The morning after the proposal, Liriel woke up sore in the best way. Rice wine hangover mixed with muscle ache from dancing like an idiot with half the sect. Kael was already up, sitting cross-legged by the window, tea steaming beside him. Sunlight hit the ring on her finger and made it glow like a tiny trapped star.
"Morning, fiancée," he said, grin crooked. No fancy titles. Just them.
She groaned, pulling blanket over head. "Disciples are gonna be insufferable today."
They were. Training started with catcalls and flower petals someone had clearly stolen from the herb garden. Rhea—the seventeen-year-old hotshot—tied a ribbon around her practice sword and waved it like a flag. "When's the big day, Void Queen?"
Liriel swatted it away, laughing despite herself. "When you lot stop breaking every third formation we teach."
But the real chaos hit mid-morning. A disciple sprinted up the path, dust-caked robes flapping, face pale as fresh snow. "Messenger from the outer sect! For Liriel—says it's urgent personal!"
Kael's hand found hers, that shared-core hum steadying them both. They met the guy in the side pavilion, away from gawking trainees. Messenger was maybe twenty, hands trembling as he thrust forward a wooden box. No sect markings, just a faint char mark where someone's palm had gripped too hard, leaving void-burn shadow.
"From the north," he stammered. "Swore me to secrecy. Said you'd know."
Liriel's stomach dropped. She flipped the latches. Inside, black velvet cradling a dagger—void-crystal blade so pure it drank the light. Balanced like it was part of her hand. Hiltside engraving: a mirror cracked down middle.
Underneath, folded paper. Handwriting sharp, familiar.
"You beat me fair. This drew my first blood when we were kids training under Yun. Consider it surrender. Stay south. Don't look for me. —Kessian"
Kael read over shoulder, breath hissing out. "He's alive. Keeping low profile."
Seraph pushed through crowd that'd gathered. Snatched dagger, tested balance. "Bait. Or trap. Test it."
Liriel took it back, let Void Resonance hum along edge. No malice. Just clean power, like looking in mirror and seeing yourself smile. "It's real. He's letting go."
Seraph snorted. "Man severed his core. Probably half-mad wandering villages. Don't trust pretty gestures."
But Liriel felt it through lingering Void echo—truth. Kessian was done fighting. Really done. She'd shown him the cost in that final mountain clash, and he'd paid it.
Disciples murmured. One elder—old traditionalist who'd hated her guts year ago—spoke up. "Hang it. Trophy of mercy."
"Not trophy," Liriel said firm. "Reminder. What we're building stays human."
They mounted it above training hall door. Disciples touched it reverent on way in, like touching history.
That night, pavilion turned wedding central. Everyone had opinions. Seraph wanted sword dances. Rhea pushed for Void fireworks. Kael just wanted quiet—him, her, mountain stars.
Liriel lay awake after, Kael's arm heavy across waist. "Think he'll really stay away?"
Kael kissed her shoulder. "Hope so. World's got enough mirrors breaking."
Two weeks later, wedding happened simple. Dawn light, pavilion cleared of weapons. Silk banners, valley flowers. Seraph officiated, voice gruff but eyes wet.
Vows short: "I choose you through storms and seals. No prophecies. Just us."
Rings exchanged—his matching hers, stones pulsing sync. Wine poured, disciples cheered, then real party kicked off. Barrels rolled out, food carts from villages below. Liriel danced till feet blistered, Kael laughing as he spun her.
By midnight, they snuck away up mountain path. Stars clear for once, no haze. Sat on flat rock, her head on his chest, listening twin heartbeats.
"Husband," she tested word. Felt right.
"Wife," he murmured. "Now what?"
"Now we keep the world from eating itself."
She laughed soft. Felt possible.
But dawn brought first report. Village elder rode in, horse lathered. "Void flares north. Kid aged neighbor's dog to dust playing tag."
Liriel sighed. Wedding bliss over. Reality called.