Celia - Ⅰ

Celia Solara:

The vast hall of the warehouse was filled with the murmur of hushed conversations, nervous laughter, and the occasional clank of armor. 

Thirty of us stood together, preparing to step through the Divine Gates that floated ominously in mid-air, tendrils of both shimmering rainbow light and pitch black mist intertwining around it. 

We had all heard the stories. 

None who had entered before had ever returned.

And today, the Holy Empire of Solara was going to attempt the unsolvable mystery of these Divine Gates. 

I let out an unknowing sigh, pressing my lips together. 

I stood among them, trying to compose myself but the biting nervousness creeped through the cracks every now and then, making me bite on my nails—a habit I had developed since I was young, and also a habit which I have been scolded on a lot of times. 

A few figures approached me hesitantly, making me remove the finger from my lips. 

I barely had time to school my expression before a young man stepped forward, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. 

"Lady Celia," the young man with anxious eyes, spoke first after giving me a light bow. "I am assuming we shall be in your care?"

I should've seen this coming. 

Another chimed in, a woman clad in leather armor and her extremely light golden hair tied up in a bun. "You're the princess of Solara. Your wisdom and guidance would be invaluable."

While it was an opportunity where I could prove myself and get ahead of my brothers in the war of hegemony, taking the lives of so many people in my lead was dangerous. 

It may seem weird because I want to be the next one in line to become the ruler of Solara and that would entail me taking control of an entire empire. 

However, ruling an empire is one thing—delving into an unfathomable mystery where no one had ever returned is another.

My pusillanimous brothers have refused to partake in this dive. 

Lowlings, the lot of them. Pathetic little schemers, more comfortable in courtly games than true challenges.

I kept my expression neutral and replied with a flat tone. "There are those with far more experience." 

A ripple of murmurs passed through the group, but I continued before doubt could take root. "The Explorer's Guild has sent one of their best—Dorian. While I am confident in my abilities, I have no intention of undermining those who have dedicated their lives to such pursuits."

It was the right thing to say. The adventurers around me exchanged approving glances as a man stepped forward.

Broad-shouldered and battle-hardened, his presence commanded attention. 

Dorian was a peak E-rank explorer. Not many people reach this level. While it was not very impressive given how people like my oldest brother existed, it was still extremely impressive for someone with a commoner's blood in their veins. 

"I will be honoured, princess." He bowed his head as I returned the gesture with a slight nod of my own. 

Letting out a quiet breath, I caught my reflection in the polished chestplate of a nearby knight. Black hair framed my face, my gray eyes staring back at me with quiet distaste.

Then the reflection shifted.

Someone walked from behind me. 

Pristine armor, gleaming like an untouched relic, appeared beside me. 

A smile followed—so bright, so unshaken, as if the horrors awaiting us were nothing more than a passing inconvenience

My fiancé.

"Celia."

I turned slightly, offering only a half-hearted glance.

"I imagine this isn't how you expected to spend the week." Lysander's lips curved into an easy smile, as if we were merely taking a stroll through the palace gardens.

I hummed in response, keeping my expression neutral.

He was always like this. Unshaken, untouchable. 

It was maddening in its own way. 

Most people—Dorian included—held an edge of tension in their stance, in their voices, in the way their eyes darted toward the ominous Gates. But not Lysander.

He was different. 

For all his lack of raw strength, for all that he was ranked beneath Dorian despite being the crown prince of Valemount, he carried himself like a king.

The confidence wasn't arrogance, either. 

It was something else—something deeper, like an unshakable belief that he would never be brought low.

The silver of his hair gleamed under the warehouse torches, his sharp blue eyes betraying none of the unease that coursed through the gathered explorers like blood did in our bodies. 

He was handsome—undeniably so.

I caught myself.

This was not the time for such distractions. I had more pressing concerns than the effortless grace of my fiancé! Get your act together!

The priests. The Empire. The throne.

Winning over the clergy was just as crucial as winning battles. 

