The village burned like a memory that refused to die.
Flames twisted up broken walls,
war banners snapped in unreal wind,
and soldiers marched in broken loops—
caught between life and death,
between history and ritual.
And through it all,
the Groom walked.
Not glided.
Not vanished.
Walked.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like a groom approaching the altar.
Irvine dragged Inara behind the ruins of a half-collapsed munitions shack,
both of them panting, bleeding, shaking.
That second death still echoed through him—
a hollow, cold ache spreading from his spine outward,
like fingers replacing nerves with something older.
"Inara," he whispered, bracing her against the wall,
"I need you to stay behind me no matter what."
She grabbed his shirt.
"No. I'm not leaving your side."
He touched her cheek—
not gentle,
but desperate.
"You don't understand. I felt it. I…"
He swallowed.
"I'm not all… me anymore."
The flames flickered.
And his shadow flickered with them.
Not matching his movement.
It lagged half a second behind.
And then moved an inch on its own.
Inara's pulse lurched.
"Irvine… your shadow—"
"I know."
He didn't look at it.
He didn't dare.
But he could feel it—
like a second spine,
a second heartbeat,
a second consciousness pressing behind his own.
The Groom's consciousness.
He squeezed Inara's hand.
"If I tell you to run, you run."
"What if you don't tell me?"
"Then you stay."
She nodded.
A roar echoed through the burning street—
not human,
not animal,
but the sound of a vow broken.
The Groom was near.
---
### **THE MEMORY SOLDIERS TURN**
Out in the open,
the looping soldiers froze mid-step.
Heads snapped toward their hiding place.
If they'd been alive,
the sight might have looked like discipline.
But these soldiers moved like puppets.
Jaws slack.
Eyes empty.
Bodies twisting with jerks and shudders.
And all of them focused on Inara.
The bride.
The chosen.
Irvine pushed her farther behind him.
"You're not touching her," he growled.
A soldier took one stiff step,
boot scraping against stone.
Then another.
Irvine felt something cold coil around his wrist again—
Shadow.
The Groom offered him power,
the way a knife offers a choice.
And for the first time…
Irvine didn't resist immediately.
The shadow thickened,
curling up his arm,
reaching toward his elbow like a living ribbon.
Inara grabbed his hand.
"Irvine—stop—he's trying to use you—"
"I know," he rasped.
"And I'm going to use him back."
Before she could react,
he lifted his free hand toward the approaching soldiers.
The air warped.
A rippling shockwave of black,
like ink spilled underwater,
shot outward from Irvine.
It slammed into all three soldiers.
Their bodies twisted backward—
bones cracking,
limbs curling grotesquely—
before collapsing lifeless on the burning ground.
Inara gasped.
"Irvine… you…"
He staggered slightly,
panting.
The shadow receded.
But not entirely.
He closed his eyes,
guilt and fear mixing in his breath.
"Inara… I didn't move fast enough. The power did."
"You controlled it."
"No," he whispered.
"It controlled me. Just enough to save you."
The firelight flickered.
The air thickened.
Footsteps echoed—
slow, elegant, ceremonial.
The Groom finally emerged from the smoke.
---
### **THE GROOM'S FIRST APPEARANCE**
He was taller than any memory.
Handsome and horrifying in equal measure.
He wore a black ceremonial uniform
stitched with gold thread,
war medals pinned to his chest,
and a veil that draped from helmet to shoulders—
woven from lace, ash, and smoke.
But his face—
His face wasn't blurred now.
It was visible.
Human-like,
but stretched wrong along the cheekbones,
skin too pale,
eyes too dark,
mouth frozen in a faint, polite smile—
A groom waiting for vows.
Inara's knees buckled.
Irvine stepped in front of her instantly.
The Groom tilted his head.
Not toward Irvine.
Toward **their joined hands**.
Recognition flickered beneath the veil.
He spoke.
Not in words—
in a voice that cracked reality.
*The bride…
made a choice…*
Inara felt the words claw at her chest.
Irvine stiffened.
"She chose me," he said through clenched teeth.
"Not you."
The Groom remained still.
Then his head turned slightly,
smile widening by a fraction.
He looked at Irvine's shadow.
Inara's breath died.
The Groom wasn't looking at them.
He was looking at the mark.
The shadow binding.
*You are mine…*
the whisper slid across the flames,
*even in death…*
Irvine took a step back,
pressing Inara behind him.
"Don't look at him," he whispered in her ear.
"Don't listen. Don't let him in."
She tightened her grip on his sleeve,
voice trembling.
"Why can he… see through you?"
