The world felt heavier when Elara finally managed to stand.
Not physically—though her limbs trembled as if gravity had discovered a personal grudge—but in the quiet, suffocating way pressure burrows beneath the skin. The kind of weight that couldn't be shrugged off. The kind of weight that rewrote lives.
Hands hovered around her like anxious birds.
"Careful—"
"Make room—"
"Don't touch the Starbound with mortal interference—!"
A priest frantically waved incense over her head. Someone cried with joy. Someone else fainted. Two apprentices argued in whispers about whether they should fetch royal officials or more incense.
All while Elara tried desperately to breathe.
"I'm not—" Her voice cracked. "I'm not anything special."
"That is unfortunate," one of the High Priests declared reverently, "because as of this moment, you are."
They lifted her—not bodily, but with expectation.
A healer pressed glowing hands to her temples. Magic washed gently through her skull, checking, confirming, marveling. One by one, they declared her alive. Whole. Blessed. "Starlit beyond recovery," someone whispered with awe, as if she were an artifact instead of a girl who wanted to curl under a desk and re-evaluate existence.
Kael stood silently against the far wall, half-shadow, half-light.
Invisible to all.
Impossible to ignore.
His gaze never left her, a quiet anchor in chaos.
"Elara."
Her name cracked through the noise like ice.
The Headmaster of the Academy strode forward, robes trailing like thunderclouds. His severe face rarely smiled on the best of days. Today was not the best of days.
He stopped in front of her, studying her the way one studies cursed objects.
Or miracles.
"You will be escorted to the palace," he said.
Her heart lurched. "The palace?"
"The King and Council await the Starbound." His tone dropped. "They will… have expectations."
Of course they would.
Of course the kingdom would build a throne of duty and strap her to it.
Her fingers curled helplessly in the fabric of her sleeve.
"I don't want this."
There it was.
Small.
Fragile.
Honest.
The words fell into stunned quiet. Even the bells outside seemed to hesitate.
The Headmaster's expression softened—not much, just enough to prove he was not made entirely of stone.
"Most who are chosen don't," he said quietly. "But destiny rarely consults us before signing our names."
Her throat burned.
Kael's voice brushed her mind gently, like warm starlight folding into thought.
You are allowed to be afraid, he murmured.
She didn't answer him.
Couldn't.
Two palace guards approached, dressed in ceremonial silver, bows low and reverent. "Starbound," one said, voice trembling with earnest pride. "We are honored to escort you."
"Please don't call me that," she whispered.
But the title had already wrapped around her like chains.
They guided her down the tower steps. The festival outside had changed — less wild joy now, more holy awe. People parted like a tide as she passed. Some cried. Some prayed. Some reached out, fingers desperate to brush destiny with their skin.
Elara kept her eyes on the cobblestones so she wouldn't see the hope she was meant to carry.
So she wouldn't feel how badly they needed her to be something she wasn't.
Kael walked beside her, unseen shadow of starlight.
"Will they hate me," she muttered under her breath, "when they realize they picked the wrong person?"
He glanced at her.
"They did not pick," he said softly. "The stars did. And I assure you… they rarely choose wrong."
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be," he admitted gently.
The palace loomed ahead.
Large.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
The gates opened.
Trumpets blared.
And Elara stepped into a life she had never wanted, with a kingdom's future tied to a girl who only ever wished to remain unnoticed.
The crown wasn't on her head.
But she could already feel its weight.
---