Chapter 292 [Event] [The Fallen Prophetess] [End]

Chapter 292 [Event] [The Fallen Prophetess] [End]

It was a dream long buried in the recesses of memory.

The last time she had felt it, she was a mere five-year-old, her innocent eyes alight with admiration as they beheld the radiant face of her mother. A face that bore the sacred responsibility of being the next Prophetess.

Sara Oceania, her mother, was the beacon of inspiration for young Celeste. The tales of the previous Apostles and Prophetesses that Sara spun into enchanting bedtime stories became the very fabric of Celeste's dreams. Every night, nestled under the comforting cover of moonlit narratives, she reveled in the exploits of those who came before her mother. And so, Celeste's dream was woven—a dream not only to carry on her mother's legacy but also to make her proud.

"I will become the next Prophetess after you, Mama!"

These words echoed through the halls of her familial abode, reaching not only her mother but also her father, brother, grandmother, and grandfather. It wasn't just about making her mother proud; there was a tinge of selfishness in her ambition.

The romantic tales of love and protection that Sara shared about the bond between the Apostles and Prophetesses had captivated Celeste's heart. She envisioned having her own Prince—a devoted Apostle to stand by her side through thick and thin. Someone to rescue her when she faltered, a companion to share the weight of her burdens.

The romantic tales of love and protection that Sara shared about the bond between the Apostles and Prophetesses had captivated Celeste's heart. She envisioned having her own Prince—a devoted Apostle to stand by her side through thick and thin. Someone to rescue her when she faltered, a companion to share the weight of her burdens.

The prospect of such a connection, mysterious and unexplored, thrilled her. Each day, Celeste dreamt of her yet-unknown Prince, conjuring images of a gallant figure in shining armor. A childish fantasy, perhaps, but one that fueled her desires.

However, destiny took an unexpected turn that shattered her dreams.

Her father, the anticipated Apostle, was not chosen. Instead, the mantle fell upon Manuel Hylkren, a friend of her parents. The decision sparked dissent within her family, especially from her grandfather, who had long opposed the union between his son and Sara. This disagreement led to a forceful match between Sara and Manuel, orchestrated by the Heads, secretly yearning for the sacred union between the chosen Apostle and Prophetess—a desire that now seemed elusive.

Yet, in the midst of this tumultuous time, there was a moment etched in Celeste's memory that transcended the broader conflicts.

It was a day she would never forget.

The image of her mother, tears streaming down her face as she crumbled into her father's embrace, haunted Celeste. Sara Oceania, in that moment, willingly relinquished her status as Prophetess. A sacrifice made not for power or prestige, but to remain with her family and avert another forced union with Manuel.

On that fateful day...

"I-I love you so much..."

Her mother's tender caress.

The vivid crimson of tears stained with the essence of her very being.

The embrace that sought to shield Celeste and her brother from the impending storm.

A sword, a cruel manifestation of betrayal, piercing her mother's stomach.

Manuel's cold and stoic figure, an ominous presence casting a dark shadow over them.

"I'm s-sorry for being a bad mother-"

***

"M-Mama!" With a piercing scream, Celeste jolted awake, her hands reaching out to a phantom presence.

"Celeste, you're awake," Amelia's voice broke through the remnants of the dream, her figure settling into a chair beside Celeste's bed.

"A-Amelia?" Celeste's gaze flitted to her friend, noticing the plasters on her cheeks and forehead, signs of recent battle. The room around her was a bustling hall, filled with the injured being tended to by healers.

The memories flooded back—Manuel's ominous presence, the battle against Nikolas Tepes and Pierre, the timely arrival of professors to avert disaster. Victor, John, Amelia, Cylien, Elizabeth, and herself had faced a precarious situation but emerged victorious, though not unscathed.

"Thank the heavens they arrived in time," Amelia sighed, weariness etched on her face.

Celeste remained silent, her eyes scanning the room. Groans of pain and cries of distress surrounded her—consequences of the destructive clash that ensued near the restaurant. As she gingerly rose from her bed, guilt weighed heavily on her. Manuel had come for her, and now the aftermath was etched in the suffering of innocent bystanders.