Without their backing and their divine magic, my claim would always be contested. 

I had no time to entertain frivolous thoughts like romance.

Lysander spoke again, something about trusting the expedition's strategy, but I barely listened. 

Instead, I turned toward the only person who had come to see me off. "Nanny."

The elderly woman clasped my hands, her wrinkled fingers trembling. "My dear girl… I wish I could do more than just pray."

I didn't reply. There was nothing to say.

Instead, I squeezed her hands briefly and touched my forehead with hers. 

"May the boons be with you." She whispered as I stepped away. 

Around us, the other thirty members of the party were bidding farewell to their families. Some whispered reassurances, others made silent promises with solemn expressions.

But the reality was that none of us knew if we would return. But this was a task that was to be done. 

This Divine Gate has been inside our Kingdom for years now. And other kingdoms have stopped sending their explorers because of the highest mortality rate. 

If the divine gate is not closed soon enough, the polluted arcana from the ruined world will eventually wipe out our entire kingdom. 

That can't happen. I won't let it happen. 

The containment warehouse, built around the Divine Gates to contain their presence seemed to cave in as we took a step forward, Dorian in the lead. 

The Gates were pulsing and inky tendrils that seemed to drink in the surrounding space whipped around like lashes.

Following Dorian we stepped through.

As I stepped through, I felt my feet come to a halt. 

Death. 

That was the first word that came to my mind. 

The world beyond was dead.

A sky choked with ash stretched endlessly overhead, casting everything in shades of gray. The air smelled of devastation—of something long abandoned, of places where life had been snuffed out ages ago. 

Wherever we looked, there was only devastation.

Lysander moved to the front, pulling a small, intricate artefact from his belt. It shimmered faintly as he activated it, the device twisting in his grip before pointing toward the distance. 

"This way," he said, unbothered by the apocalyptic wasteland surrounding us.

We followed.

The crunch of boots against brittle ground was the only sound as we made our way forward. Every step felt heavier than the last, though I couldn't quite place why.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

The ruins around us—buildings reduced to skeletal remains—felt too… deliberate.

The patterns of destruction were inconsistent. 

Some structures had collapsed as if abandoned for centuries. 

Others had the marks of recent devastation—craters, shattered stone, remnants of burned banners.

And then there was the silence.

A world this dead should be filled with the whispers of wind, the groan of unstable rubble, the distant echoes of something shifting. 

But there was nothing.

A lie.

Not an illusion, not magic. 

But something about this place had been arranged, altered—someone had left behind a message in the patterns of destruction. 

I just needed more time to—

A sharp whistling cut through the silence.

My body tensed, instincts screaming—

A dull thunk replaced the drumming in my ears.

Lysander's head snapped back.

For a second, he stood perfectly still, his lips parting as if to speak. But no words came. 

A thin line of crimson trickled down his forehead.

Then he crumpled.

I stared endlessly into those beautiful pale blue eyes.

Goosebumps rose all over my body as his body hit the ground, the pristine silver of his armor now marred by spreading red. 

An arrow had pierced through his skull, the shaft still quivering from the impact.

The moment stretched, my mind unable to grasp what had just happened.

Lysander was dead.

Lysander, who was never shaken. Lysander, who had always smiled so effortlessly. Lysander, who had, time and time again, tried to win my heart without force, without expectation—just a steady, patient presence at my side.

A prince of Elarion, struck down in an instant.

A tight, painful pressure coiled in my chest.

I didn't love him. But I had known him. And now, that knowing is gone.

There was no time to process it. No time to grieve.

I forced my shock down, my eyes snapping up, scanning the ruins with a morbid panic. 

Whoever had loosed that arrow was still here.

And I was next.

"MAKE A CIRCLE! PROTECT THE CASTERS!" 

Dorian's voice rumbled like thunder as around 7 to 10 humans—no, people of these worlds are never humans—monsters walked from inside the rubble. 

I was right. 

The ruins were deliberate. 

We have been ambushed!