CHAPTER 77: THE CHOSEN VESSEL

[Leif’s POV — Thorenvald Estate, Morning Chaos]

I don’t remember how long I stood there after that thunderous revelation, but I’m pretty sure my soul left my body somewhere between "divine vessel" and "destined to rule."

Because, newsflash: the so-called Divine Dragon was currently drooling on my shoulder.

And me? I was trying to look normal.

Keyword: trying.

Mother clasped her hands. "We must inform the High Council immediately!"

Father nodded gravely. "If the dragon has chosen its saint, the Holy Order will surely have to start investigating."

Holy Order? Investigate? My blood froze faster than ice magic on steroids.

I forced a smile. "Oh, haha! How... fascinating! You know, dragons, saints, destiny, all that... totally mythical, right? Ha ha ha..."

Blank stares.

Zephyy, the traitorous furball, yawned loudly and stretched—his tiny blue scales glinting under the sunlight like actual divine proof.

And then, as if he hadn’t already tanked my sanity enough, he looked right at me and said, "By the way, Master... there’s a correction in that little ’legendary tale’ your monstrous fiancé just told."

I blinked. "Oh good. Please tell me it’s the part where the chosen one isn’t the ’Higher Saint of the Empire.’"

Zephyy smiled. Smiled. "Of course not, Master. I don’t grant ’unmatched strength’ to my vessel."

"Oh, thank the gods—"

"They’re already strong enough to be my Master."

. . .

. . .

I stared at him. "Wow. What a correction. Truly groundbreaking. Because I’m still very much doomed."

Zephyy tilted his head, amused. "You should be honored, Master."

"Honored?! The Holy Order is probably sending flying priests here as we speak! You—you shiny lizard of chaos—GO. BACK. TO. YOUR. CAVE."

Zephyy blinked, utterly dumbfounded. "Wow... I’ve never seen a human abandoning their divine partner before. How refreshing."

"I’m not abandoning you; I’m returning you to sender because I don’t possess any holy power!"

He ignored me completely, curling his tail around my wrist like a smug bracelet. "Master, who told you you don’t have divine energy?"

My brain paused. "...What?"

Zephyy looked towards my chest, his voice lowering to a whisper. "You hold an enormous amount of divine energy, Master... it’s just—" He leaned closer, gaze flicking to my chest. "—it’s force-locked."

The room spun. I blinked, open-mouthed. "You’re saying... I have divine power?"

He nodded proudly. "Yes, Master. Isn’t that great?"

. . .

. . .

I dropped face-first onto the bed. "Why... WHY does it have to be me?! Whyyyyyy!"

Zephyy huffed, tail flicking. "I have also never seen a human crying because they possess divine power."

I clutched my hair, half laughing, half screaming. "Shut up, Zephyy! My brain is not equipped to handle this level of nonsense!"

He smirked. "That’s what you said when I first spoke to you."

"And I stand by that statement!"

Zephyy stretched again, utterly unbothered. "Relax, Master. You’ll get used to being divine. Eventually."

"Great," I muttered into my pillow. "Maybe I’ll also get used to dying of anxiety."

Okay. Breathe. Leif. Calm down. There has to be a way out of this.

My brain tried to reboot. Buffering... 12%... 23%... Error: existential panic. I forced my eyes open and stared at Zephyy perched smugly on my chest like a royal enamel brooch.

What if—what if he just stayed a kitten? Like, forever. No dramatic dragon theatrics, no world-shaking roars, no suddenly summoning storms mid-family dinner. He could be cute, cuddly, and utterly useless at politics, and I’d Netflix-and-chill my way through destiny. Simple. Problem solved.

I scooped him up in both hands, clutching his fluff like a life preserver. My voice came out high and squeaky from too much adrenaline.

"Zephyy... promise me—no matter what—do. not. show. your. divine. power. Got it? Or else I WILL THROW YOU BACK AT THAT CAVE."

Yes, that should fix centuries-old prophecies.

Zephyy stared at me with the expression of a dragon who’d just been offered coffee and judged it weak. He blinked and avoided my eyes, saying, "Alright, Master. You really don’t need to scare me."

I exhaled like I’d just saved the world. "Good. Great. Excellent. Mutual understanding achieved."

I plopped down on the bed and yanked the blanket up to my chin. My brain, still running on post-apocalyptic adrenaline, decided to switch off. "Since the problem’s solved..." I muttered sleepily, "let’s just take a little nap. I’ve got too much anxiety to be conscious right now."

Zephyy blinked at me, unimpressed. "You are attempting to escape destiny by napping?"

"Yep," I mumbled into the pillow. "It’s called mental survival."

The divine dragon sighed, the sound suspiciously close to a purr. "For a Chosen Vessel, you are oddly fragile."

He hopped onto my stomach, circling once before curling up like a tiny, smug blue loaf. "I shall also nap," he declared grandly. "To conserve divine energy."

"Sure," I murmured, already half-asleep.

***

[Thorenvald Estate—Night—Dining Chamber]

After sending the urgent letter to Frojnholm to craft more jewelry and successfully confirming with the nobles that their pieces would be delivered shortly, I finally leaned back in my chair. Maybe—just maybe—I could eat my dinner in peace.

Thinking for once, I wished destiny would skip me—just once.

Ha. Of course it wouldn’t.

Peace doesn’t exist in my life. Not even a little.

"The Holy Priest... has decided to postpone the Saintess Selection until the Chosen Vessel is found," Father said casually, sipping his juice as if he were commenting on the weather.

SPLURT!!!

I choked on my soup. Coughing, sputtering, trying desperately not to launch half a stew across the room. "C-cough... cough..." My trembling hands clutched the table. Another shocking revelation—another day ruined.

For real. I. Cannot. Take a break. Can I?

"Leif... my dear, are you okay?" Mother asked, concern etched into her face.

"Y-yes... yes, Mom, totally fine," I mumbled, dabbing my lips with trembling fingers. I shot Father a wary glance. "Why... why would the High Priest do something like that, Father? Isn’t it... unfair?"

Father leaned back, expression calm, almost disturbingly so. "No, Leif. The Chosen Vessel has been found. There’s no need for the Saintess Selection anymore. The Chosen Vessel will be the next Higher Saint."

I froze. My fork hovered midair like it was contemplating a strategic retreat.

"WHAT IF... that Chosen Vessel doesn’t want to?" I blurted, voice cracking with panic.

The room went so silent you could hear the soup bubbles pop. Mother’s eyes narrowed, narrowing at me with the kind of precision only mothers can muster.

"Leif... why are you reacting like... it’s you who’s the Chosen Vessel?"

FUCK.

I forced a nervous smile, heart pounding like a war drum. "I—I’m just... hypothetically speaking, Mom."

Father gave me a patient, almost amused look. "It will be up to the Chosen Vessel, Leif. Our job is simply to find that person."

I forced a nod, even as my brain screamed like a dying kettle. "Right. Find that person. Absolutely. Great idea."

My laugh came out a little too high-pitched. Mother blinked. Father furrowed his brow in confusion. I exhaled shakily, pressing my fingers against my temples.

Must... stay... calm. Do not let them discover anything. Act normal. Pretend this doesn’t ruin my life.

Pretending. Right. Because nothing in my life has been normal for, oh... forever.

And so, I chewed my food slowly, heart thundering like a war horse, mind racing through every possible disaster. Must. Be. Careful.

Because one slip. One word. And the Empire might just officially declare me doomed.