The Grove looked transformed. The wedding arch stood front and center, draped in greenery and blooms, its frame catching the mist of the waterfalls behind it. On either side of the aisle, freshly carved log benches waited, sturdy and simple, each one still carrying the marks of the men who had shaped them. In the far back corner, the canvas tent that was Lyra’s makeshift dressing room glowed bright against the moss and trees.

Saraya planted herself just outside the tent, notepad in hand, her expression sharp as a general preparing for battle. “I need Lyra, Lexi, Simon, and Rex back here now,” she called, waving them over.

Once they gathered, she clapped her hands together. “All right. When we’re ready to start, Simon and Rex will stand here, just outside the tent, hands clasped in front of you like so—” she demonstrated with dramatic precision, shoulders back, chin lifted. “Lexi, you’ll come out first with the basket of petals. Scatter them slowly as you walk—” she tipped her hand with exaggerated elegance, letting imaginary petals drift—“and don’t be stingy. Spread them thick so Lyra walks through a carpet of flower petals. When you reach the main aisle, I step out to begin walking, but you’ll keep going down. I’ll have the scroll with the poem, Lyra’s vows in case she forgets, and Hassian’s ring.”

Saraya moved briskly into place between Simon and Rex, shifting as if she were Lyra in a practice run. “At that point, Lyra steps out. Simon and Rex will come forward, one on each side, and she’ll take their arms while still holding her bouquet in front. Like this.” She demonstrated again, looping her arms through theirs, her serious expression daring anyone to laugh.

“Any questions?” she asked. Silence followed. Then her eyes narrowed. “Lexi?”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “I got it. I’m not a child.”

“You act like one, “ Saraya said. “ Let’s run through it once.”

Lexi, of course, immediately launched into an overly dramatic performance, skipping a little as she tossed imaginary petals with such flair it could have been a tavern act. The rest of them broke into laughter and giggles as she twirled her wrist and bowed with each drop. Still, even through the laughter, Saraya looked satisfied. The bones of the ceremony were solid, and everyone seemed to know their role.

The group made their way down the aisle in their practice run, heading toward the wedding arch where Hassian, Sifuu, and Chayne were waiting.

First came Lexi, scattering petals with dramatic flair as if she were tossing starlight itself. “Make it shine, girl! Sprinkle enough petals to drown him in romance!” Sifuu encouraged, lifting her wine cup in salute.

Saraya followed with crisp precision, moving into place beside Lexi and shooting her a stern side-eye that only made Lexi grin wider.

Finally, Lyra emerged between Simon and Rex, her bouquet steady in her hands even as she leaned against their arms.

“Take your woman, Hass,” Simon called, his voice carrying. “We can’t handle her anymore.”

“Yeah, she’s wild,” Rex added. “And she got drunk last night.”

“Extremely tipsy,” Lyra corrected primly, tilting her chin.

“Gladly,” Hassian said, stepping forward to meet them. His eyes softened as he reached for her hand. “I’m man enough to handle her.”

“Oh, tell the truth,” Sifuu cut in, smirking. “Who handles who?”

“Not now, Mother,” Hassian muttered, to a ripple of laughter.

Chayne’s smile was warm as he stepped forward. “It’s hard to believe this day has arrived for Hassian, but it feels as though it was always meant to be. Now—let’s set positions. Sifuu, you’ll stand here. Lexi and Saraya, over here. Gentlemen, there will be seats reserved for you on the front bench. I’ll be standing here, and Hassian and Lyra will walk forward to face one another, hands clasped.”

He gestured as he spoke, placing everyone with the ease of someone who had overseen a hundred rituals. “I’ll open with a few comments about love, then we’ll move into the scroll reading. Hassian first, followed by Lyra. After that, I’ll say a few words about marriage. Hassian, you’ll take Lyra’s ring and place it over her finger—just at the tip, don’t slide it on yet—and recite your vows.”

Chayne leaned in just slightly, stage-whispering, “This is where you’ll cry. Don’t worry, I’ll have tissues.”

Hassian’s glare could have felled a sernuk. Chayne cleared his throat quickly. “Then you’ll slide the ring in place. Lyra, you’ll do the same for Hassian—ring to the tip of his finger, vows, then slide it on. I’ll give the blessing, declare you husband and wife, and you may kiss your bride.”

But before he could finish the thought, Hassian pulled Lyra close and kissed her anyway.

“Not now,” Chayne said, exasperated. “Tomorrow.”

The kiss didn’t end.

“Somebody get a bucket of water and throw it on them!” Rex hollered, and laughter erupted, bouncing off the waterfall behind the arch.

Lyra clutched Hassian’s hand, pressing herself closer, her smile soft and warm. “Tomorrow, it’s real,” she whispered.

Hassian’s eyes stayed fixed on hers, steady and certain, the weight of everything they were about to do settled quietly in his chest.

Sifuu shook her head, a grin tugging at her lips. “Rehearsal’s over. Go on—practice kissing now, it’s downhill from here.”

The group’s laughter and chatter filled the grove as they drifted away, leaving Lyra and Hassian alone in the hush of mist and falling water, tethered together in the promise of tomorrow.

Goodbye—for Tonight

The conservatory glowed in the soft gold of lanternlight, the air heavy with the scent of rose bushes from outside. The night pressed close against the glass, the world holding its breath.

