The countdown drummed through the tunnel walls.
00:59:02
00:59:01
00:59:00
Each tick hit Inara's spine like a hammer.
She didn't remember standing.
She didn't remember running.
Only the scream tearing out of her throat—
"IRVINE!"
Her voice, ripped and raw, echoed back at her.
The altar didn't steal it this time.
It wanted her to scream.
It wanted the Groom to hear.
She stumbled through the narrowing tunnel, hands scraping stone, wedding dress dragging mud, blood, and dust like a dying swan's wings. Tears blurred her vision until she tasted salt on her lips.
The walkie hissed in her grip.
"Inara—"
Irvine's voice was faint, slurred.
"Inara… I'm okay—"
He wasn't okay.
She knew it instantly.
He was dying.
Her knees nearly gave out. "Where are you? Please—please keep talking, don't stop—"
Static.
A distant groan of pain.
She pressed the walkie to her forehead, sobbing once. "Irvine, please—stay with me. I'm coming, I swear I'm coming."
A soft chuckle answered her.
Not his.
The Groom's whisper slithered from the speaker.
"He bleeds for your choice… bride."
She hurled the walkie against the wall.
It cracked—but didn't break.
Nothing in this village broke unless the altar allowed it.
The floor lurched violently beneath her.
She gripped the wall to keep herself from collapsing.
Her heart hammered.
"Irvine…" she whispered again.
This time, a breath—not his voice—answered her.
A ragged inhale.
A shuddering exhale.
Inara pressed her palm to the stone wall beside her.
The same wall the altar had used to bind them earlier.
"Put your hand up," she begged.
"Please—please let me feel you."
For several seconds, there was nothing.
No breath.
No movement.
No sound.
Then—
A faint warmth pulsed through the stone.
A trembling pressure, like fingers trying—failing—to reach hers.
Her breath hitched.
"Irvine, don't you dare leave me—"
"Never," he whispered finally.
But it sounded like a ghost answering its own funeral.
---
### ⬛ IRVINE'S CONDITION WORSENS — AND THE ALTAR PUSHES THEM APART AGAIN
The wall jolted backward suddenly.
Not slamming her away—
but *pulling itself* away from him.
The altar wanted distance again.
Inara screamed.
"NO! Don't take him—DON'T TAKE HIM!"
She ran forward, fingers clawing stone that receded inch by inch, like the tunnel itself was retracting Irvine out of her reach.
"Irvine!"
She slapped the wall.
"IRVINE!"
His voice barely slipped through the walkie.
"Inara… it's okay…"
A harsh cough.
Blood hitting stone.
"I'm… still listening. Just breathe. Just keep breathing… please."
"I don't want your breathing—I want YOU!"
Her voice echoed like a broken bell.
Everything in her chest cracked.
Fear, grief, guilt—so sharp she couldn't tell them apart anymore.
"I can't lose you," she whispered, knees hitting the floor.
"I can't—please Irvine—come back—come back to me—"
A long silence followed.
Long enough to make her vision black around the edges.
Then—
"Inara…"
His voice softened.
Younger.
Like the night he proposed the first time.
"I'm not going anywhere. Even if this place… takes everything else, you're the only thing I won't let go of."
She folded over the walkie, shaking.
The Groom's presence swelled behind her.
"This is why you break," he said gently.
"Love makes you fragile."
She spun, eyes wild.
"Stay away from him."
The Groom tilted his head.
"You fear losing him because you know the outcome. Rituals do not bend for mortal vows. Midnight takes what it is owed."
"No."
She wiped tears violently with the back of her hand.
"I won't let you have him."
"You already gave him to me."
Her breath froze.
"What… what are you talking about?"
The Groom stepped closer—every inch of him outlined by flickering red torchlight, veil dragging ancient whispers behind it.
"When you rejected my vow, the altar bound your choice."
He lifted a gloved hand.
"His blood is the payment."
Inara staggered backward.
"No… no—no—you said if I refused—"
"I said *you would not survive* the ritual."
His tone remained soft, almost tender.
"I said nothing of him."
She clutched her chest as if she could hold her heart together.
The Groom continued:
"He bleeds because he loves you.
He weakens because you chose him.
He dies so you may walk free."
Inara shook her head violently.
"No. No, I will NOT let that happen. I don't care what vow you think belongs to me—I choose him. And I will choose him again. And again. And again—"
The Groom lowered his hand.
"You misunderstand, bride. Choices do not matter here."
He leaned in.
"Only sacrifices."
---
### ⬛ INARA'S BREAKDOWN — AND NEW RESOLVE
She ran.
Not because she was afraid—
but because if she stayed, she would scream until her throat tore.
The tunnel twisted, narrowed, swallowed her footsteps.
Cobwebs brushed her cheeks.
