The sun shone bright, a cruel contrast to the tension cloaked over the ceremonial grounds. White ribbons fluttered, and golden petals fell lazily from the balconies, but the air was heavy with expectation. Guild leaders, nobles, and dignitaries filled the seats, oblivious to the storm brewing beyond appearances.
Lysera stood at the altar, regal in white silk that caught the light like woven starlight. Her hands shook slightly under the veil, and though her face was calm, her eyes betrayed the storm inside her. Hidden beneath her sleeve was the slender edge of a knife. A final choice. A last defiance.
The officiant began to speak, words flowing like ritualized water. "Do you, Lysera Vaelcord, take this man—"
Her breath hitched.
I had watched the news, the letters, the whispers. I knew. She didn't want this. She would rather die than be chained.
Her fingers tightened on the knife. Her other hand trembled toward her throat.
And the moment the words "I do" should have been said… time froze.
The sky darkened. Not with clouds, but with raw energy. A violet streak cut across the horizon like a jagged bolt of lightning. The winds screamed, tearing banners from their ropes, sending petals flying like shrapnel.
The assembly gasped. The officiant faltered. And then came the sound—the roar of thunder amplified a hundredfold, shaking the earth beneath them.
The sky cracked open. And from that chasm of purple storm… he fell.
Ashura Bellet.
He didn't land like a man. He landed like a force of nature.
The earth beneath him erupted, stone splintering under the impact. Dust and violet lightning spiraled outward in a dome, sending shocked spectators sprawling. A shockwave of storm ripped through the air, silencing the orchestra of the wedding in a single, catastrophic instant.
He landed on his feet. One knee bent, hands relaxed at his sides, eyes blazing with arrogance and amusement. The storm danced across his body, tendrils of violet electricity spiraling off him like living serpents.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Well," he said casually, voice carrying over the stunned crowd, "if you wanted attention, you could have just asked."
Lysera froze. The knife in her hand trembled. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her breath caught.
And then, finally, she moved.
Her legs carried her through the broken flowers, the fallen banners, and the swirling violet storm. She ran. Straight to him. The knife dropped forgotten as she threw herself into his arms.
"Ashura!" she whispered, voice trembling, fear and relief colliding. "I… I didn't want this… I couldn't…"
He caught her easily, one arm around her waist, the other brushing the hair from her face. The storm coiled around them, protective, alive, a manifestation of his aura.
"You shouldn't play with knives like that," he said dryly, smirk unwavering. "And you definitely shouldn't think anyone's going to force you into a life you don't want."
Lysera's tears fell freely now, and for the first time in months, her tension melted.
He tilted his head, arrogance still in every line of his posture. "If you wanted to die, you should have waited until I said 'I'm bored.'"
The storm pulsed around them. Onlookers dared not move. Every guildmaster, every noble, every knight froze, watching the impossible scene. A man had crashed from the sky, obliterated the ground beneath a wedding, and rescued the woman he cared for in a single, breathtaking instant.
Lysera clung tighter. "I… I was so scared…"
"I know," he said, voice low but amused, electricity crackling faintly along his jawline. "But if anyone thinks they get to control you, they have another thing coming. And you'd better remember that."
The petals settled slowly, the violet lightning dissipating just enough to reveal the chaos left in his wake. Broken benches, shattered decorations, stunned witnesses—but Lysera's eyes only saw him.
And she smiled.
For the first time, not in fear, not in formality, but because he was here.