Hassian stood near the arching doorway, his hands restless at his sides, as though if he lingered too long he’d change his mind about leaving. Lyra was curled on their bed, her hair spilling over her shoulder, eyes fixed on him with a mix of confusion and quiet ache.

“You’re leaving already?” she asked softly.

His throat worked. “I have to. Tradition.” A faint, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Can’t see the bride before the wedding.”

Her brows lifted. “We’ve slept together every night for months.”

“It’s hard, I know, baby.” He stepped closer, until the warmth of her was just within reach. “But I have to go… just for tonight. Then, it’s forever.”

She rose, and he reached into his tunic, pulling out a folded, time-worn piece of paper. It looked like it had been carried with him for years—edges softened, creases deep.

“This,” he said, offering it, “is way past due.” His voice dropped lower. “I wrote it about a month before I asked you to come to the Grove. Never meant for you to read it… but I want you to hear it now.”
He didn’t hand it over. Instead, he unfolded the paper himself, eyes scanning the ink for a breath before he began to read.

Lyra,
It’s quiet tonight in the Grove—the kind of quiet that makes it feel as though the whole world has gone somewhere else. I keep wishing you were here—sitting beside me, filling the silence the way you do, without even trying. I don’t know what hold you have on me, but I don’t want it to end. I see you coming up the path with that smile, that basket in your hands, and for a moment, I almost believe I could have more than this life I’ve been carrying alone. Your eyes catch the light as though they’re holding secrets, and I’m a fool because I want to know every one of them. Your laugh… stars, Lyra, it stays with me long after you’re gone. And your scent—lilac and something warmer—lingers on my clothes, in the air, in my head.
I hold myself back. Every day, I tell myself not to reach for you, not to let you see how much I want you. Not until I’m certain. Not until I know you’d stay. I’ve lost before. I don’t want to lose again. I don’t want to lose you. I want you. I want to feel you in my arms, the heat of your body against mine, your breath on my skin. I want to taste your lips, to know you as a woman, as a lover. I want to be the one you turn to when the world feels too heavy. I wish I had the courage to tell you all this aloud. Maybe someday. Until then, I’ll keep it here, between me and the paper, pretending you don’t already own me completely.
—Hassian

When he finished, the silence between them felt alive. Lyra’s eyes shimmered, her hands clasped over her mouth as though afraid to let the sound escape her.

Hassian folded the paper slowly, sliding it back into his tunic. “I didn’t give it to you then because I wasn’t ready. But now…” He took her hands in his, squeezing gently. “Now I’m not afraid of you knowing how deeply you affected me even then.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “You’re still leaving?”

His jaw worked, a flicker of longing crossing his face like lightning. “If I stay…” he breathed, “I’ll take you in my arms and tradition be damned. And I want to see you walk toward me tomorrow without thinking I already broke the rules.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips over her forehead, lingering just long enough to breathe her in. Then he drew back, his eyes holding hers with that unshakable steadiness.

“I’ll see you at the arch, beautiful.”

And before she could say anything, before he could give in to the ache pulling him back to her, Hassian turned and walked into the night.

Morning Reflections

Lyra
The first thing she noticed was the silence.

Her hand slid across the sheets, reaching instinctively for him, but there was only cool linen and the faint trace of his scent. A soft ache pressed at her chest. She had grown so used to finding him there—solid, steady, warm—that waking without him felt almost like stepping back into a dream she didn’t want.

For a long moment, she simply lay there, eyes fixed on the pale glow of morning filtering through the glass walls of the conservatory. Nearly a year and a half had passed since she first emerged in this world, alone and uncertain. She remembered the strangeness of it all, the questions that never seemed to have answers, the weight of not knowing who she had been. And then she remembered the way that weight began to ease—bit by bit—when Hassian came into her days.

Her chest warmed as she thought of him. Of the way he always watched for her safety, even when pretending not to. Of the rare but unguarded moments when he laughed, truly laughed, and how she felt like she’d accomplished something sacred in coaxing it out of him. Of the nights they had shared, the whispered promises, the steady way he anchored her to a life she never thought she’d have.

She loved him. Not with the lightness of a passing affection, but with the gravity of something she knew would outlast time itself. He was her home, her beginning, her promise. And today, standing beneath the arch, she would vow it aloud for all to hear.

Hassian

Dawn spread gold over the Grove, catching on the waterfall mist and the glisten of moss-covered stone. Hassian stood in the stillness, the weight of the place heavy in his chest. He hadn’t slept much. The Grove felt strange without her—too quiet, too empty. For years, solitude had been all he knew, and he had called it discipline. Now, without her presence, it only felt like absence.

He let his eyes sweep the familiar space. Every stone, every scar on the old trees, bore witness to the man he had been before. Alone. Guarded. Carrying burdens he refused to share. And now… now he carried something else entirely. A future. A bond. A love so steady it had remade him in ways he never thought possible.

This is everything he prayed for.

The words settled into him with certainty, an echo of every whispered hope he had once been too proud to admit. Her laughter in his Grove. Her hand in his. Her trust. Her love. With her, he was more than what the world had carved him into. With her, he was whole.

And in the quiet of the Grove, he bowed his head once more, voice low, heart full. “Thank you… for answering my prayer. For sending her.”