“I’m twenty-five. I’ve never dated, never walked beneath a wedding veil.”

“This wedding dress was a coming‑of‑age gift from the Cavat royal palace.”

“I buried myself in experiments and never went back.”

“Thinking now, years have piled like dust since I saw Father and Mother, and I owe them.”

“My last wish is to wear this dress once.”

“Could you stand at my right?”

She said it with a solemn face, a jade mask under cold light.

She seemed indifferent, like filing paperwork in winter, as if consent never mattered.

But that can’t be true. If she were indifferent, a bride wouldn’t crush lilies, and her outstretched hand wouldn’t tremble like a leaf.

“Pfft.”

“Is that funny?!”

“No, not at all.” Shadow wound around me like silk, and swapped in the ritual attire stored in the Shadow realm. I took her pale hand and kissed its back, a moth to a flame. “Of course. As you wish, Your Highness Princess Lichibela Cavat.”

Her face brightened like dawn breaking frost.

She lowered her veil and waved. The arcane modules struck up the Wedding March and rolled out a red carpet, a river of red.

I held her slender hand, and we walked side by side, slow as drifting clouds.

From arrays of arcane machinery, Constructs emerged one after another, like iron spirits from mist.

Some had huge heads, with arms and legs three times their torsos, strange as cranes.

Some were squat and solid, with burly hands, a human boulder.

Some were nimble, under a meter long, rotors letting them thread narrow cracks like swallows.

Some looked very human, clothes draped on steel like skin.

The Constructs took places along the red carpet and clapped in unison, rain on tin softened by felt.

Their metal skins didn’t shriek; the applause felt warm, gentle as spring drizzle.

A rain of petals fell over our heads. I looked up. Tiny Constructs hovered above with baskets, scattering color like butterflies.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The veil hazed my view, but her voice flowed easy as a brook.

“Yeah. You went to a lot of trouble.”

I nodded, honest as a stone.

This wasn’t a wedding for me, but for the Arcane Engineer in her memory who’d never return, a shrine inside fog.

Offer praise. Offer respect.

It was a rite, and a memorial, incense and ash.

We walked the long red carpet and stopped before a small altar, breath steady as drumbeats.

Opposite stood a Divine Healer in priestly dress, but his pupils tightened oddly, proof of a humanoid Construct.

He held the scripture of the Goddess of Life and asked, voice like a bell:

“At this sacred hour these two may be joined. If anyone knows a cause against this marriage, speak now, or be silent forever.”

Silence fell like snow.

Stini and Raven might not grasp how much this meant to Lichibela, but they respected the gravity, breath thin as silk.

After a wait, the Divine Healer asked Lichibela:

“Do you accept him as your lawful husband, to live with him in a sacred covenant?”

“And do you promise from this day to love, honor, comfort, cherish, and be faithful to him, till death?”

Yet Lichibela only waited, saying nothing, a statue in winter.

Because the one she waited for wasn’t here. It wasn’t me.

The Divine Healer turned to me and asked:

“Do you accept her as your lawful wife, to live with her in a sacred covenant?”

“And do you promise from this day to love, honor, comfort, cherish, and be faithful to her, till death?”

I stayed silent like her, lips sealed by frost.

Because the reply she longed for wasn’t mine. He wasn’t here.

“Now, exchange rings.”

Lichibela handed me a small jewelry box, reluctance clinging like dew.

As I reached, she drew it back quick and clutched it to her chest, a bird guarding an egg.

Right. It shouldn’t be me. I’m only standing where her ideal phantom should stand.

I went to one knee and wrapped both hands around hers, thumb rubbing her ring finger like a vow.

“Lili, isn’t this your wish?” I said, voice low as dusk.

For once, she didn’t reject the name.

A jewelry box trembled and settled before me, a leaf in wind finding ground.

“All right.” Her voice sounded on the verge of tears, a glass brimmed to spill.

I opened it, took the ring, and gently turned it as I slid it onto her ring finger, a crescent fitting the moon.

Lichibela stared at the ring in wonder, turning her hand over and over like a child with a seashell.

She suddenly remembered the rite wasn’t done, opened the other box, and reached for a ring for me, duty tugging like tide.

I pressed her hand and stopped her, a palm of shade.

“Leave it. Keep that one.”

She fell quiet, drew the box back to her chest, and whispered, moth‑soft:

“...Mm. That might be best.”

She nodded to the Divine Healer to proceed, a signal like a lantern tilt.

