The altar released them.
Not gently.
Not mercifully.
It flung Irvine and Inara backward as if their bodies had grown too charged, too unstable to stand side by side while the choice remained unspoken. Inara hit the stone hard, ribs shrieking in pain. Irvine slammed into a pillar, coughing blood.
The Groom didn't stumble.
He simply straightened his spine, veil lifting like a predator scenting an opening.
"Inara," he said softly. "The ritual waits. Midnight waits. You cannot delay what was carved for you."
Inara clutched her ribs, breath shaking.
"I didn't choose you," she whispered.
"You will."
His voice held no doubt.
"Irvine is fading. You feel it."
Her heart dropped.
Irvine tried to stand—
and for the first time since their ordeal began, he *couldn't*.
His legs buckled.
The white veins along his arms flickered dimmer, like dying fire.
"Inara…" he rasped, breath hitching. "Don't… listen to him."
She crawled toward him—but the altar snapped again.
A wall of invisible force shoved them apart, sliding her across the stone like a doll.
"Inara!" Irvine shouted.
She reached for him—
fingers stretched toward his—
but there were three cruel inches of empty air between their hands.
The Groom stood between them now.
"Two grooms cannot claim the same vow," he murmured.
"Until she chooses, you will remain divided."
Irvine's teeth clenched. "If you touch her—"
"I already have," the Groom breathed.
---
### ⬛ THE ALTAR IMPOSES SILENCE — AND FORCES A NEW RULE
A violent pulse shot through the chamber.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
The torches flickered to pitch-dark, then blazed blood-red.
A deep voice—not the Groom, not Irvine—
but the altar itself—
shook the air:
"HEARING WILL BE THE BRIDGE.
SPEECH WILL BE THE CHAIN."
Inara's throat tightened—
She tried to call Irvine's name—
but no sound left her lips.
Her voice was taken again.
Not by fear.
But by *rule*.
Irvine tried too, panic spiking—
"Ina—"
But his voice cut off like a severed wire mid-syllable.
Silence swallowed both of them.
Only one channel remained.
Audio.
Mechanical.
Cold.
The walkies on their belts lit up with an eerie glow.
A new voice—hollow, echoing as if spoken through ten ruined throats—
slid through the static:
"Speak only through the relics.
Your souls will travel further apart,
unless you anchor yourselves."
The Groom didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The altar was on *his* side.
For now.
---
### ⬛ THEY ARE SEPARATED PHYSICALLY — BUT BINDED AUDIBLY
The floor split between them again—
this time not swallowing them,
but shifting them into different corridors.
Inara slid down a slope of dust and bones, screaming without sound.
Irvine grabbed uselessly at the wall, unable to pull himself toward her as the tunnel dragged him in the opposite direction.
The Groom walked calmly behind Inara, as if escorting her to a ceremony.
Stone sealed itself between them.
Silence.
Darkness.
Then—
*Click.*
A walkie activated in Inara's hand.
She didn't touch it; the altar did.
Static.
Then—
"I-Inara…? Inara, baby—tell me you're alive."
Her throat ached. She couldn't speak.
She lifted the walkie close to her chest.
Her breath hit the mic.
That was all she could give him.
A trembling exhale.
Irvine heard it.
He choked back a sob.
"Okay… okay… I hear you. I hear you."
Even half-dead, even dragged into tunnels that smelled like old coffins, he steadied his breath for her.
"Just breathe for me, okay? If you're scared—if you're hurting—just let me hear it."
A small, shaky inhale left her lips.
Irvine pressed his forehead against the wall.
"Good girl… I hear you."
---
### ⬛ IRVINE'S TRANSFORMATION GETS WORSE
But Inara heard something else behind Irvine.
A low hum.
A second heartbeat.
Something crawling along the stone near him.
She breathed sharply into the walkie.
Irvine caught the alarm in her inhale.
"What? What's near me?"
Then he heard it too.
The scratching on stone.
The whisper of a dragging boot.
He lifted the walkie close.
"Inara… if something's behind me, you need to breathe differently.
One breath for yes.
Two for no.
Three if it's—"
A heavy exhale from her end.
One breath.
"Yes."
He turned slowly.
"Inara," he whispered, "I can feel it. Something's… watching."
The white veins under his skin glowed again, pulsing with the same rhythm as the altar.
No longer random.
Now synchronized.
Inara's breath sharpened in fear.
"Baby… don't panic," Irvine whispered, voice trembling.
"I think the altar is connecting me to The Groom."
He groaned, clutching his skull.
