The first thing Inara noticed was the smell.
Not smoke.
Not fire.
Not rot.
But ash—
fresh ash—
as if something ancient had burned for centuries yet still refused to die.
"Irvine…" she whispered, tightening her grip on his sleeve as they pressed
themselves inside the half–collapsed trench chamber they were using as
temporary shelter. "Do you smell that?"
Irvine froze.
He didn't answer immediately.
Because the smell wasn't coming from outside the bunker.
It was coming from the stones beneath their feet.
From the walls.
From the air itself.
Like the entire hideout knew they were here.
Irvine lifted the dim lantern closer to the stone wall.
Black streaks dripped down like melted wax—
but when the flame drew nearer, the streaks receded.
As if the wall was breathing out darkness.
Inara's fingers dug into his arm.
"Irvine… the stones… they're moving."
He swallowed hard.
They weren't just moving.
They were warming.
He touched the surface gently—
and flinched.
It was hot.
Too hot.
"Inara, step back," he murmured.
Before she could move, the lantern flickered violently,
casting a sudden stretch of shadows across the chamber.
Not shadows from objects.
Shadows from nothing.
Then came the sound—
first a hiss,
then a crack,
then a deep, throaty moan echoing through the chamber floor
as if the entire bunker were waking up from a nightmare.
A nightmare it wanted to share.
Irvine spun around, grabbing Inara by the waist and pulling her back
toward the rusted ammo crates they'd stacked as a barrier.
But the shadows followed.
Long fingers of darkness sliding across stone.
Crawling up walls.
Snaking toward them.
"Inara," Irvine whispered, voice trembling with urgency,
"the hideout's been compromised. He found us."
The Groom.
She felt it immediately—
the pressure in her chest,
the tightening in her throat,
the weight of unseen eyes pulling at the veil she no longer wore.
Like invisible hands trying to dress her again.
"No—no, Irvine, we just got here, we haven't even—"
A thunderous CRACK split the ceiling.
Dust burst from above, raining over them like gray snow.
Then—
A flame flickered in the far corner.
Just one.
Small.
Weak.
A candle.
Inara grabbed Irvine's wrist.
"That wasn't there before."
"No," he agreed, jaw tightening.
"And look at the wick."
The wick wasn't burning.
It was bleeding.
Red dripped down the candle's side, thick and slow.
Inara's breath fractured.
"That's not wax."
The trench chamber vibrated, a deep rumble rolling toward them.
Irvine shoved her behind him.
"Inara, stay low. Stay behind the crates. Whatever happens—don't let him
touch you."
A thunderous BOOM shook the chamber.
And then the fire erupted.
Not from a match.
Not from debris.
But from the air—
as though the Groom simply decided their shelter didn't deserve to exist.
Flames spread across the ceiling, forming a ring—
a burning halo—
before dropping in lines like fiery threads, sealing the exits.
Inara gasped as heat slammed into them.
"Irvine—the exit—!"
"I know!" he snapped, dragging her away from falling embers.
But the aisle was already collapsing into fire.
The hideout was burning itself down.
The Groom wasn't sending soldiers this time.
He was burning the world around them.
"Inara—move!" Irvine shoved her forward, ignoring the flames grazing his
shoulder. "We have to get out before the collapse reaches the floor!"
The fire crawled unnaturally along the walls,
never spreading randomly,
always forming the same shape.
A circle.
A wedding ring.
And within the ring,
the shadows formed the outline of a tall figure
with a trailing groom's veil of smoke.
"No—no, no, Irvine—he's here—" Inara choked.
"Don't look," Irvine growled.
But she couldn't help it.
The figure's head shifted.
Twisted slightly.
Like he was admiring her silhouette through the flames.
His voice slipped through the burning heat—
a whisper so cold it blistered.
"Bride…"
Inara clapped her hands over her ears, trembling, "Get away from me—!"
Irvine grabbed her face between his hands.
His voice was firm, sharp, unshakable.
"Inara. Look at me. Only me. Do you hear me? ONLY me."
Her eyes snapped to his.
He pulled her close, almost lifting her off her feet as he guided her
around a collapsing support beam.
"Move with me," he whispered.
"I'm not letting this bastard take you. Not now. Not ever."
The ground shook again.
A chunk of burning ceiling slammed down mere inches from Inara's leg.
She stumbled, but Irvine caught her, dragging her upright.
The crates they'd used for cover caught fire next—
which meant the hideout was gone.
Their safe place?
Destroyed.
