Fog clung to the ground like soaked cloth,
and every tree bent inward as if bowing—
or warning.
Irvine led Inara with fingers laced tightly in hers,
his pace controlled but fast,
eyes locked forward with an intensity she had never seen.
He wasn't just navigating the forest.
He was following something invisible.
Something inside him.
Every few steps, he paused—
head tilting as if listening to whispers only he could hear.
His breath shortened.
His shoulders tensed.
His pulse raced too fast.
"Inara," he said quietly, "stay right behind me. If I say run, you run."
She squeezed his hand. "Always."
But the way he was moving—
too precise, too certain—
it didn't feel like Irvine.
It felt like the forest was parting for him.
And for a split second…
Inara wondered
whether it was welcoming him.
---
The path narrowed between towering pines—
their trunks twisted like ribs of a giant corpse.
Every time Irvine blinked,
the world flickered.
Ruins overlapped trees.
Old barracks replaced fog.
Then trenches.
Then the altar room—
not reality,
but visions.
He shook his head violently,
trying to clear the images.
But they only sharpened.
"Irvine?" Inara whispered.
His voice rasped, "I'm fine."
He wasn't.
The Groom's vision kept sliding into his own,
layering itself over the forest like a double exposure.
He saw two worlds at once.
One—
the physical path beneath his feet.
The other—
a pulsing corridor deep underground,
lit by torches,
lined with bones,
echoing with chanting in a language Irvine somehow understood.
Words hovered at the back of his throat.
Old. Rotten. Ritualistic.
He nearly spoke them.
He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
No.
Not me.
Not his voice.
"Inara," he said without looking back, "if I start repeating anything… pull me."
"I will."
He nodded once,
trying to steady his breathing.
But the Groom's path was calling—
pulling him toward the altar.
And Irvine could feel it.
Not around him.
Inside him.
A pressure behind his ribs.
A heartbeat that wasn't his.
A rhythm matching steps he wasn't taking.
The Groom was moving.
And Irvine was moving with him.
---
They reached a clearing.
Fog thinned.
A broken stone archway rose before them,
engraved with faded carvings:
**UNIONIS DE SANGRE.**
*Union by blood.*
Inara touched Irvine's arm gently.
"Irvine… this arch wasn't here earlier."
"It comes and goes," he muttered.
"How do you know?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't know.
He *felt* it.
Like memory.
Like déjà vu.
Like he had once walked this same path
in someone else's life.
He lifted his hand—
And his fingers traced the carvings
perfectly,
like he remembered every stroke.
Inara's breath caught.
"Irvine… how did you…?"
He froze.
His hand didn't feel like his.
"It's him," he whispered. "He walked this path before. And I'm… seeing it."
"Can you stop it?"
He forced his hand down.
"I'm trying."
Inara stepped close,
pressing her forehead against his shoulder.
"Don't let him in."
"I won't," he murmured—
—but his voice dropped lower,
softer,
almost like two voices layered together.
Not fully his.
Not fully Groom's.
Inara stiffened.
"Irvine… say something. Anything."
He exhaled.
"Inara."
She relaxed.
Then—
His next words were not his own.
"Bellum factum est… sponsa parata est…"
Her eyes widened.
"What does that mean?"
He touched his temple,
breathing raggedly.
"I don't know. But I shouldn't be able to say it."
She grabbed his face between her hands,
forcing him to look into her eyes.
"Irvine. Stay with me."
He blinked—
once
twice—
The fog in his vision lifted just enough.
Her face anchored him again.
He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest.
"Keep doing that," he said harshly. "It drowns him out."
She cupped his jaw.
"Irvine… I'm right here."
For a moment,
their breaths aligned.
Then the forest trembled.
A deep, rhythmic pounding shook the ground—
like ceremonial drums buried under the soil.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Inara grabbed Irvine's sleeve.
"What is that?"
He didn't answer.
Because he knew.
The drums were guiding him.
*Guiding the Groom.*
*Guiding the hunt.*
*Guiding the ritual.*
His pulse matched their rhythm.
His steps synced with their pace.
His breath aligned with their beat.
The Groom was aligning him.
Inara saw his pupils dilate.
"No. Irvine—look at me. Don't listen."
He clenched her hand.
"I'm okay. I'm okay—"
Another boom.
He staggered.
"Irvine!"
BOOM.
His knees buckled.
BOOM.
He dropped to one hand,
breath shaking,
clawing at the dirt.
"I—Inara—run—"
"No!" she snapped. "We stay together!"
His head lifted slowly,
pain twisting his expression.