“The groom and bride have freely consented to this sacred marriage. Before the gods and witnesses they’ve sworn and taken rings. I pronounce them husband and wife. From this hour, let none part you.”

By the customs of the Silver Era, a kiss should follow, a seal of breath.

But Lichibela didn’t move, stone before a river.

She wouldn’t kiss me. So it ends here. We savored the last aftertaste, breathing a dream that would vanish like dew.

“...Thank you. That will do. It’s already enough.”

The Constructs stepped back together, not far, and formed a great ring, letting Stini and Raven into its circle, a moon of iron.

Lichibela lowered herself and knelt properly before the dais, arranging the wedding dress folds with exact care, chin lifted like a blade.

“Raven,” her voice returned to cool confidence, a steel string. “Draw the sword. Cut.”

“No! Lili, didn’t you say we’d be safe, nothing to worry about?!” Her cry fluttered like a trapped bird.

Raven ran forward to her back, feet quick as rain.

She wanted to seize and shake her awake, yet feared she’d shatter at a touch, porcelain under frost.

“You needn’t worry. The Truth Seekers Assembly has arranged all aftermath. However you live, whatever for, you’re free now, free as wind.”

“But I can’t! Lili’s my friend. How can I kill you!” Her protest scraped like flint.

“Your friend came all this way and many died. Cassio, Brown, Eve, and Opa you knew, and Phi you didn’t. All chose death for you. Will you waste that resolve?” Her words fell like stones.

“Raven, it’s necessary. You saw the Heretic Inquisition must kill you, so you must...” Stini urged, voice thin as reed.

“No no no!” The denial rang like drumbeats.

“It must be done.” Her tone was iron.

“We have no other way.” Bare truth, a blade.

“There must be. Isn’t that how Stini’s always walked?” Hope flickered like a firefly.

“Don’t trust the Divine Being too much. Divinity isn’t always divine.” The warning cooled like rain.

“Wicked methods can’t be met by righteous means.” The paradox burned like ice.

“But, but...” Words stumbled like pebbles.

“No buts. You must kill me. With your own hands.” The command stood like a cliff.

“I can’t!” Helplessness pooled like ink.

“Raven must become a Hero. That weight must rise higher than Stini, who was born a Hero.” The verdict tolled like a bell.

“I’ve never killed anyone!” Her voice shook like leaves.

“Take me as Demonfolk, as heresy, as the enemy of humankind, and cut me down!” She offered herself like a winter branch.

“It’s the only way!” The line snapped like a bowstring.

“No!” A wave against rock.

“Kill me!” A torch thrust in night.

“Do it!” Steel on stone.

“Impossible!” A door slammed in wind.

“You have to!” A rope pulled taut.

“No killing, no path!” Logic like iron shackles.

“No! I can’t. I really can’t!” Tears behind smoke.

“Hold the sword. Grip tight.” Instruction like cold water.

“The blade’s sharp. I won’t feel pain.” She lied gently like snow.

“No!” A gust snuffed a candle.

“You must kill me!” Fate’s edge pressed.

“But...” A dying ember.

“No buts!” Thunder cuts sky.

“Do it!” A hammer falls.

“I can’t—aaaaah!” Her cry split like lightning.

“—Then I’ll help.” My voice rose like mist.

I stepped from the Shadow, my breath a coil of evil smoke that brushed Raven’s nape and made her shiver like grass.

I pressed her hand to the hilt, and clamped her shoulder with my other hand, a vise that allowed no flight.

I taught her how to grip, how to draw, how to let the edge arc like a new moon.

I taught her how to slip the blade into the spine without harming bone.

How to sever muscle clean without trapping the blade, surgery under stormlight.

Hand in hand, I taught her how to kill without letting pain bloom, a mercy like frost.

How to take a human head without dragging blood, a thief in the dark.

The clamor stopped dead, a candle pinched between fingers.

The severed veil fell like autumn leaves, drifting down to the floor without a sound, pale as ash.

I let go of Raven’s hand on the ceremonial sword, stepped before her, and lifted the head in both hands, cradling it like a relic.

Only then did blood begin to well, a spring that dyed the white gown and the fallen veil crimson.

My black coat and trousers soaked to a rusty brown, a favorite set lost to work.

But not a drop touched Raven; the coat had done its duty like a shield.

“Now hold this, and walk out of here.” My words were stones laid in a path.

I offered the head to Raven. She only stared, eyes round as moons, mouth half open like a door in a storm, frozen as ice.