Dawn came to the Demon Realm in a blaze of black and gold.

From the peaks of the Ember Range to the streets of the capital, bells roared, banners fluttered, and infernal trumpets blasted from every tower.  

It was the morning of the century’s most absurd event—  

**the wedding of Jexy Bakian, the Spoiled Heir of the Demon Realm.**

The Chalice of Emberlight had long since moved its base into Jexy’s personal fortress, the mighty **Emberhold**,  

but for tradition’s sake, the procession would start from their *old* guild hall—  

the place where everything began.  

The once-scorched ruin had been polished and decorated overnight.  

Every inch of it was now covered in crimson banners, black roses, and far too much glitter.  

Even the cracked stone floor was filled with glowing runes spelling *“LOVE”* in ten different demonic dialects.

Jexy stood by the old guild doors, staring at it all in a daze.  

“…I used to drink here,” he muttered. “Now it’s a tourist attraction.”  

Freya smirked. “Nostalgia, my lord?”  

“Regret,” he replied.

Then came the sound of hooves—thunderous, fiery, and impatient.  

A massive **black-flame carriage** rolled to a stop before them, drawn by six infernal steeds snorting smoke.  

It gleamed like obsidian, trimmed in molten gold, the Bakian crest blazing on both sides.

The Demon King himself had spared no expense.  

It was less a carriage and more a portable battlefield.

Rhazel whistled. “That thing could survive a siege.”  

Jexy sighed. “Good. Maybe it’ll survive this marriage.”  

Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was… complicated.  

Jexy sat stiffly, dressed in formal black lined with faint blue flame.  

Lyssara Veinflare sat opposite him, radiant in crimson silk and gold, her usual confidence replaced by quiet unease.  

Outside, the streets of Emberhold were lined with cheering demons.  

Crowds waved flowers and banners, throwing sparks of magic into the air.

“Long live the heir!”  

“Glory to the Bakian house!”  

“Free drinks for everyone except the groom!”

Even the succubi were crying—dramatic, wailing tears.  

“LORD JEXYYYYY!!!”  

“You said you’d come back for another round at the tavern!!!”  

“WHO WILL PAY OUR DRINKS NOW?!”

Jexy pressed a hand to his forehead. “Oh, great. I’m being mourned at my own wedding.”  

Lyssara’s eye twitched. “Mourned?”  

“They act like I died!”  

“Keep talking like that,” she said coldly, “and you *will.*”

He blinked. “…You’re serious, aren’t you.”  

“Very. If you ever go back to that tavern and flirt with another succubus—”  

She leaned in, her voice low and calm.  

“—I’ll hang you upside down over a lava pit and roast you until you apologize.”  

Jexy froze.  

“…Marriage is hell.”  

Freya’s voice floated from outside the carriage. “It usually is, my lord.”  

The black-flame carriage thundered forward, flames trailing in its wake.  

The entire city erupted into celebration.  

Demons cheered, children threw petals, and even the sky itself seemed to shimmer in anticipation.

Jexy leaned against the window, watching his world burn with confetti.  

“This is insane,” he muttered. “I used to sneak out of this place to drink alone, now I’m riding through it like a royal parade.”  

Lyssara crossed her arms. “You *are* royalty.”  

“I was hoping no one would notice.”  

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide a faint smile.  

Despite everything—the noise, the nerves, the absurdity—  

there was a strange warmth between them now,  

something fragile and real amid the madness.

At last, after what felt like hours of laughter, shouts, and thrown petals,  

the carriage rolled through the great obsidian gates of **Ember Fortress**—  

Jexy’s home, his kingdom, and now, his wedding hall.

Hundreds of guests waited in the courtyard.  

Demons from every corner of the realm, nobles in gleaming armor, sorcerers in shadowed robes,  

and even emissaries from the human and celestial realms.  

The air shimmered with power, so thick it could choke.

Standing among the honored guests was a man with pale hair and a golden staff—  

**Gusian Merdri**, envoy of the Divine Concord,  

sent to “bless” the union on behalf of the gods.

He bowed gracefully as the carriage arrived.  

“Lord Bakian, Lady Veinflare—congratulations on this sacred day.  

May your union bring peace between our peoples.”

His smile was perfect. His voice smooth. His heart—poisoned.

As he handed over the gilded gift box, his mind whispered another prayer entirely.

*The circle is complete.*  

*The sigils are hidden beneath the castle stones.*  

*When the bells ring… the sacrifice begins.*

Unseen to all, faint golden runes pulsed beneath his robes—  

threads of divine energy stretching across the fortress grounds,  

connecting every spire, every banner, every rune carved for “decoration.”  

It was a lattice of death,  

a grand summoning matrix fueled by life itself.  

Gusian lowered his head, hiding a thin smile.  

*Soon… twelve ancient gods shall walk again.*  

*And this wedding—this laughter, this love—will be their altar.*

Back near the carriage, Jexy exhaled deeply.  

“Finally. We made it.”  

Lyssara glanced around, a soft tension in her shoulders.  

“So many people…”  

“Yeah. And at least half of them want something from us.”  

He smiled faintly, trying to lighten the mood.  

“Well, at least you look amazing.”  

She gave him a look that could melt steel.  

“…Nice try.”  

He coughed. “Worth a shot.”

High above, on the spire of the fortress, Dalph Bakian raised his goblet,  

his booming laughter echoing across the realm.  

“Tomorrow begins a new era for the Bakian line!”  

He grinned toward the horizon, unaware of the quiet light crawling beneath his feet.  

And far away, in the heavens that had long abandoned mercy,  

something vast and ancient stirred—  

its voice a whisper beneath the cheers of the wedding bells.