"Please. I don't know… what he'll do with me."
His voice cracked.
Raw.
Human.
She knelt beside him,
wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
"I don't care. You're not going through this alone."
Fog swirled around them,
coiling at Irvine's feet.
It crawled up his legs like grasping hands.
Inara panicked.
"IRVINE—!"
He groaned, gripping her waist with one trembling hand.
"I—I see it," he gasped. "The altar… the brides… the—"
His eyes rolled upward—
—but Inara slapped him sharply.
"IRVINE. WAKE UP."
He gasped—like surfacing from deep water.
He grabbed her shoulders.
"Inara… don't ever stop doing that."
"I won't."
He inhaled hard—
and the Groom's pull loosened.
Just enough.
---
The forest parted suddenly.
Not gradually.
Not naturally.
Instantly.
As if two giant hands ripped the trees apart from the inside.
Inara's breath hitched.
"Irvine…"
"I know."
Ahead of them—
A massive stone structure emerged from the fog.
Triangular.
Ancient.
Carved with symbols that writhed when looked at too long.
The Altar Bunker.
It loomed like a broken cathedral swallowed by earth.
And Irvine felt pain bloom behind his eyes.
Pressure.
Heat.
A voice crawling under his skull.
**"Shadow… come home."**
He stumbled.
Inara caught him.
"No. You don't listen to him. You listen to me."
He opened his eyes.
And for one horrifying moment—
his irises flickered.
Gold.
Pale gold.
Like the Groom's veil reflecting light.
Inara recoiled.
"Irvine…"
"It's fine," he rasped. "I can fight it."
"No, you're losing him. We need to stop—"
He slammed his hand against the bunker's stone wall to steady himself,
breathing hard.
"Inara… if we stop now… he wins."
She grabbed his wrist.
"I'm not losing you."
He leaned forward,
pressing his forehead to hers—
their breaths tangling,
their hands shaking.
"You won't," he whispered.
But his voice was threaded with fear he couldn't hide.
He stepped back—
—and the stone wall beside them pulsed.
Not physically.
Visually.
Like light shimmering beneath the rock.
Images flickered:
A woman in a wartime bridal gown.
A man in a black ceremonial uniform.
A blade.
A vow.
Blood spilled.
A photograph capturing the bride's last breath.
Then—
Irvine saw himself
standing where the groom once stood.
The vision hit so hard it stole his breath.
His hands trembled.
His chest constricted.
His jaw locked.
Inara grabbed his face sharply.
"IRVINE. Look at me. NOT HIM."
He inhaled sharply.
But the vision didn't fade.
Not fully.
Not anymore.
He whispered, terrified:
"Inara… I'm seeing the ritual from *inside* him. It's getting worse."
She tightened her hold.
"Then we finish this now. Together."
Another flicker.
Irvine saw the bride's body lifted toward the altar.
He saw hands sewing her veil.
He saw soldiers chanting.
He saw—
He saw himself
placing a ring on a dead woman's finger.
Irvine jerked away from the wall,
staggering.
Inara caught him again, clutching his jacket.
"Stay with me. Irvine—"
He dragged a hand down his face,
breathing hard.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He looked up—
—and the fear in his eyes made Inara's stomach drop.
"Inara…" he whispered brokenly.
"I think the Groom doesn't just want a bride."
She swallowed.
"What else?"
Irvine's voice lowered to a trembling whisper.
"A shadow groom.
A second half of the ritual.
A living vessel."
Her breath froze.
"You."
He nodded slowly.
"He wants you as the bride of the dead."
"And he wants me as the groom of the living."
Inara's heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
"Irvine—no. You're not part of this."
He held her face in both hands,
desperate, pleading.
"Inara… if he gets inside me—if he takes full control—
you run."
"No."
"You RUN."
"No!"
Their foreheads pressed together,
pain colliding with love.
He whispered:
"You are the only thing keeping me human."
She whispered back:
"Then hold on to me. Not him."
He nodded—but barely.
And then—
a shadow fell across the entrance of the altar.
Tall.
Unmoving.
Veil drifting.
Inara's grip crushed his sleeve.
"Irvine…"
"I see him," Irvine breathed.
The Groom lifted one pale hand—
beckoning.
Irvine's pulse synced to the gesture.
His knees almost buckled.
"Inara… don't let go."
"I won't."
They stood side by side,
hands linked tight,
facing the monster calling for both of them—
Bride.
And Shadow Groom.
The Groom stepped forward.
And the altar lights ignited.
The ritual was beginning.