"Because I died in his ritual," Irvine said, breath shaking.
"I opened a door—he walked in."
The Groom lifted one hand.
The soldiers' corpses rose.
Not standing—
**floating.**
Dragged upward by their throats,
veils wrapping around them like strangling hands.
Inara covered her mouth.
"No—no—oh god—"
Irvine pulled her against his chest.
But the Groom's voice seeped through both of them:
*Bring her.*
Irvine's muscles jerked.
His fingers twitched.
He felt his body move—not from his own will—
but like he was a marionette being tested.
Inara grabbed his face with both hands.
"Irvine. Stay. With. Me."
His breath trembled violently.
He was fighting something she couldn't see.
"I—I can't—Inara—he's trying—he's trying to make me—"
He choked on a gasp.
His shadow reached toward her veil.
Inara recoiled, horrified.
"Irvine—no—don't let him use you—!"
"I'm NOT—TRYING—" he snarled.
He shoved his other hand into the dirt,
fingers digging deep,
anchoring himself against the force.
A scream tore his throat raw.
The Groom simply watched—
smiling patiently.
The way a man smiles at a bride too overwhelmed to continue the ceremony.
---
### **IRVINE PUSHES BACK**
The Groom lifted his hand slightly.
Irvine's entire body jerked.
His hand shot up toward Inara's throat.
Inara gasped.
"Irvine—STOP—!"
He froze—
Hand inches from her skin.
Veins bulged along his arm.
Teeth grinding hard.
A roar trapped in his chest.
"I—won't—hurt—you—"
The Groom tilted his head again.
Almost amused.
The shadow recoiled suddenly,
ripping backward as if it were physically yanked.
Irvine cried out,
collapsing to one knee.
Inara dropped to her knees beside him,
holding him tight.
"Don't do that again," she whispered fiercely.
"You drag him in every time you use that power."
He coughed,
spitting blood into the dirt.
"I'm dragging him in—
so I can drag him out."
The Groom finally moved.
One step.
Just one.
The flames bent backward with it.
The ground cracked.
Inara pressed against Irvine.
"Irvine… what is he doing—?"
"Choosing."
The Groom lifted his hand toward her.
Her veil lifted violently,
like invisible hands yanking it toward him.
Irvine lunged forward with a roar.
"YOU DON'T TOUCH HER!"
He slammed his palm into the ground.
Shadow erupted from beneath the dirt—
a shockwave of black that shot forward like a ripple.
It hit the Groom.
Hard.
The veil fluttered.
The Groom paused.
The smile dimmed.
He regarded Irvine again—
this time with interest.
Not contempt.
Interest.
*You carry my death…
but you refuse my vow…*
Irvine spat blood.
"Try taking her. See what happens."
For the first time,
the Groom moved quickly.
One blur of motion.
He appeared behind Inara.
Her scream tore through the burning air.
"Irvine!"
Irvine spun—
but he wasn't fast enough.
The Groom's hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
An intimate gesture.
A claiming.
And her knees buckled instantly.
A soft, strangled whimper escaped her lips.
Irvine saw red.
He didn't think.
He didn't strategize.
He didn't even breathe.
He tore the shadow from his own spine—
grabbing it like a weapon born from his ribcage—
and slashed it across the Groom's arm.
A sound like shattering bone echoed through the sky.
The Groom stumbled back—
not bleeding,
but his veil tearing for the first time.
The flames rippled out in a circle.
And all the memory soldiers dropped dead again.
Irvine staggered forward,
pulling Inara into his arms.
"He will NEVER have you."
She clung to him, shaking.
But she felt something else.
His shadow—
no longer behind him.
It hovered beside him now,
like a second figure.
A second Irvine.
A darker one.
She whispered, terrified:
"Irvine… your shadow…"
He swallowed hard.
"It's no longer his."
He looked at the Groom.
"It's mine now."
For the first time,
the Groom stepped back.
Not much.
But enough.
He had been challenged by a man he marked for death.
And lost a piece of himself for it.
The Groom's veil fluttered violently,
rippling like smoke furious at being touched.
The brides screamed from the burning rooftops.
The memory world shook.
And the Groom's smile disappeared entirely.
For the first time,
he looked angry.
Very, very angry.
The air twisted.
The drums accelerated.
Midnight was getting closer.
And the Groom whispered with a voice like the end of a vow:
*The union will be completed.
With or without the groom alive.*
Irvine shielded Inara with his entire body.
"Then come take her."
The Groom's veil snapped like a whip.
He stepped forward.
And the world collapsed into darkness—
dragging all three of them deeper into the ritual's core. it