"Inara—I'm seeing memories that aren't mine. I'm—dammit—I'm seeing *him*."
Her breath sped up.
He felt it through the mic.
"I know, I know, I know…"
He steadied his breathing intentionally to calm her.
"Inara, listen… I'm still me. I swear."
Another exhale from her.
A fragile one.
He smiled painfully.
"That's right. Good girl. Stay with me."
---
### ⬛ THE GROOM SPEAKS THROUGH THE REALM
Inara felt a presence behind her.
She turned slowly—
The Groom stood inches away.
His veil brushed her shoulder.
He lifted one gloved finger to the walkie at her lips.
And whispered—
"Shall I tell him… what you saw in the well?"
Inara shook her head violently.
He leaned closer, veil ghosting across her cheek.
"You saw your reflection in the vow-water. You know what that means."
She inhaled sharply.
Irvine caught that fear instantly.
"Inara? What did you see? Please—breathe again—one for yes, two for no—"
The Groom took the walkie gently from her hand.
And pressed the button.
His voice—smooth, cruel—
filled Irvine's tunnel.
"She saw herself as a bride, Irvine."
Static exploded.
Irvine's breath stopped.
"No…"
His voice cracked apart.
"No, Inara—no—don't listen to him, baby, please—please—"
The Groom chuckled.
"She wore my colors."
"SHUT UP!" Irvine roared.
Stone shook.
The Groom tilted his head, amused.
"Your desperation is… flattering."
---
### ⬛ DUAL MONOLOGUES — LOVE VERSUS CLAIM
Irvine panted into the mic.
"Inara… baby… listen to me. I don't care what that water showed.
Prophecies don't own you. Vows don't own you. *He* doesn't own you."
He hit the wall until blood spattered stone.
"I'm coming. I swear it—I'm coming to get you."
The Groom lifted the walkie again, his whisper calm and poisonous.
"She cannot choose you. You came too late. You bleed too deeply.
You love too… humanly."
He leaned so close to the walkie that Irvine would feel the breath.
"She will walk down my aisle long before you crawl back to her."
Irvine's breath broke completely.
"Try me."
---
### ⬛ INARA FINALLY MAKES A SOUND
The Groom lowered the walkie.
Inara trembled.
He extended a gloved hand toward her chin.
"Look at me."
She didn't want to.
But the altar tugged her jaw upward.
His veil shimmered—
not fabric,
but thousands of old photographs layered like ghost-skin.
"Inara," he whispered, "every bride who sees the vow-water becomes mine. Your image is already etched. The altar remembers you. Trying to run from destiny is merely—"
She gasped.
Loud.
Sharp.
A sound.
Her voice returned—
not fully,
but enough for one small scream:
"NO!"
The walkie caught it.
Irvine froze.
His breath stopped.
"Inara…?"
His voice broke in a way she had never heard.
"Inara… sweetheart… please say something again—please—I need to hear you—"
Her lips parted.
Her voice cracked out again, broken, trembling—
"Irvine…"
He sobbed.
She sobbed.
The Groom went still.
The altar rumbled.
And something ancient and furious unfurled through the chamber.
The altar did not want her to speak.
So it enforced the rule.
---
### ⬛ FORCED CLOSENESS BEGINS
Stone walls suddenly slid shut behind both of them.
Not to separate.
To *compress*.
To squeeze their tunnels inward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Forcing them closer to each other in the only way the altar allowed:
**Through voice. Through sound. Through love.**
Irvine realized it first.
"Inara… get to the wall. Press your hand against it."
She did.
He pressed his palm against the opposite side.
They couldn't feel each other.
But the stone warmed.
Their breath synced.
The Groom hissed.
The altar whispered:
"THE BRIDE AND HER CHOSEN MUST PROVE THEIR BOND."
Chosen.
Not groom.
Not vow.
Chosen.
Inara whispered into the walkie—
"I choose… him."
The Groom froze.
His veil stilled.
For the first time—
he looked afraid.
The altar cracked.
The tunnel walls jolted.
And a voice older than war, older than ritual screamed:
"THEN HE MUST BLEED IN HER PLACE."
Inara's eyes widened.
"No—NO—"
Irvine inhaled sharply—
"Inara, baby—run."
The Groom stepped forward lightning-fast.
The altar flung Irvine backward—
blood spraying the stone.
Inara screamed—
"IRVINE!"
The Groom whispered, veil shaking,
"Midnight approaches, bride."
Cliffhanger:
The torches flared—
and the countdown began.
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