Roots clawed at her dress like pleading hands.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears—
not rhythm,
but warning.
She tripped, fell hard, palms burning.
The walkie skidded beside her.
Static—
Then Irvine's voice, nearly a whisper.
"Inara…"
She gulped air.
"I'm here."
"Don't cry… please…"
He coughed again, harsher.
"Not because of me."
She pressed the walkie to her forehead, sobbing.
"I can't lose you. You hear me? I can't. I—I won't survive it."
Silence.
But she felt him smile in the way he breathed next.
"You're stronger than you think."
"No," she whispered fiercely.
"I'm strong because of you."
Her nails dug into her dress.
Her voice trembled into the mic:
"Tell me you're not dying."
Silence.
Cold.
Long.
Terrifying.
Then—
"…I'll fight it."
Her tears spilled again—but this time differently.
Not helpless.
Desperate.
Determined.
"I'll find you," she breathed.
"I don't care how deep this place drags you. I don't care what the altar wants. I am going to reach you."
She lifted her head, eyes blazing in the dark.
"And if The Groom wants a bride—he'll have to kill me first."
---
### ⬛ THE ALTAR REACTS — AND SHOWS HER THE TRUTH
The torches along the tunnel ignited by themselves, flames rising unnaturally tall.
A deep hum pulsed through the ground.
The stones beneath Inara's palms vibrated with memory—
heavy, sorrowful, old.
Words carved into the floor glowed faintly.
A language she didn't know—
yet somehow understood.
**THE BRIDE WHO LOVES MUST BLEED.
THE GROOM WHO LOVES MUST FALL.
THE ALTAR CLAIMS BOTH.**
Her throat closed.
"No…" she whispered.
"No. No. No."
She stumbled backward.
But the tunnel forced her forward, stone shifting beneath her as if guiding her feet.
Toward a new chamber.
Toward the next horror.
Toward the next choice.
Her walkie crackled.
"Inara…? What's happening? Talk to me—please—"
Her lips trembled.
Then—
"I'm coming for you," she whispered.
She wiped her tears.
Stood straight.
Walked into the dark.
The altar pulsed once—
as if acknowledging her vow.
And somewhere behind her, the Groom whispered:
"Then let the path take you… bride."
---
### ⬛ CLIFFHANGER
The next chamber opened—
and on the far wall hung a fresh photograph, still dripping ink.
A photograph of Irvine.
Lying on the ground.
Eyes half-open.
Blood pooling beneath him.
Caption etched by an unseen hand:
**THE GROOM FALLS FIRST.**
Inara's scream tore the chamber apart.
The chamber blurred through her tears.
Inara didn't remember standing. Didn't remember breathing. Didn't
remember anything except the raw, animal sound ripping from her throat
when she saw Irvine's photograph—his body collapsed, limp, pale.
"No… no… no…"
She pressed a hand to the picture, the wet ink streaking under her
fingertips.
The altar stone behind it pulsed faintly, as if reacting to her touch.
Mocking her pain.
"Inara—talk to me."
Irvine's voice flickered through the walkie, weaker than before.
"Please… say something…"
Her knees buckled. She slid down the wall, dragging the photo with her
as she sobbed into the dirt.
"I thought you were dead," she choked out. "I thought—God, Irvine—"
"I'm alive," he whispered, but the breath behind his words was fragile,
like a flame suffering wind.
"You don't sound alive."
Another silence.
This one stabbed deeper.
Then—
"Inara…"
His voice cracked.
"I… don't know how much longer I can—"
The Groom's whisper sliced through the chamber:
"He speaks truth. Vows weaken him."
Inara's scream echoed.
"SHUT UP!"
Her voice shook the torches.
Her grief shook the entire room.
She slammed the walkie against her chest.
"Irvine. You hear me? You stay awake. Stay angry. Stay breathing. I will
get to you."
He exhaled shakily.
"You always… had a temper… when you're scared."
She smiled through her tears. A broken, trembling smile.
"Then I'm furious right now."
---
### ⬛ THE ALTAR SHOWS HER WHAT IT WANTS
A rumble rolled under her knees.
The floor rearranged itself—stones shifting like vertebrae snapping into
place—revealing a new circular pit at the center of the chamber.
A mirror of black water lay inside it.
Still.
Deep.
Blind.
Torches flickered, sending reflections rippling across the surface.
Inara's breath snagged.
Something about the pit felt older than everything else.
Not war old.
Not WWII.
Older.
Like it'd been waiting centuries for a bride to kneel at its edge.
"Inara…"
Irvine's voice drifted in again—barely.
"Don't go near anything the altar shows you. I'm serious."
She wiped her cheeks.
Her voice trembled, but determination sharpened it.
"Then you stay awake long enough for me to get to you."
