Rein took a slow, instinctive step back.
The figure hovered several feet above the altar, suspended on a column of light that pulsed with rhythm—not magic, but reverence.
Her feet didn't touch the ground. Her silver-white hair floated around her shoulders like it had never obeyed gravity.
Her armor shimred with gold filigree, cracked in several places as if it had been broken and put back together by faith alone.
But it wasn't the armor that chilled Rein.
It was the way she looked at him.
Like a man dying of thirst looks at rain.
"You've changed," she whispered, voice lilting like a hymn. "Smaller. Flesh-bound. But your light—your soul—unmistakable."
She floated closer. Her bare feet hovered just above the moss-covered stone. Each step whispered a chi across the cathedral floor.
Rein raised a hand, instinctively reaching for a weapon he didn't have. "You've got the wrong guy."
"You bled on my altar." She smiled with divine certainty. "Only he can wake ."
"I'm not he," Rein said.
"You are." She pressed a hand to her heart. "You ca back. You always said you would."
"I say a lot of things. That doesn't make them real."
Her smile didn't falter.
Instead, she lowered herself slowly to the ground, light dimming around her.
She stood before him in full—a radiant figure of celestial power wrapped in sothing terribly human.
Hope. Yearning. Fragility carved in gold.
"I waited," she said. "While the stars dimd. While the choir was silenced. While they buried in stone and forgot my na."
She stepped closer. He backed away.
"They said I had gone mad. That love was not holy. That desire was a sin."
"You're really not helping your case," Rein muttered.
Her expression didn't change.
"They sealed for wanting what they denied. For dreaming of a life with the one who stood beside in the last war. You."
"I've never t you."
"You have," she insisted, voice trembling now. "In dreams. In pieces. Your soul rembers. Your eyes are different, but your light—that sa golden fire. I see it."
He stopped.
Not because he believed her.
But because sothing in her voice—
That certainty.
It wasn't delusion.
It was religion.
"You're not just mistaken," he said. "You're delusional."
"I'm your bride."
"You're unhinged."
She stepped closer still, unphased.
"I forgive your hesitation. The mortal world dulls the senses. But I'll help you rember. Our vows. Our bed. Our garden beyond the stars."
Rein flinched as she raised a hand toward his face.
Golden light pulsed from her fingers.
He stepped back fast. "Don't touch ."
She stopped mid-motion.
Then lowered her hand gently.
"You're not ready yet," she whispered. "That's alright. The flesh resists, but the soul always bows to its other half."
Rein's breath ca faster.
He glanced toward the broken doorway behind him—too far, too narrow.
Her magic would reach him before his foot left the first step.
She saw the look in his eyes and smiled.
"We don't need to run from each other anymore."
She waved her hand once.
The doors slamd shut.
Chains of glowing scripture wrapped around the fra like vines.
"You're ho now, my love."
______
The cathedral pulsed like a living thing.
Soft light bled from the cracks in the floor, from beneath the altar, from the walls that whispered scripture in a language Rein didn't know—but understood anyway.
The words weren't spoken aloud.
They were sung.
From within.
Rein stood frozen as the glow crawled up his boots, circling his ankles in rings of golden fla that didn't burn but bound.
"No," he muttered, trying to move. "No no no—"
A wave of warmth hit his body like silk and stone. His limbs went heavy, not paralyzed, but weighted with reverence.
He fell to his knees.
Not because he wanted to.
Because sothing bigger than want had reached inside and started rewriting instinct.
Across the altar, Seraphael raised both hands.
Her broken halo flared briefly into blinding light, then dimd into a soft, pulsing ring.
A choir echoed through the rafters—no visible source, no real voices.
Just the mory of worship.
"Let us begin," she said.
She gestured once.
White robes unfolded in the air—long, ceremonial, stitched with thread that shimred like starfall.
The fabric wrapped itself around Rein before he could move.
It hugged his fra perfectly.
No seams. No fasteners.
A perfect fit.
"Stop," he hissed, trying to pull it off. "I'm not—"
"You are," she whispered. "You always were."
The floor beneath him shifted.
A circle carved in divine symbols lit up, golden vines weaving through the cracks, forming the outline of two wings pressed together.
Seraphael stepped down to join him.
She knelt in front of him and cupped his face gently in both hands.
Her skin was warm—not like fire, but like sunlight filtered through stained glass.
"This is the mont I was born for," she said.
"To belong to you."
Rein's heart pounded.
His vision blurred.
He could feel sothing sliding into place inside his head—a mory that wasn't his, a na that didn't belong to him, a promise made beneath stars he'd never seen.
His voice shook. "You're ssing with my mind."
She smiled, softly. "I'm giving it back."
Her thumbs brushed his cheeks. She leaned forward.
Her lips brushed his.
It wasn't like Asmodra's kiss—burning and possessive.
It wasn't like Zeraka's—animal and raw.
It was slow, and unbearably tender.
And with it ca a tidal wave of warmth that drowned thought.
This is right, sothing inside him whispered.
She waited. She kept her vows. She loves you.
Give in.
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