The morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of the von Lestaria house, painting golden streaks across the polished floor. Elena stood before the mirror, silent, her fingers running slowly along the fabric of the dress hugging her body.
It wasn’t the one she showed Noel yesterday.
This one was a deeper shade of green, with golden embroidery that traced delicate patterns along the sides. The skirt had a daring slit that revealed nearly her entire leg when she moved. It clung to her torso without sleeves, though her arms were covered in matching green gloves that stretched up past her elbows.
Her platinum hair fell loose over her shoulders, shining faintly in the morning glow.
She reached for the small velvet box on her dresser and opened it with care. Inside, the necklace he had given her—platinum chain, amber gemstone—still glead as if it rembered that night at the Drunken Hamr.
She held it for a mont, thumb brushing against the gem.
’You always find a way to stay close, don’t you.’
Click.
The clasp closed behind her neck, and the pendant settled gently above her heart. She looked at herself one last ti—noble, graceful, and unmistakably herself.
Then she turned away from the mirror, exhaled slowly, and walked toward the door.
"Ti for the wedding," she whispered.
--
Noel stood in front of the wardrobe, already halfway through getting dressed. He adjusted the cuffs of his dark blue coat, then reached for the matching trousers folded neatly beside it. The material was smooth, well-fitted—tailored for him nearly a year ago.
He rembered the occasion too clearly.
That day, blood had stained these very clothes. The first ti he had to kill. Not a monster. Ten n. Assassins sent to murder him—hired by his own two mothers.
He survived. They didn’t.
The mory still clung to him like the scent of steel in the air.
He tightened the leather strap on his black boots and reached for the final piece: a small silver ring with a pale green gem embedded in its center.
Ashen Sigil.
He slid it onto his finger without hesitation.
’Just in case.’
The sword and the pouch stayed behind today. Revenant Fang rested beside his bed, inert and silent. The dinsional pouch remained closed, tucked inside a drawer. There would be no need for either.
But the ring stayed.
He checked himself one last ti in the mirror. The coat fit well. He looked like a proper noble. A proper Thorne.
That fact still felt foreign.
Noel turned, grabbed his gloves, and headed out the door.
"Let’s get this over with. I hope it ends quickly."
The carriage moved smoothly along the winding wooden causeway, elevated above the forest floor. Shafts of golden light filtered through the dense canopy, illuminating patches of moss and blossoms growing along the massive trunks of the trees that ford the foundation of Teralis.
Noel sat inside one of the Thorne carriages, the interior lined with green velvet and polished rootwood. Through the open side window, he glimpsed passing vines and the occasional flicker of glowing insects darting beneath the walkways.
He was seated between Damon and Kael.
Unlike the Festival of the Hunt, this ti there was no tension in the air. The silence felt natural, not forced. Damon seed calm, lazily drumming his fingers against the wood panel beside him. Kael sat with one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, watching the scenery pass with a neutral expression.
Noel adjusted the sleeves of his jacket absently, then broke the silence.
"You know," he said, glancing at Kael, "with Livia getting married, that should make you the next in line. Planning anything?"
Kael didn’t react at first. Then he gave a long blink and replied, "I’m twenty-two. That’s not old."
"So that’s a maybe," Damon grinned.
Kael shot him a sidelong look. "Can you shut up? Even if Livia is marrying at 20, I’m still young."
Noel allowed himself a quiet chuckle.
’Still can’t get used to how much they’ve changed in just six months. What the hell happened during that ti? Could it really have been that bad?’
The carriage passed over a long arched bridge suspended between two trees, swaying ever so slightly with the wind. Below, far beneath the wooden pathways, birds scattered from a flowering treetop as the procession continued forward.
Other Thorne carriages followed behind, their lacquered exteriors reflecting the dappled sunlight. House banners swayed gently at their sides—black silk with a crimson rose.
They were getting closer. Heartgrove Pavilion wasn’t far now.
The procession ca to a gradual halt as the road widened into a grand landing platform built into the branches of one of the oldest trees in Teralis. Heartgrove Pavilion erged ahead—elegant, tall, and carved directly into the living wood itself. Vines laced with soft-glowing crystals wove along the outer walls, pulsing with quiet magic. Pale golden bridges extended outward from it like arms, connecting to other sections of the elven city.