"I'm trying," he whispered. "But… it keeps pulling. Like it wants my
memories."
Her heart stopped.
"What?"
"I keep… forgetting things. Forgetting time. Forgetting where I'm
bleeding from."
His breath hitched.
"Inara, if I forget you—promise you'll leave this place."
She pressed the walkie to her lips and whispered like a prayer:
"I'll burn this village before I leave you."
Her voice echoed.
The altar responded.
A new vibration rumbled beneath her, gentler this time—curious.
The Groom's silhouette shimmered in the corner of her eye.
"You would burn for him?" he asked softly, stepping out of the shadows.
"You would destroy what has waited centuries for your vow?"
Inara rose to her feet, trembling but unshakable.
"I would burn the world if it meant saving him."
The Groom tilted his head.
Not angry.
Intrigued.
---
### ⬛ A MEMORY THE ALTAR SHOULD NOT HAVE
The black-water mirror rippled.
A scent drifted out—
not decay.
Not iron.
Not war.
Saltwater.
Sea breeze.
Inara blinked.
"What…"
The surface of the water brightened—
And a memory formed.
Her memory.
The night Irvine proposed on the cliffs.
The wind tangling her hair.
The trembling laugh he let out when he opened the box upside-down.
The kiss she gave him before saying "yes."
Inara knelt by the water as tears fell again.
The Groom drifted behind her.
"Memories taste sweeter when taken from love," he whispered. "This is
what your groom will lose first."
She covered her mouth with her hand.
"No," she whispered, shaking. "Not that. Not our memories."
"Love is currency here," the Groom said. "And you have given me more
than enough."
The ground trembled.
Irvine groaned through the walkie.
"Inara… did the altar just… take something? Something feels—wrong—"
She screamed back into the device.
"IRVINE! Look at your hands! Look at the ring I gave you! DO YOU
REMEMBER IT?!"
A long, terrifying silence.
Then—
His breath hitched.
"I… I know it matters. But I can't… picture it."
Her heart shattered.
Her lungs collapsed.
Her vision blurred with rage and heartbreak.
"You're taking his memories of me," she snarled at the Groom. "You're
taking US."
The Groom's veil fluttered.
"It is his offering," he answered. "The altar demands equal sacrifice."
Her scream tore the air.
"THEN TAKE MINE INSTEAD!"
The chamber fell silent.
Even the torches froze.
The Groom's figure halted mid-step.
"What did you say?"
Inara stepped forward, shaking, furious, desperate.
"If those memories are the price, take them from me. Not him."
"Why?" the Groom asked softly.
She pressed her palm to her heart.
"Because I love him.
Because he's suffered enough.
Because I can't let you erase the best parts of him."
The Groom studied her.
"Would you forget your promise to him?"
"If it saves his life—YES."
A long, heavy silence.
Then the Groom whispered:
"Then you are worthy of the vow."
The torches dimmed.
The chamber pulsed.
The black mirror boiled.
Irvine screamed through the walkie—raw, agonizing.
"Inara—DON'T—whatever you're doing—STOP—STOP—STOP—"
She clutched the device.
"I'm saving you."
"No… please… don't give more of yourself to this… it'll destroy you—"
Her tears smeared across her cheeks.
"You're worth destroying myself for."
The Groom raised a hand.
The chamber lit blood-red.
The mirror exploded upward.
A vortex of black water reached for her, pulling—
Then—
Everything stopped.
Frozen.
Silent.
Waiting.
The Groom lowered his hand slowly, as if reconsidering.
"Your love," he whispered, "is louder than the altar."
The room shuddered.
Irvine gasped for air on the walkie.
"Inara—something's coming back—I remember—I remember the cliffs—I
remember your dress—I remember—God—Inara—I remember—"
She sobbed hard, falling to her knees.
"Thank God… Irvine—thank God—"
The Groom exhaled.
And for the first time, he sounded…
Hurt.
"As he remembers," the Groom whispered, "so does the altar."
A crack split the chamber floor.
A red glow flared beneath it.
Midnight was coming.
Faster.
Hungrier.
The Groom's voice fell to a whisper.
"You have defied the ritual, bride. The altar will punish you both."
Inara rose, gripping the walkie.
"Let it try."
She glared into the darkness.
"I'll fight the altar. I'll fight the village. I'll fight you. I'll fight
anything that tries to take him."
The Groom tilted his head.
"You would fight death itself?"
"Yes."
She did not blink.
She did not look away.
She meant every word.
The Groom's veil lifted—not by wind—but by something like sorrow.
"A pity," he whispered.
"You would have made a perfect bride."
The torches snapped out.
The chamber plunged into black.
And a deep voice echoed from the cracks beneath her feet—
**MIDNIGHT APPROACHES.**