The temple's private healing chamber was silent save for the soft crackle of crystal lights. Three days had passed since Celestia's fall, though few in House Blackwood had bothered to inquire about her fate. The chamber itself seemed to cradle her in ancient power, its walls lined with crystals that pulsed in gentle harmony with her recovering strength.
"Your injuries are healing remarkably fast," High Priest Thomas Vale noted as he checked her condition. Morning light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the chamber's stone floor. His aged eyes held wisdom and something else—understanding that went deeper than mere observation. "Though perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, given what I've seen of your power.
Celestia sat carefully against the pillows, her body still aching but her mind clear as crystal. The chamber's holy energy seemed to reach for her, recognizing something in her dual nature that even she didn't fully understand. "How much have you seen?"
"Enough to know that the prophecy of the saintess speaks of you." High Priest Thomas smiled gently, his own holy power creating subtle patterns in the air that complemented hers. "And enough to understand why you've hidden it all these years."
Through the chamber's window, Celestia could see the temple gardens where a single flower bloomed out of season—her power's unconscious influence making the impossible possible once again. "I don't want recognition," she said quietly, watching how the morning light caught the flower's unusual petals. "Or politics. Or marriage arrangements."
"No," Thomas agreed, his understanding evident in how his power settled comfortably around hers, "you want to help people. As you've been doing secretly all along." At her questioning look, he added, "Those mysterious healing medicines that have been appearing in the city? I recognized the trace of holy power in them."
Clara entered with fresh bandages, her water magic soothing the air. James stood guard outside, their loyalty unwavering even here in this ancient place of power. The crystal lights seemed to acknowledge their presence, brightening slightly where Clara's magic touched them.
"Young miss," Clara began hesitantly, her water magic rippling with concern, "the duke's messenger came again. They're... expecting you to return once you're healed."
"To fulfill the betrothal," Celestia finished. Elizabeth Crawford's voice in her mind reminded her that sometimes the best victories came from walking away. The crystal lamps pulsed gently with her resolution.
"You don't have to go back," High Priest Thomas said softly, his aged features illuminated by the gentle glow of crystal lamps. "The temple could—"
"No." Celestia's voice was firm, carrying the weight of both lives' experiences. "I need to leave, but not for the temple. There's something I must do first."
That night, when the temple bells marked midnight with deep, resonant tones that seemed to make the very air vibrate, Celestia made her way through familiar secret passages one last time. Her body protested each movement, but her power sustained her, holy light unconsciously marking her path like scattered starlight.
Theodore's room was dark save for moonlight that painted silver patterns across his sleeping form. Her twin slept fitfully, their golden thread humming with shared pain and unspoken farewells. The crystal lamps in his room responded to her presence, their light softening to match this private moment.
"Goodbye, brother," she whispered, placing her hands over his chest. Golden light bloomed between them, stronger than ever before, making the room's shadows retreat in awe.
This time, she didn't just feed power into his vessel. She reconstructed it, using everything she'd learned about holy power over the years. The vessel expanded, strengthened, became truly his own. Each pulse of power made the crystal formations in the room sing with harmonic resonance, as if the very elements celebrated this final gift.
"Be strong," she murmured as the light faded, leaving behind a vessel that would never again need her secret help. "Be free."
Back in the temple chamber, High Priest Thomas waited with Clara and James. The midnight hour cast long shadows through the stained glass windows, but the crystal lamps burned steady and bright, as if lending their strength for what was to come.
"I won't stop you," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. "But I'll help you. The temple has safe houses throughout the empire. And..." he hesitated, then pressed a sealed letter into her hands. The parchment seemed to hum with contained power. "When you're ready, this will explain more about your role as saintess."
"Thank you," Celestia replied, feeling how the letter resonated with her own power. "But I have my own plans first."
She turned to Clara and James, seeing the determination written in their stances. Clara's water magic created protective patterns in the air while James stood ready, as always, to guard their path. "You don't have to—"
"Don't even finish that sentence, young miss," Clara interrupted, her water magic swirling with fierce loyalty. The crystal lights caught her power, creating rainbow cascades in the midnight air. "Where you go, we go."
James nodded firmly, his presence as steady as mountain stone. "We've already packed supplies and converted your assets as instructed."
Celestia smiled, remembering Elizabeth Crawford's lessons about the value of loyal allies. The crystal lamps brightened in response to her gratitude, casting warm light over this small family of choice.
Dawn found them on the outskirts of the duchy, where a merchant caravan waited—one of many Celestia had secretly invested in over the years. Her carefully built network was about to prove its worth. The rising sun painted the sky in shades of promise, while morning mist curled around the caravan like nature's own concealment.
"The capital first," she told her companions as they joined the caravan. Morning light caught her silver-blonde hair one last time before she would need to hide it. "There's a restaurant concept I've been developing. Something from my... previous experience."
Clara and James exchanged knowing looks. They'd long since learned that their young mistress's strange ideas usually turned to gold. The crystal lamps of the duchy faded behind them as the caravan moved forward, each step taking them closer to a new beginning.
In the temple, High Priest Thomas stood in his garden, watching the single blooming flower. More buds were forming now, promising future blossoms. His aged eyes held knowledge of prophecies yet to unfold.
And in the ducal house, Theodore woke to find his vessel stronger than ever, a small note by his pillow catching the morning light: "Live well, brother. We'll meet again."
Celestia watched the duchy fade into distance, her mind already working through plans. Elizabeth Crawford had built an empire from nothing once.
Celestia Blackwood would do it again—this time with holy power, loyal friends, and the wisdom of two lives to guide her. The dawn painted the sky gold, like a blessing for new beginnings.