Dawn had not yet broken when the Scion Hold began to stir.
It started softly—footsteps in corridors, the murmur of servants, the clink of armor being carefully polished rather than hastily donned.
Lanterns were relit though the night had not fully yielded, as if no one wished to waste a single heartbeat of this day.
Guests who had arrived from far-flung lands found themselves waking almost immediately after midnight, excitement tugging them from sleep no matter how tired their bodies were.
This was no ordinary morning.
This was the morning.
In one discreet chamber, a hooded figure adjusted a plain cloak before a mirror. King Alight—sovereign of a realm—checked his disguise with practiced care.
His crown was hidden, his insignia removed, his bearing deliberately softened. Despite Linalee's stern protests and his advisors' near panic, he had slipped away under cover of secrecy.
Bittersweet emotion weighed heavily in his chest.
I should have been there openly, he thought. I should have stood as her king, as her friend.
Yet pride swelled alongside regret.
Arasha—once a sharp, stubborn commander who carried the world's weight as if it were hers alone—was choosing happiness.
Even unseen, even unnamed among the crowd, Alight would witness that moment.
Nearby, merchants rose with laughter and hurried voices, already discussing what wonders they might see, what stories they would one day sell along the trade routes: The wedding at the Scion Hold, where angels built the chapel and legends took vows.
For them, this was excitement unburdened by history.
Cassian, however, sat alone at the edge of his bed, staring at the pale light creeping through the window. He felt… hollow. Not jealous. Not bitter.
Simply aware of a quiet loss he could not name, as though something had passed him by long ago and only now did he realize it was gone.
So that's how it ends, he thought. Not with regret—just distance.
And yet, even he could not deny the warmth that followed. Arasha deserved this.
In another wing of the Hold, the family of Duke Lionel gathered in quiet joy. They spoke softly, hands clasped, eyes shining. To them, Arasha was not only a commander or a legend—she was family and a proof that a life forged in hardship might yet find peace.
As the sky lightened from indigo to pale gold, the focus of the world shifted upward.
The hill chosen as the heart of the wedding stood at the edge of the Hold, overlooking stone walls and fluttering banners below.
Once, it had been treacherous—its paths unstable, its slopes unkind. Yet Valmira had dismissed every warning with unwavering resolve.
"Beauty is always worth taming."
And so the earth had been bound by runes etched deep into living stone. Bridges of whitewood and mithril climbed the slope like stairways of light, catching the dawn.
By now, the hill no longer felt dangerous—it felt sacred.
The chapel itself stood open to the sky, sculpted as if the world had willingly shaped itself for this day.
Columns rose like wings carved by unseen hands, banners of indigo and silver flowing gently in the morning breeze.
From this height, the entire Scion Hold lay beneath it, bearing witness.
The ceremony began not with music, but with purpose.
Kane emerged first.
Dressed in formal attire that bore both the Scion Order's emblem and symbols of old vows kept, he led the entourage of knights forward.
Their steps were measured, unified, the soft ring of armor echoing like a heartbeat. These were warriors who had bled beside Arasha, who now walked with dignity to give honor to the sacred union of their beloved commander.
They formed the aisle, swords lifted high and crossed overhead—steel not as threat, but as blessing.
A hush fell.
Then, from the path below, came the sound of hooves.
Arasha appeared astride her horse, her wedding dress flowing like starlight given form.
Indigo and silver caught the rising sun, and for a moment it seemed as though she carried a soft glow with her—quiet, radiant happiness that needed no spell to exist.
She dismounted at the chapel's entrance, steady and composed, yet unmistakably human in the way her breath caught.
The music rose.
As Arasha stepped forward, the Scion Knights held their swords aloft, forming a living archway. Guests rose as one. Some pressed hands to their mouths. Others did not bother to hide their tears.
She was beautiful—not only in grace or bearing, but in the gentle certainty of someone who had chosen this path freely.
Kane watched her walk toward him, and the world narrowed to that single moment.
By the time Arasha reached the altar, more than a few guests were already weeping—moved by the sight of a woman who had faced fire and death now walking, unarmed and unafraid, toward a future she had claimed for herself.
And beneath the open sky, as light finally crowned the hill, the Scion Hold held its breath.
Silence settled over the open chapel.
It was not the heavy silence of fear nor the rigid quiet of command, but a living stillness—one shaped by reverence.
Even the wind seemed to slow, banners whispering instead of snapping, as though the world itself understood that this moment was not to be rushed.
Arasha reached the altar.
Kane stood before her, hands clenched at his sides, shoulders drawn taut with the effort of restraint.
The sight of her—so close now, close enough that he could see the faint shimmer in her eyes—broke something loose in him.
His vision blurred despite his will.
Tears gathered.
Before he could turn away, Arasha lifted her hand. Her touch was warm, real, grounding.
She brushed her thumb gently beneath his eye, wiping away the moisture with a tenderness that spoke of countless lifetimes shared and survived.
"Kane," she murmured softly, voice meant for him alone.
"It's too early for tears don't you think?"
Arasha smiled knowingly.
Kane swallowed hard and nodded, pressing his lips together as if holding his heart in place. He drew a breath that trembled despite his effort, then looked at her again—really looked—and nodded.
The High Priest stepped forward, robes catching the dawn light. His voice, when he spoke, carried easily, calm and resonant.
"We stand here," he said, "not merely to witness a union, but to honor a vow forged through trial, sacrifice, and unwavering choice."
One by one, the vows were spoken.
Kane's voice shook at first, then steadied as resolve took hold.
"I vow," he said, "to walk beside you—not ahead, not behind—through every dawn and every ruin. In this life, and if fate allows, in all others. I will be your shelter when you are weary, your blade when you must fight, and your home when all else falls away."
Arasha's breath caught, but her voice was clear, luminous with conviction.
"I vow," she answered, "to stay. To choose you, not only in peace, but in fire. To share my strength when you falter, and my heart when you doubt. I vow to live—fully, honestly—by your side, and to never walk alone again."
The High Priest listened, eyes softening.
When he raised his staff, runes etched along its length flared gently—not with force, but with grace.
A warm, aesthetic glow blossomed around the couple, subtle and radiant, like starlight settling on skin.
"By word freely given and hearts unbound," he declared, "I bind these vows as eternal and everlasting."
Then, with a small, knowing smile, he added,
"You may seal your vows with a kiss."
Kane's breath hitched.
Tears finally spilled down his cheeks—silent, unstoppable. In them lived memories of other lifetimes, other endings.
Of holding Arasha as life slipped from her grasp, of screaming into worlds that took her away again and again.
But she was here.
Alive.
Warm.
About to be his wife.
Arasha saw it all in his eyes.
She smiled—soft, steady, full of love—and leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
Her lips met his, gentle at first, then sure. The world seemed to exhale with them.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
Then the chapel erupted.
Cheers rang out, loud and unrestrained. Knights lifted swords higher, guests laughed and cried openly, voices overlapping in joy. Bells rang from below in the Hold, carried upward by the wind.
As the noise swelled around them, Kane rested his forehead against Arasha's, still breathless, still overwhelmed.
And beneath the open sky, surrounded by those who bore witness, their vows stood—radiant, unbreakable, and endearing.