupted the charged air.
Mary slipped in, lowering her head.

“Young master, there is a call for you. It requires your urgent attention.”

A call that could not wait. Johannes already knew the name behind it.

He set the half-emptied cup onto the table and rose from the sofa, the shadows shifting over his tailored frame.

“I will consider your request,” he said. “Until then, hold your reign, young lady.”

He gave her one last look, at the stubborn, luminous, infuriating creature and allowed himself the smallest smile.

“You are free to use the drawing room whenever you wish.”

His hand closed around the doorknob. But before he turned it, he added:

“And wear something else I’ve prepared for you. Something other than that white nightgown.”

He inhaled the faint trace of jasmine that clung to the air, savoring it for the last time before stepping out to his duty. The man with deep ocean eyes was no longer to be found, replaced by a soldier who embraced a heavy truth.

*****

“Yes, General. Major Eisenwald speaking.”

Johannes stood beside the mahogany table, posture straight as a blade. His tone carried the rigid formality drilled into him since youth. Even across a distant line, he offered his superior nothing less than perfect discipline.

For a remote villa, the existence of a telephone was almost absurd—but duty demanded it. A private line had been installed in his study, a room connected directly to his bedchamber. Only Mary and his personal attendant were permitted to enter, much less answer a call.

“I trust you’ve reviewed the latest report from Operation Helios, Major,” came the composed, incisive voice from the other end.

“Yes, General.”

“Our counterparts expect you to carry out the final stage.”

The order was clear. Brutally simple. Johannes had known this moment would arrive; still, his jaw tightened at the familiar iron in his father’s voice.

Silence stretched like eternity. In it, the color of her eyes returned to him. Defiance that betrayed her frail figure. A woman who had lost her memory, yet never truly lost her identity. That inexplicable, fragile radiance he had found in the ruins of human depravity.

I knew there was never another name that could fit her.

His grip on the receiver hardened. He inhaled once, steady and soldier-like, and replied in a decisive tone,

“I will secure the evidence required for the transaction, General.”

A pause.

“The proof of the last monarch’s death.”

Celeste was born beneath the cold spring, when the flowers began to bud and the sun finally shone a little stronger. She was born gracefully, despite the cruelty of war.

*****

Author’s note:

I cannot express how grateful I am that you have read all the way to Chapter 6. Thank you so much! I hope you can help by voting the chapter or leaving comments and review. It means a lot to hear your feedbacks 🙂 I love entering Celeste’s mind because she expresses herself through colors. As you read, try to remember the colors she describes; you might find little hints regarding how she truly feels.

Today’s playlist is divided by two: 
– Johannes scene: “Margot” by Angele Dubeau (https://youtu.be/fuMJNWeYGyE)

– Celeste scene: “Respiro” by Olivia Belli (https://youtu.be/5OFKxv1E4vw)