The bells of the Demon Realm rang with thunder that morning.  

Every tower in Emberhold trembled as the sound rolled across the mountains,  

announcing to the world that the **House of Bakian** was holding its first wedding in centuries.

Thousands of demons crowded the fortress square.  

Even the oldest and most battle-hardened generals held their breath.  

For all its chaos and absurdity, this was still *the* event that united the realm.

At the center of the grand hall stood two figures:  

**Jexy Bakian**, heir of destruction, wearing a deep black suit streaked with dark-blue flame.  

**Lyssara Veinflare**, commander of Emberlight, clad in a gown that shimmered like molten fire,  

the fabric alive with flickering sparks that trailed behind her like wings.

The air itself seemed to bow before them.

On the dais above, the Demon King **Dalph Bakian** raised his goblet and roared,  

“Let it begin!”

The crowd erupted.  

And yet, amid all the cheers, one man did not smile.

Standing quietly among the guests was a golden-haired emissary—  

**Gusian Merdri**, “envoy” of the gods.

While others clapped, his fingers moved beneath his robe,  

tracing invisible sigils into the air.  

Each stroke of light sank silently into the ground,  

connecting with the golden veins that ran beneath the castle stones.

*Almost ready,* he thought. *Once all the guests are here… the sacrifice begins.*

At the altar, Jexy turned toward Lyssara.  

Their eyes met—awkwardly at first, then with something gentler, something real.

A servant stepped forward, holding a black crystal box.  

Inside were two rings, carved from obsidian mixed with blue soul-gold,  

their surfaces etched with living runes.

“Ah, so the boy finally gets to use them,” Dalph laughed proudly.  

“Those rings were forged the year he was born!”

One of the attending demon lords whistled.  

“You started *that* early? That’s some confidence!”  

Another chuckled. “Those enchantments must’ve cost a kingdom.”  

Dalph puffed out his chest. “Ha! The Bakian family doesn’t *spend* money. We *burn* it!  

And these rings are worth every century!”

Jexy blinked. “Wait… *you made these when I was a baby?*”  

“Of course!” Dalph grinned. “Every Bakian heir gets a pair of soulbound rings.  

They sense each other’s location, and if danger arises—”  

He raised a finger dramatically. “—they’ll instantly teleport both of you to our ancestral shrine.”  

Freya, standing nearby, nodded approvingly.  

“The Bakian Shrine at Mount Zevran, the highest peak of your domain.  

A fine place for survival—and, incidentally, a terrible place for cell reception.”

Jexy muttered, “Wonderful. Even our safety plan is remote exile.”

Lyssara’s hands trembled slightly as he slid the ring onto her finger.  

The rune flared faintly, pulsing once with warmth before vanishing.  

Then she did the same for him.

For a moment, the world went still—  

no fire, no laughter, no sound.  

Just the two of them, bound by an ancient sigil of light and flame.

Then Dalph roared again,  

“NOW DRINK AND REJOICE! THE WORLD’S MOST RELUCTANT COUPLE IS WED!”

The hall exploded with cheers.

The banquet began.

Tables stretched from one end of the fortress to the other.  

Dozens of chefs ran between kitchens, carrying platters the size of wagons.  

Demons feasted, nobles toasted, and drunk generals started wrestling before dessert even arrived.  

Jexy and Lyssara made their way through the chaos, offering toasts at every table.  

It was supposed to be ceremonial.  

In practice, it was more like surviving an endurance trial.

“Lord Bakian! Another drink!”  

“Lady Veinflare, you’re glowing! Is that love or combustion?”  

“Both,” Jexy muttered. “Definitely both.”

When they reached the **Chalice of Emberlight** table,  

the guild members erupted like volcanoes.

“Boss! Boss! A kiss! A kiss!”  

“Yeah! Come on, we trained you for war, not flirting! Time to show progress!”  

“Do it or we riot!”

Lyssara froze, face going crimson.  

Jexy choked on his wine.  

“Wait—what?! No! I don’t—We don’t—That’s—”  

Freya leaned in from behind with a faint smile.  

“Tradition, my lord. Declining would be rude.”  

Rhazel slammed the table. “YEAH, DO IT FOR THE GUILD!”  

The crowd began to chant.  

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Lyssara buried her face in her hands. “You idiots…”  

Jexy scratched the back of his head, muttering, “I’m gonna regret this…”  

He turned toward her, hesitant.  

She peeked up, eyes wide, unsure whether to run or punch him.  

For a second—just one—everything felt quiet.  

Then someone yelled, “DO IT ALREADY!”

And Jexy leaned forward.  

It wasn’t long, or dramatic, or perfect—  

but it was real.

The guild exploded in cheers so loud they shook the rafters.  

Rhazel started pounding his chest, Freya smiled for the first time all night,  

and even Dalph raised a toast from across the hall.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the fortress,  

Gusian Merdri’s smile sharpened.

The final sigil blazed to life beneath his boots.  

Invisible lines of light spread through the banquet floor,  

linking every candle, every rune, every drop of spilled wine.

He lowered his head, whispering a prayer that no one could hear.  

> “O Twelve, ancient and forgotten,  

>  receive this laughter as offering.  

>  Let joy turn to ash,  

>  and summon forth your return.”

A faint hum filled the air—  

too soft for mortal ears,  

too divine to ignore.

The first pulse of the ritual awakened beneath the feast.

At the center of it all,  

Jexy Bakian laughed awkwardly,  

raising his glass to the roaring crowd.

He had no idea that beneath his feet,  

the golden lattice of godly power was already burning.  

He only knew one thing—  

for the first time in his life,  

he felt almost… happy.

It was a good day to be alive.  

And, if the heavens had their way,  

it would be his *last.*