The Grove was hushed, sunlight filtering through the canopy as if even the trees leaned in to listen. Mist curled low over the stones, petals still scattered along the path where Lyra had walked only moments ago.

All that remained was him, her—and the quiet certainty that they had always been meant to find each other here. Hassian’s chest tightened, a slow exhale escaping as his hands stilled around hers, grounding himself with the simple, undeniable truth: she was here. She was real. She was his.

Chayne stepped forward, hands folded loosely before him, voice calm but carrying.

“Friends, we gather in a place that has seen these two grow—from first glances to a life forged together. Love is not always a trumpet blast; more often it is the steady rhythm that outlasts storms—the small choosing, day after day.

Hassian and Lyra have already lived many of those choosings here in the Grove: the first laugh, the first fear shared, the first promise whispered in the dark. That is what love looks like when it is true—not a sudden fire that burns bright and dies, but a light tended, a hearth kept warm through wind and rain.

May the love you celebrate today be the music you return to, the steady hand you find in the night, and the home you build together from this day forward.”

The words seemed to settle over the gathering like a blessing, steadying Lyra’s heart as she met Hassian’s eyes.

When Chayne stepped back, Sifuu approached, placing a slender scroll into Hassian’s hand. His fingers trembled only slightly as he unrolled it. He glanced at Lyra, the corner of his mouth tilting, then began to read.

I spent years learning how to be alone—
a silence I mistook for strength,
a life built on stillness and duty
because stillness never left
and duty never broke my heart.

Then you arrived—
bright and unafraid—
and every quiet place in me
came awake at the sound of your name.

You brought color back to a world
I’d learned to see in shadows.
You brought warmth
where I’d only kept embers for survival.

You looked at me—truly looked—
and I realized I had been a half-formed thing
waiting for the missing piece
that only you could place.

Because of you,
I am more than my solitude,
more than my scars,
more than the man I forced myself to become.

With you, I am whole.
With you, I am home.

Silence followed, heavy with meaning. Lyra’s breath caught, but she steadied herself, clutching her bouquet tighter before passing it to Saraya. Saraya pressed a matching scroll into her hand. Lyra unrolled it carefully, her voice soft at first, then clear.

When I arrived in this world,
I had nothing—
no past to hold,
no future promised,
no name spoken with love.

Then I found you.
And suddenly I wasn’t lost anymore.
I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t a stranger who stumbled in from nowhere—
I was someone you chose.

You gave me a place to stand,
a hand to hold,
a reason to stay
and build something worth returning to
every single day.

I used to look at my empty hands
and wonder who I was supposed to be.
Now I look at you
and I know—
I have everything.
Because I have you.

Her words lingered in the Grove’s stillness, and Chayne stepped forward again, expression warm.

“Marriage is less about a single grand hour, and more about the mornings after. It is the work—and the gift—of showing up. It is learning one another’s silence, holding one another’s grief, and rejoicing in the small, ordinary blessings that make a life.

To marry is to promise presence: to stand with someone when the road is easy, and to steady them when it is not. It is to make a home that travels with you—not a roof or four walls, but a heart that opens wherever you go. Hassian, Lyra—you have chosen this life by your actions already. Today you name it before those who love you. May your marriage be rooted as deep as these trees, and may it grow with the patience, courage, and tenderness you have shown one another.”

Hassian turned to face Lyra fully, their joined hands crossed in an X between them. His voice was low, steady despite the emotion in his eyes.

Sifuu stepped forward, pressing a simple band into his palm. Hassian slid it gently onto Lyra’s finger as he spoke:

“Lyra… from the moment you found your way into my life, there has been only you. I vow to love you with a loyalty that never strays, not in thought or in deed. My heart will be yours for every day I draw breath. With this ring, I willingly, and with my whole heart, vow to stand beside you for my whole life—on the good days and the bad days. I give you my entire heart, mind, and body, faithfully and without reserve. You are mine, and I am yours, now and forever. And as constant as the stars above us, so shall my love and devotion be, for all my days."

When he finished, Lyra’s throat tightened, but she drew in a steady breath, gaze unwavering on him.

Saraya stepped forward, offering Lyra the second band. Lyra took it carefully, her hand brushing Hassian’s as she slid the ring onto his finger.

“Hassian… you helped me become someone I never knew I could be. I will walk beside you through every path our lives take. You will never be left behind, and you will never face this world alone. I am yours, always. With this ring, I willingly, and with my whole heart, vow to stand beside you for my whole life—on the good days and the bad days. I give you my entire heart, mind, and body, faithfully and without reserve. You are mine, and I am yours, now and forever. And as constant as the stars above us, so shall my love and devotion be, for all my days."

The Grove seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, it felt as though the whole of Palia leaned closer. Then Chayne lifted his hand.

“By your words, your vows, and the bond you now share, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

Lyra’s heart leapt as Chayne’s voice rang clear. “You may kiss.”