"Don't dwell on it, Celes," Amelia rolled her eyes playfully, handing Celeste a tissue. "While the world might revel in seeing the Princess of Zestella shed tears, it's probably better to keep it under wraps for now."

"...!" Celeste touched her cheeks, discovering the presence of tears. Blushing, she wiped them away with the tissue, grappling with the conflicting emotions that swirled within her.

Samara, who had maintained her unwavering focus on Amael until now, suddenly raised her gaze, and an intense pressure permeated the surroundings. It was potent enough to affect even Celeste and the others, underscoring Samara's formidable presence.

Elizabeth, sensing the shift in atmosphere, felt the pressure but walked toward Amael with unruffled composure.

"Amael, may I look at your injury?" she inquired calmly.

Amael, still smiling, glanced at Elizabeth and declined, "Don't worry, I've already been treated."

"You've been treated, but not correctly from what I'm seeing. I'll just take a look," Elizabeth responded, pulling out her medical tools.

"He said he was already treated," Samara retorted with a cold glare. She had been the one to treat Amael's right arm and felt a sense of offense.

Amael sighed, raising his hand to stop Samara. "It's okay, Samara." With a hint of disappointment, Samara allowed him to rise, revealing his right arm to Elizabeth.

With a nod, Elizabeth got to work, unraveling the bandages. What she uncovered left everyone horrified—Amael's right arm was completely shattered, covered in bruises. It was a sight unlike any injuries Elizabeth had encountered before.

Swiftly, Elizabeth extracted several vials, cleaned Amael's arm meticulously, and applied ointment before carefully bandaging it. The entire process lasted a lengthy ten minutes, during which everyone observed in stunned silence.

"You're really good at this," Amael commended, impressed.

"I learned," Elizabeth replied as she secured the last bandage. With a tired sigh, she stowed away her medical supplies.

"Thanks," Amael expressed his gratitude.

Elizabeth smiled in response but Amael spoke up suddenly. "You should rest as well."

"I'm fine, thanks," Elizabeth assured, but Amael took a sudden step forward, grabbing Elizabeth's left arm with his left hand.

"Kyaa!" Amelia couldn't help but shriek from a distance. While Cylien managed to close her mouth, the trio of Victor, Celeste, and Cylien remained dumbfounded, watching the unexpected scene unfold.

Elizabeth lowered her gaze to her arm in Amael's grasp, her eyes seeking an explanation from him.

Amael remained silent, rolling up Elizabeth's sleeves to reveal the extensive scars on her arms. Her skin was as torn and bruised as Amael's, testament to the intense battle against Nikolas Tepes. Elizabeth had borne the brunt of the fight.

"You should get treated first, Elizabeth," Amael insisted, his gaze serious.

"I am a Vampire; it will heal fast. There's nothing to worry about," Elizabeth dismissed.

Amael and Elizabeth exchanged a lingering look, a brief silence hanging between them.

"Right, you are a Vampire," Amael smiled before gently clasping her scarred arm. A soft, white glow enveloped Elizabeth's arm, and slowly her skin transformed back to an unblemished, soft, and pale state. "A pretty one, so you should take care of yourself first before ever thinking about others."

Elizabeth opened her eyes slightly wider, checking her healed arm. She then nodded at Amael, saying, "Thank you."

"I am as well, Elizabeth," Amael said, lifting his bandaged arm. "Christina would kill me anyway," he added with a sigh.

A genuine smile graced Elizabeth's lips, and she giggled softly before walking away.

Amael smiled and returned to rest on Samara's laps.

"Is that really him? He's completely different," Amelia mused.

"Indeed," Cylien remarked. She already knew that Amael had been concealing his true self, but the contrast was striking. He exuded confidence and many other things.

Celeste took a step forward, intending to express her gratitude, but...

"Amael Falkrona."

Celeste widened her eyes upon seeing her grandmother.

"Headmistress?" Amael raised a brow.

"Come with me," Melfina stated, and Amael nodded, offering a smile.