Their moment of rest?
Stolen.
Their one breathing room?
Burned to ash.
Exactly as the outline foretold—
**Hideout burns.
Threat escalates.
The Groom advances.**
"Inara—there!" Irvine pointed to a narrow shaft in the far wall,
half-buried beneath debris. "Crawlspace! We can fit if we push through!"
Inara nodded, coughing as smoke thickened.
He shoved aside a burning plank with his wounded arm, gritting his teeth.
The flames roared louder—
not because the fire spread,
but because something massive was inhaling the heat.
Drawing it in.
Feeding on it.
The Groom.
His silhouette sharpened within the fire ring.
He walked through the flames without burning,
each step extinguishing hellfire beneath his feet.
"Irvine—HE'S COMING—"
"I KNOW—GO. NOW."
Irvine hooked his arm around Inara's waist and shoved her into the
crawlspace first.
The stones scraped her elbows as she wriggled inside.
Flames chased their ankles.
The Groom's veil of smoke curled into the space after them,
calling softly—
"Bride… the vow is waiting…"
Irvine grabbed the last burning support beam and collapsed it behind
them, blocking the Groom's reach for mere seconds.
The entire hideout groaned…
then collapsed.
Her scream tore through the crawlspace.
"Irvine—IRVINE—!"
He crashed into the tunnel beside her, pulling her against his chest
as the chamber behind them imploded.
Dust swallowed them.
Heat roared.
And the last thing Inara heard before everything went dark was the Groom's
voice whispering through the rubble—
"You cannot hide from the altar."
Then—
Silence.
Not peace.
Never peace.
But the silence of something that wasn't done with them yet.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Dust rained over their hair.
Heat pulsed from the collapsed chamber behind them.
The stones around the crawlspace vibrated like a throat that had just spoken.
Inara clutched Irvine's shirt, fingers trembling so violently she didn't
even feel her nails digging into his skin.
"Irvine… did he—did he follow us? Is he still outside?"
Irvine pressed a hand gently against her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes.
Even in the dim, flickering half-light of the crawlspace, he looked steady—
but she felt the tremor in his palm.
"He's not here," he whispered.
"But he knows where we're going now."
A chill ran through her spine.
Not because of the cold.
Because of the certainty in Irvine's voice.
She swallowed hard.
"Why—why does he keep burning places instead of taking me directly?"
Irvine's eyes darkened.
"He's herding us."
"Herding—?"
"To the altar."
The word dropped between them like a stone.
A low groan echoed from the ruined hideout, followed by the crackle of
dying flames—as if the Groom were dragging his fingers through the fire,
feeling for survivors.
The tunnel shuddered.
Irvine pulled Inara closer, shielding her body with his.
The ground trembled again—
but this time, it wasn't from collapsing stone.
It was rhythmic.
Measured.
Footsteps.
The Groom's.
Slow.
Heavy.
Moving parallel to the crawlspace above them, following the path of the
tunnel as if he could sense the warmth of their bodies beneath the soil.
Inara bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.
"Irvine… he knows."
"I know."
"What do we do?"
Irvine lowered his forehead to hers, anchoring her breaths with his own.
"We don't stop. Not again. Every time we rest, he closes in. Every time
we breathe, he listens."
His fingers slid down to hold her wrist tightly.
"We keep moving. We stay together. And we make him regret ever choosing
the wrong bride."
A crack split the tunnel ceiling above them—
thin, like a fingernail scraping the stone.
A whisper seeped through the fracture, curling around their ears:
"…bride…"
Inara's breath hitched.
Irvine covered her ears instantly, pulling her tight against his chest.
"Don't listen. Don't answer. Keep your mind on my voice."
Her heartbeat thundered against him, frantic and uneven.
Then—
A shadow passed over the crack.
The Groom stopped directly above them.
Every flame behind them died at once, extinguished in a single breath.
As if he had inhaled the fire.
Inara's entire body went rigid.
Irvine didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He waited.
Counted.
One…
Two…
Three…
The shadow lingered—
then drifted away, continuing its slow pursuit toward the altar chamber.
Only when the footsteps faded did Irvine finally exhale.
"Inara… we have to go. Now."
She nodded shakily.
He helped her crawl forward, guiding her deeper into the narrowing dark.
And for the first time since they entered the bunker, Inara understood something terrifying:
The Groom wasn't chasing them out of rage.
He was preparing the way.
Preparing her.
Preparing the ceremony.
The altar didn't just want them.
It was expecting them.