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Vaelin paces, illusions flickering around his feet. “Elira,” he starts, stopping when I approach. He grasps my hands, illusions dancing over my skin in delicate arcs. “Do you remember what we discussed, weeks back, about Purna vessels?”

My heart clenches with a swirl of curiosity and nerves. “Yes,” I reply softly. We’d once talked about how powerful Purna purnas sometimes take vessels—consenting partners who help them channel excess magic. Vessels can be purely pragmatic arrangements or intimately bonded. “Why do you ask?”

He exhales, eyes flicking to the vines overhead. “I’ve been thinking about it… about us. Ever since you resurrected me, we’ve shared a deeper bond than I dreamed possible. But I know, in your society, taking a vessel is not always about love or permanence. It’s an arrangement. Yet there’s also the tradition of Purna mating ceremonies, where the vessel and the witch form a spiritual—and physical—union.”

My cheeks warm, illusions shimmering in reflex. “Yes, the matriarch sometimes oversees those ceremonies. It’s a big commitment, forging a bond recognized by the entire coven.”

He nods, illusions flaring around his forearms. “I want that. For us.”

My heart jolts. “You… want to be my vessel? Officially?”

His fingers tighten around mine. “I don’t just want to stand at your side as an ally or a convenience. I want to be recognized in your coven as your mate, to share your burdens, your magic. I’m already bound to your illusions by the resurrection, but I want it to be a choice. One that we announce to the world, forging a new path for Purna and, well, for me.”

My throat constricts, tears gathering in my eyes.He’s proposing a Purna mating bond.“Vaelin, that’s… Are you sure? This is no small commitment.”

He offers a small, wry grin. “I’ve died and come back, thanks to you. My entire existence is shaped by our bond. I can’t imagine a greater commitment. But only if you want this too.”

My illusions quiver with emotion, shimmering bright as I fling my arms around him. “Yes,” I whisper, face pressed to his chest. “I want it more than anything. You’re everything to me, Vaelin.”

He lets out a breath, wrapping me in a fierce embrace, illusions tangling in a swirl of color. “Then it’s settled,” he says against my hair. “Let the coven see we stand as one.”

I tip my head back, blinking away tears. “We’ll ask the Matriarch to bless us. The ceremony can be done here, among our allies—like a bridging of all the new bonds forming in Protheka. It might set an example for orcs, humans, even rogue Dark Elves who remain open-minded.”

A warm flush creeps up my cheeks at the thought of a public vow. But the excitement throbs through me.He’s asking me to be his mate.We kiss, illusions pulsing in radiant arcs, no words sufficient for the rush of joy in my heart.

Over the next few weeks,the coven bustles with preparations. Rumors of our impending ceremony spread quickly, stirring curiosity. Some novices squeal in excitement, never having witnessed a formal Purna mating outside old scrolls. Orcish ambassadors, hearing of it, vow to bring gifts of smoked meats or carved charms. A cluster of humans from the valleys plan to attend, curious about the union of a resurrected Dark Elf hybrid and their savior witch.

The Matriarch, though initially caught off guard, embraces the idea. She sees in our mating a symbol of new unity—if our bond can transcend race and monstrous heritage, then perhaps the entire realm can find lasting peace. I sense a quiet satisfaction in her, though she warns me about the spiritual intensity of the rite.It’s more than a simple vow; it’s a melding of magic and hearts.

Vaelin meets me often in the library, illusions dancing as we read up on the details. We learn the steps: how the Purna witch channels a circle of illusions, how the prospective mate stands at the center, allowing her power to flow through him. Then the coven’s blessings finalize the vow. Usually, it’s accompanied by a small exchange of gifts, or tokens that reflect each partner’s essence. The entire event can be as intimate or as grand as we wish.

We decide on a middle ground: a public ceremony in the coven’s grand atrium, with close allies in attendance. We’ll share vows, illusions, and the swirl of energy that cements him as my official vessel and mate. The night after, we’ll complete the final spiritual merging in private—an epilogue to the public rite. My heart flutters with nerves, imagining the intense magic that might spark between us.

At last,the day arrives. The grand atrium is cleared of normal traffic, illusions woven in soft, glowing patterns across the polished floor. Overhead, enchanted orbs provide a gentle twilight hue, though it’s midday outside. Rows of benches line the walls, filling with purnas, orcs, humans, even a few curious Dark Elves who have renounced the Overlord. The Matriarch stands at the far end, staff in hand, illusions shining in regal arcs.

I wait behind a curtained entrance, wearing robes of pale lilac edged with silver thread. My illusions swirl in a gentle halo at my ankles, a reflection of my mingled excitement and jitters. Olyssia stands with me, adjusting the final fold of my robe, illusions flickering with affectionate teasing.

“You look radiant,” she whispers, giving my hair a final tidy. “He’ll faint when he sees you.”

I let out a shaky laugh, illusions brightening. “I just hope I don’t trip over my own staff.”

She snickers, then sobers, eyes glinting with emotion. “I’m happy for you. Truly. After all we’ve endured… this is a beacon of hope.”

Warmth pools in my chest. “Thank you, Olyssia. I couldn’t have done any of this without your help, your unwavering friendship.”

She touches my shoulder in a gentle squeeze, illusions swirling. “Go, your mate awaits.”

I inhale, illusions rippling with my breath. Then I step through the curtain into the atrium. A hush falls over the gathered witnesses, illusions overhead dimming slightly to cast me in soft light. My eyes sweep the rows: novices wide-eyed, orcs standing with arms crossed in stoic approval, humans smiling. I spot the battered elders, each nodding with support.

At the center stands Vaelin, turned to watch my entrance. My breath catches. He’s clad in simple dark robes, embroidered with faint runic lines reminiscent of the patterns in his skin. The new color of his flesh glows softly, illusions swirling around his shoulders. His eyes lock onto mine with such tenderness I feel a pang in my chest.He’s breathtaking.

I approach, illusions flickering in a trail behind me. The Matriarch lifts her staff, illusions weaving a gentle fanfare of light across the dome. My heart races as I meet Vaelin’s gaze. He reaches out, taking my hand. The hush in the atrium is so profound I can hear my own breathing.

The Matriarch begins in a formal tone: “We gather in the old traditions of the Purna. This day, Elira Vex claims her vessel, forging not merely a practical bond but a union of hearts. Vaelin, once an outsider, stands willingly in acceptance of this vow.”

She lowers her staff, illusions swirling around her. “Elira, step forward and call your illusions to form the circle. Vaelin, stand at the center and open your essence to her power.”

I swallow, illusions shimmering at my fingertips. I lead Vaelin a few paces forward, our joined hands glowing. The crowd steps back, forming a ring around us. My illusions expand in a slow swirl across the floor, shaping a circle of silver-white arcs that encompass him. The runic lines under his skin glow in response, reflecting my magic.