Hassian did not hesitate. He drew her close, lips finding hers in a kiss that was not hurried, not showy, but certain—an anchor, a promise, a claim. The gathered crowd erupted in applause, petals fluttering once more into the air, but for Lyra and Hassian, there was only the press of their hands, the warmth of their lips, and the surety that this moment was theirs forever.

Party Time

Lanterns swung gently from the low branches, casting warm golden circles across the wooden tables arranged in a welcoming arc. Plates clinked softly as wine was poured, roasted meats and baked vegetables filling the Grove with the most comforting mix of aromas. Laughter floated in pockets around the clearing, the tender quiet of the ceremony still humming beneath it all like a heartbeat.

Sifuu rose first, lifting her glass. Her voice was steady—though a soft tremor shivered beneath it.

“To Hassian and Lyra,” she said. “I watched my son grow into a man who shoulders more than most ever see… and who loves with a loyalty deeper than the roots of these trees. And Lyra—” her gaze softened, “—you’ve brought him balance, warmth, and a happiness I’ve prayed for. May your days be filled with the same courage and love that carried you to this moment. Now…” her mouth curved into a smirk, “go make me some grandbabies.”

Laughter rippled through the tables—some teary, some choked, some outright snorting. Lyra pressed a hand to her chest, meeting Hassian’s eyes in a small, emotional exchange that needed no words.

Saraya stood next, her smile bright but gentle. “I’ve been honored to watch your story unfold,” she said, raising her glass. “You two lift each other. You steady each other. And seeing you here, surrounded by all of us who adore you—it just feels right. To your future.”

Simon swept to his feet like a theatrical gust of wind. “Ah yes,” he intoned grandly, “I recall the day Lyra announced—boldly, publicly—that one day Hassian would be her man.” A few snickers rose. “Well, today we can all agree: destiny, determination, and just the right amount of stubbornness got the job done.”

Cheers burst across the table. Under it, Hassian laced his fingers with Lyra’s, giving them a small squeeze that settled her right back into him.

Ashura rose with calm grace. “I met Lyra and Saraya on the day they emerged—uncertain, overwhelmed, and yet overflowing with courage.” His warm gaze slid between the couple. “To see you both standing here today, grounded in love and purpose… it’s a privilege. May your union be a beacon, as you have been to so many.”

Mayor Kenli stood next, straightening his tie with a sheepish smile. “Marriage,” he said, “is a partnership, a promise… and sometimes a challenge.” A chuckle rolled through the crowd. “But if today proves anything, it’s that these two are more than ready. They balance each other beautifully. To the happy couple!”

Subira rose last among the officials, posture stiff but voice sincere. “Your dedication—to each other, and to your responsibilities—is admirable. You exemplify respect, balance, and steadfastness. I offer you both my congratulations and my hope for continued happiness.”

Then Kenyata hopped up with a wicked grin. “Short and sweet,” she declared. “The real celebration is about to begin, but let me say this—Hassian and Lyra? Officially untouchable now. No more ‘someday,’ no more waiting. The chaos, the laughter, the adventures—they’re all yours. Cheers!”

Glasses clinked, applause rose, and a few more sniffles escaped here and there—joyful ones this time.

The cake arrived then: simple, elegant, crowned with sugar flowers that mirrored Lyra’s bouquet. The crowd hummed with appreciation as it was set before the couple.

Lyra lifted a finger, brushing the frosting with impish warning. “If you put any of that on me, you have to lick it off.”

Hassian’s grin was slow and dangerous. “Oh? Is that a promise?”

Before she could react, he smeared a little frosting across her lips and leaned in, licking it away in one smooth, teasing motion. Lyra gasped, laughed, and retaliated, swiping frosting onto his mouth. Hassian playfully nipped her finger, and she licked the frosting off, rolling her eyes at him but glowing all the same.

“Take the cake from them before we end up witnessing the honeymoon!” Rex hollered.

Lyra and Hassian groaned and laughed at the same time, finally offering each other civilized bites of cake… though their smiles stayed decidedly not-civilized.

All around them, warmth swelled—laughter, light, and love filling every corner of the Grove.

On the Dance Floor

Rex moved toward the small music setup he had wrangled together—an old record player with a few carefully chosen vinyls stacked nearby. He set the needle with a flourish, and the smooth opening notes of a Bahari Boyz ballad drifted through the Grove. Light and romantic, slow enough for a first dance.

A cheer rose as Hassian offered his hand to Lyra. He wasn’t stiff or uncertain this time—they had practiced, and it showed. He drew her close with quiet confidence, one hand resting at her waist, the other cradling her hand against his chest.

“You’re sure of yourself now,” Lyra teased, eyes bright.

His mouth quirked. “I told you I’d learn. Couldn’t let you show me up at our own wedding.”

She laughed softly and leaned into him. The two of them swayed into rhythm, and the crowd eased into a hush as their first dance began.

After a verse, others trickled in. Saraya tugged Simon with barely disguised triumph. Kenyata cackled as she accepted Rex’s exaggerated bow. Even Sifuu allowed herself to be guided onto the floor by Ashura, the two of them earning applause as they moved with unexpected grace.