It wasn’t stone or marble that defined this place—it was nature itself, shaped by ancient hands with impossible precision.
Noel stepped down from the carriage behind Kael and Damon. A warm breeze moved through the leaves overhead, carrying the scent of clean wood and flowering moss. The light filtering through the canopy cast slow-moving patterns over the platform floor.
A steward in ceremonial robes bowed slightly and gestured forward.
"This way, Lords Thorne. The seats are prepared."
Noel followed without a word. Other mbers of the Thorne family had already begun to disembark and move toward the entrance, their footsteps muffled by the smooth wooden planks beneath their boots.
Everywhere he looked, the elegance of the elves was present—not loud or gilded, but refined and eternal. The vines that climbed the railings blood in ti with their movents. Lanterns hung from branches, suspended by invisible strings of mana. Even the pavilion’s massive archways seed to breathe with the forest.
Inside, the warmth of natural enchantnt settled over the guests. Magic flowed through the walls like sap through bark, gentle and constant. The main hall opened wide with no sharp edges—only curves, light, and music played softly by elven musicians on elevated platforms carved from the wood itself.
Benches were arranged in a semicircular fashion around the center, layered in three terraces. Thorne family mbers were led to the left section, von Lestaria to the right. Between them stood a large open space covered in woven forest leaves and living petals.
The altar was an elevated platform ford from spiraling roots, with a canopy of woven branches above. Soft light filtered through it, landing precisely where the bride and groom would stand.
Noel walked in step with Kael and Damon toward the second row, noting how many heads turned as they passed. He recognized a few faces—nobles from Valor, dignitaries from Teralis, even a pair of cloaked observers from foreign lands. No one spoke to them directly.
He sat down and let his hands rest loosely on his lap. His eyes drifted toward the altar, still empty.
’Not here yet,’ he thought.
Then he glanced toward the von Lestaria side. No sign of Elena either.
’Probably still getting ready.’
He shifted slightly in his seat and exhaled through his nose.
’Let’s get this over with.’
A soft chi echoed through the pavilion. The musicians lowered their instrunts. A quiet fell across the hall—not heavy, but expectant. Then, from opposite ends of the platform, two figures began to walk forward.
Lord Thalanor von Lestaria erged first, tall and graceful in a deep green robe trimd with golden leaf motifs. His silver hair was tied back in a half-knot, and he walked with the easy elegance of a man used to being watched. His smile, though formal, carried genuine warmth.
From the other side ca Lord Albrecht Thorne. His dark blue coat was spotless, stiff with polished buttons and structured shoulders. His black gloves remained on even as he stepped forward.
The two n t at the front of the altar, nodded to one another, then turned toward the guests.
Thalanor stepped up first.
"Honored friends and noble guests, thank you for answering this invitation. Today is not only a day of union, but of hope. My son, Veyron, has always walked with ambition—but today he walks with loyalty at his side."
A few scattered chuckles rose from the crowd as Thalanor glanced aningfully toward soone in the audience—likely Veyron himself, waiting nearby.
"I must confess, when he told he wished to marry the daughter of House Thorne, I wondered if we were ready for such... passion." More laughter.
"But it did not take long to see that this wasn’t politics. It was purpose."
His gaze softened slightly.
"May this day mark not only their union, but a promise between our families—a promise of strength, of future... and of sothing rare among nobles: trust."
He stepped back with a polite bow of the head.
Then Albrecht moved forward.
Noel’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The Lord of House Thorne stood tall, his voice like a blade—clean, cold, and sharp.
"This day marks a formal alliance between Thorne and von Lestaria. It has been discussed, negotiated, and approved. The decision is final."
Murmurs rippled across the rows—quiet ones.
Albrecht continued.
"My daughter Livia represents our house with pride. She is a reflection of our discipline, and I expect her to fulfill her role with the sa rigor. That is all."
He stepped back.
No applause. Just silence.
Noel didn’t move.
’Always the sa. Straight to the point. Not a word wasted, really he has a unique way to kill the vibe.’
The high priest took his place between the two lords, raising his hands as a soft golden light shimred behind him.
"It is ti," he said, voice calm and echoing. "Bring forth the bride and groom."
The ceremony was about to begin.
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