Celestial turned his gaze upon her, his eyes carrying a depth that seemed to stretch beyond the present moment.
"So, you want the story?" he asked calmly. His voice was steady—neither heavy nor light—yet impossible to ignore. "Very well… but not here."
The weight of his words was clear, understood by all present. Without further discussion, only young Nebula and Celestial withdrew from the heart of the hall, leaving the others behind.
The atmosphere they left was strained, heavy with the revelations that had shaken them. Yet, slowly, as moments passed, color returned to the gathering. The stillness softened, conversation and laughter began to stir again, weaving life back into the chamber. Lord Brandson, ever composed, took control of the hall, his presence guiding the others with firm ease. One by one, the Dark Flame family and their guests followed his lead, allowing the celebration to resume.
Nebula walked beside Celestial, her steps light but her heart unbearably heavy. The noise of the hall faded into nothing more than a distant hum. They passed through a quiet corridor of the Dark Flame estate, its tall windows spilling pale moonlight across polished marble floors. Silence stretched between them, thick and pressing, but Nebula's gaze never wavered—her eyes remained locked on the spirit at her side, sharp, demanding, unyielding.
At last, Celestial halted in a shadowed alcove where the darkness seemed deeper, untouched by torchlight. He placed a hand against the wall, and with a low hum of energy, a hidden passage revealed itself. A door of seamless stone parted, opening into a concealed chamber. Inside was a simple room—dimly lit, with a sturdy table, a few chairs, and shelves lined with ancient tomes.
They entered, and after the door sealed behind them, the silence seemed even heavier. Celestial's form appeared more defined here, no longer merely the distant, composed guardian she once knew. There was an agelessness to him now, a weight of forgotten centuries that clung to his every word, every motion.
"You seek answers," he said at last, his voice low and resonant, echoing faintly in the enclosed space. "Answers your family could never give you, because they were never meant to know them."
Nebula's lips pressed into a thin line. Her fists clenched at her sides. "Then tell me," she said, her voice steady though urgency burned beneath it. "If I was born strong… if I was meant to hold power beyond a mortal's frame… why have I always felt weak? Why did you save me? And what price was paid for it?"
Celestial regarded her in silence for a long moment, his expression unreadable, though his eyes shimmered with a sorrow too deep to hide. Finally, he spoke—his words measured, deliberate.
"Because, Nebula… your birth was not chance. You were not simply a child of Dark Flame blood. You were something more—something the world itself feared to let exist freely. And so, when you came into this world, I bound myself to you… not as a servant, but as a shield."
His words hung in the air like iron chains. Nebula's breath caught, her chest tightening as their meaning struck her. Not a servant… but a shield? The thought rattled her more than she wished to show.
Her voice dropped, quieter now, yet firm. "A shield? From what?"
Celestial's gaze sharpened, and for a moment, the flicker of ancient sorrow crossed his eyes. "Sometimes, people receive what they neither want nor understand. Most beings fear change, because change cannot be controlled. The world exists in a balance—a war among powers that stabilizes existence across the realms. But then, you were born… with power that could rival us, the Guardians. You shook the balance simply by existing. And so, you became the villain in their story. To them, the only answer was your death."
His voice dropped lower, more grave. "I protected you from yourself."
Nebula froze. Her body turned rigid, as though rooted in place. The words pierced deeper than any blade. "From… myself?" she whispered, her tone trembling with disbelief and dread. "But… I was just a newborn. How?"
Celestial nodded slowly, his expression solemn. "The power you carried was never meant to rest in mortal flesh. Your very existence teetered on collapse from the moment you drew breath. Left unchecked, your body would have burned itself out long before you took your first steps. You were a vessel far too fragile for the flame within you."
Nebula's hands trembled. She wanted to scream in denial, but memories clawed at her—moments of weakness, fainting fits, battles where her strength abandoned her too soon. One by one, the fragments fit together, forming a truth she had always feared. And it terrified her.
Celestial's tone shifted, a faint bitterness threading through it. "And your power… it was not only destructive to yourself. Others wanted it. They desired to tear it from you, to twist it into a weapon to rule and destroy. I am not opposed to conquest—but I am a Guardian. And as such, I could not let them use you to unravel the world."
He took a step closer, his presence filling the room—not threatening, but undeniable. "So, I did what no one else could. I bound a portion of your power into myself, sealing it away so your body could endure. It was not mercy, Nebula. It was necessity. Without me, you would not be alive. And without you…" his eyes softened, "perhaps the world would already have lost its last hope."
Nebula's throat was dry, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Then… the weakness I've always felt… was it you? Did you take my strength?"
Celestial's gaze gentled, though his words remained unflinching. "No. I did not steal your strength. I preserved your life. That strength still lies within you—buried, sealed, waiting. But to unlock it fully will mean facing truths you may not yet be ready to bear."
The silence pressed upon them like a weight, the room suddenly colder, the air heavier. Nebula's heart pounded, a mix of fear and defiance surging in her veins. Her eyes burned into his, refusing to yield.
"So who are they?" she asked, her tone sharpened with demand. "Can't you tell me?"
Celestial's eyes flickered, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he shook his head.
"You are not ready," he said simply.
The words fell like stone, heavy and immovable, casting an awkward silence between them—one filled with questions that demanded answers, yet remained beyond her reach.