The canopy shimmered with lantern-light, petals catching in a lazy breeze as the music curled around them. But at the center, Hassian and Lyra danced as though the night existed only for them—hands, steps, smiles all in seamless harmony. The ballad ended on a soft note. Rex ran over and swapped the record with a grin; the next track burst alive—upbeat, bright, impossible to ignore.

Lyra kissed Hassian’s cheek. “Your move, hunter.”

He groaned theatrically. “My move is to avoid being dragged into that.” He retreated to the edge of the clearing but already looked resigned to his fate.

Saraya pounced immediately, pulling Lyra forward. “Bride’s got center stage!”

Lexi spun in with a shrieked laugh. “No excuses! Dance!”

Kenyata whooped as she joined, wild and joyous, while Sifuu slid in with a surprising amount of swagger. Even Tish and Delaila rushed in, matching the other ladies beat for beat.

Soon the dance floor was a whirlwind—skirt twirls, plumehound yips as Tau tried to join, Sifuu pushing him gently back with a grin.

A few brave men charged in too—Rex hopping between the record player and the mayhem, Reth looking smug and ready, and Nai’ō, whose long strides somehow made him look both cool and confused.

The Grove shook with applause and laughter.

Hassian leaned against a post, arms folded, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. He watched Lyra—her joy, her light, the way she moved like she belonged in the heart of every celebration. She caught his gaze across the chaos, and just that one look softened everything in him. Even with music pounding and people shrieking around her, it felt like she danced for him alone.

Then the music shifted again—Rex dropped the needle on a cheeky, beloved Bahari Boyz song about the joys (and occasional disasters) of married life. The crowd howled.

Lyra, breathless, lifted her bouquet overhead. “Alright—who’s ready?”

A scramble erupted instantly. Saraya, Lexi, Kenyata, Tish—and two plumehounds, who made heroic leaps before Hassian intercepted them.

Lyra turned, shot a playful look over her shoulder at the assembled ladies, then tossed the bouquet high.

It arced beautifully.

Kenyata and Saraya both lunged. Kenyata’s fingers brushed the ribbon—but Saraya, laughing triumphantly, snatched it out of the air.

Cheers exploded. Kenyata pouted. “Unfair! Longer arms!”

Saraya hugged the bouquet to her chest. “Skill, darling.”

Lexi clapped wildly. “Next wedding confirmed!”

Simon groaned, face in hands. “Why me.”

Laughter rippled through the Grove as the song continued its teasing refrain. Lyra leaned back against Hassian, her happiness shining right through her.

Then Rex swapped records again, letting a softer melody spill out—sweet, quiet, meant for swaying under starlight.

Hassian stepped forward, offering his hand with a tender, earnest smile. “May I have this dance, wife?”

Lyra’s breath hitched. She slid her fingers into his. “Always.”

He drew her close, hand steady at her waist, and the two of them moved into the center of the clearing. The crowd faded, content to watch as the new husband and wife took their final dance of the night.

At the edge of the floor, Sifuu’s sharp eyes landed on Reth. She took his arm with regal confidence. “You don’t mind dancing with the mother of the groom, do you?”

Reth blinked, then grinned. “Not at all.” She swept him onto the floor like she was the one teaching him.

Couples joined here and there, filling the Grove—but for Lyra and Hassian, time seemed to soften around them, holding them steady in a perfect moment.

The final notes faded, applause rising in warm waves.

Friends and family formed two lines along the path, a corridor of glowing faces and happy tears. Saraya clutched her bouquet like a trophy. Lexi teased her relentlessly. Kenyata looked mildly traumatized by her near-miss.

As Lyra and Hassian walked forward, they were pulled into hugs, laughter, and whispered blessings. Lyra’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Hassian’s hand never left hers.

When they reached Saraya, Hassian clasped her hand. “I’m counting on you to watch the Grove.”

Saraya squeezed back, her smile soft. “You know I will.”

At their feet, Tau and Kaja waited. Lyra knelt, hugging them fiercely. “Be good for Sifuu,” she whispered. Hassian ruffled Kaja’s ears and pet Tau, tenderness crossing his face.

Outside, the night was cool and sweet with wildflowers. A carriage waited, lanterns glowing. Hassian helped Lyra inside, then climbed in after her. The cheers of their friends faded behind them.

Their first quiet moment alone all day. Hassian pulled her close with a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“We did it, baby,” he murmured against her hair.

“It was perfect,” Lyra said, glowing in the lanternlight. “I’m so happy.”

That undid him more than anything else had. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, gentle as breath.

“This is the day I hoped for,” he told her, voice low and steady, “back when I prayed for you.”

He rested his forehead against hers — a promise, a sealing of everything they’d become.

“My wife,” he whispered.

“My husband,” she answered.

And with that, their lips met—soft, certain, sealing the day with the promise of every day to come.