The torches lit themselves.
One by one.
Crackling to life with blue fire,
casting long shadows that danced like skeletal fingers reaching for them.
Inara shivered violently.
"Irvine… this isn't just a chamber."
His jaw locked.
"No. It's an altar."
The air was colder than outside—
a damp, suffocating cold,
like stone that had absorbed centuries of whispers and blood.
The stairway behind them sealed shut,
stones grinding together until the exit vanished completely.
They were inside the ritual's heart.
The Groom's domain.
---
### **THE ALTAR CORRIDOR**
The tunnel opened into a massive corridor carved directly into the earth.
Skulls were embedded into the walls like decorations.
Veils—white, gray, rotted—hung like funeral banners.
But what made Inara stagger backward were—
The brides.
Dozens of them.
Their bodies preserved with a horrifying precision,
each posed in a kneeling position as if praying,
their wedding gowns long decayed,
their hands folded over their chests.
Faces untouched.
Eyes closed.
Frozen at the moment of death.
Inara covered her mouth, choking on a sob.
"Oh god… they're all…"
"I know," Irvine said softly.
Too softly.
Too steady.
She turned sharply.
He wasn't looking at the bodies with fear.
He was looking at them…
with recognition.
Like he'd seen them before.
"Irvine?" she whispered.
"What are you seeing?"
His pupils dilated.
His breathing slowed.
For a moment,
he didn't answer.
Then—
"…their names."
Her heart dropped.
"You don't know them."
"I do now."
The Groom's presence slid behind his voice,
like a hand puppeteering from inside.
Inara grabbed his face with both hands.
"Irvine. Look at me."
He blinked rapidly—
like he was pulling himself back from somewhere deep.
"Inara…"
"I'm here. Stay with me."
He exhaled shakily, grounding himself in her.
But the corridor shifted.
Blue torches flickered.
Shadows lengthened.
The brides' veils rustled as if moved by a breath no one exhaled.
And then the drums started again—
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Irvine flinched like each strike hit his spine.
"Inara… don't let go of me."
"I won't."
She squeezed his hand tighter—
—but he suddenly bent down on one knee.
Her heart almost stopped.
Irvine stared at her hand,
his fingers trembling as they reached toward hers.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
His voice shifted—
half Irvine,
half The Groom.
"Your hand…
I must… prepare the bride…"
"No," she said sharply, yanking her hand back.
He froze mid-motion,
fingers clawing at empty air.
His head jerked once like something inside had been interrupted.
"Inara… I can't… I don't—"
His breath hitched, pained.
"It's him. He's making me… go through the motions…"
She grabbed his shoulders, pulling him upright.
"Then fight him."
"I'm trying—"
His voice cracked, raw.
"Every step we take closer to the altar… I lose another piece."
She felt him shaking.
And for a moment, she realized—
Irvine wasn't afraid of dying.
He was afraid of becoming the Groom.
---
### **THE LULLABY STARTS**
A soft, melodic hum drifted through the corridor.
A lullaby.
Beautiful.
Ancient.
Deadly.
It echoed off the stone—
the same lullaby she heard in the forest,
sung in that unfamiliar language.
Inara pressed against Irvine.
"That song… it's for the bride."
Irvine's head lifted slightly.
His lips parted.
He whispered the next line of the lullaby flawlessly.
Inara's stomach twisted.
"How do you know the words?"
"I don't."
His voice was hollow.
"It's him. He wants me to sing it."
He stepped forward involuntarily.
One step.
Another.
Like the lullaby pulled his ribs with invisible strings.
Inara grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise.
"Irvine! Stay with me—please!"
He stopped—
but barely.
His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for her again.
A preserved bride's veil fluttered beside them,
even though there was no wind.
The faces of the dead brides all turned—
ever so slightly—
toward Inara.
Watching.
Measuring.
Choosing.
She swallowed a scream.
"Irvine… the brides—"
"I see them."
He wasn't horrified.
He was analyzing them.
As if he understood the ritual.
"Inara…"
He swallowed.
"These bodies… they were preserved deliberately."
"For what?"
"For collection."
Her voice cracked.
"Collection?"
His eyes darkened.
"For the ceremony.
For the Groom's… lineage."
Her blood froze.
"He wants a living bride.
But he also wants the dead ones to witness."
The lullaby's volume swelled.
The corridor shifted again,
walls bending closer,
guiding them into a circular stone chamber.
The main altar.
The ancient war altar turned wedding hall.
---
### **THE ALTAR REVEALED**
The chamber was enormous.
A hollow dome carved from stone,
lined with faded murals showing brides being led into tunnels by soldiers.
At the center stood a stone platform.
On it:
Rings.
Black as ash, shaped like bone.
A shredded bridal veil.
A dagger made of obsidian.
And a photograph—
burned at the edges—
showing a bride in 1943.
Inara's breath shattered.
"She looks like me."
Irvine didn't answer.
Because he was already stepping toward the platform.
"Inara," he said quietly, "don't come closer."
"Why?"
"I don't trust myself not to touch you."
He trembled.
"The ritual wants me to put the ring on you."
Her legs went weak.
The drums intensified—
closer now,
inside the walls,
inside their ribs.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The brides' veils fluttered violently.
The Groom's shadow spilled across the far wall,
stretching enormous,
hands extended like a groom beckoning his beloved.
"Inara," Irvine whispered hoarsely,
"if I put that ring on you… you're his."
She shook her head fiercely.
"No. I'm yours."
He flinched.
Closed his eyes.
Steeled himself.
"Then don't let me touch it."
He reached for the ring—
hand trembling uncontrollably.
Inara slapped his hand away hard.
"Irvine! Don't!"
His fingers curled into a fist—
the spell breaking momentarily.
Good.
But the lullaby swelled louder.
The Groom's influence pressed harder.
Irvine suddenly grabbed her wrist,
lifting her hand toward the ring,
as if performing a practiced motion.
"Irvine, NO—"
His grip tightened—
not in violence,
but in ritual obedience.
His voice was both his own and not:
"*The bride must be adorned…*
*the union must be sealed…*
*before the midnight drums…*"
Inara's heart screamed.
Her free hand flew to his cheek—
not gently,
but with desperate force.
She forced his face toward hers.
"Irvine. Look at me."
His breathing hitched.
"Inara—"
"You're stronger than him."
"I—can't—"
He shook violently.
"He knows my thoughts. He sees through me. I'm losing—"
She pressed her forehead to his.
"Then use me. Use my voice. Anchor yourself to ME."
He gasped—
a sound like a man breaking the surface of water.
His grip loosened.
The ring clattered to the floor.
He sagged forward,
falling against her shoulder,
breathing raggedly.
"Inara… don't let go. Not even for a second."
"I won't."
But the lullaby stopped.
Abruptly.
Silence swallowed the chamber.
Then—
The brides' eyes snapped open.
Dozens of them.
In perfect unison.
Their dead throats whispered the same word:
"*Choose…*"
The Groom's shadow expanded,
bleeding across the altar,
reaching for them.
Irvine held Inara tight, voice shaking.
"Inara… if I black out—run."
She clutched him desperately.
"No. We run together."
But the Groom's whisper slid across the stone—
"Let the union… begin."
A cold wind swept the chamber,
lifting Inara's torn veil.
Irvine's hand jerked again,
reaching involuntarily for the ring on the ground.
"Inara—stop me—"
She pulled him into her arms,
holding him with everything she had.
The shadow groom stepped closer.
The brides began rising.
The drums struck midnight's first beat.
BOOM.
**Cliffhanger:**
Irvine's hand closed around the ring—
—and Inara screamed his name as the altar lit with blinding white.