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A line of minotaur guards stands at attention, flanking a path that leads to a high altar perched on the cliff’s edge.

The estate’s banners drape from pillars, each embroidered with the crest of House Rhek’tal.

Waves crash far below, the wind carrying briny spray.

We walk slowly, side by side, each step resonating with the finality of this ceremony.

My breath stutters—after this, there’s no turning back, but I feel no regret.

Only anticipation that sparks a slight quiver in my knees.

At the far end, the altar stands: a massive stone platform carved with ancient runes.

A brazier at its center flickers with a contained flame.

Amuka and another priest kneel before it, chanting a low melody to Zukiev, the lady of light who birthed the minotaur race.

My heart thuds, remembering the story Saru once told me about how Milth’s beheaded form was given a horned beast’s head by the goddess.

The minotaurs believe she shields them from corrupting magic. Perhaps she also shields me.

We step onto the platform, the crowd pressing close but keeping a respectful distance.

I sense countless eyes watching as I stand in this layered gown of memories, while Saru, the battered Warden who triumphed in the arena, stands at my side.

The brand on my arm prickles, but I welcome it—my vow to him, now sealed by something bigger than the Senate’s codes.

Amuka rises, arms outstretched. “We gather here at the sea’s edge, where Lady Zukiev sees all from horizon to shore. We witness a vow between these two souls.” She glances toward Saru. “Saru Rhek’tal, do you offer your lifemate shelter under your crest by choice, not by chain?”

His voice emerges low but firm. “I do.”

She nods, turning to me. “Naeva, do you accept his crest not as a cage, but as a union, carrying your own will into this vow?”

My breath shakes, tears pricking my eyes. “I do.”

She beckons me forward. “Saru will now remove the veils, each representing a shard of your journey, naming what it means.”

Heat flares in my cheeks. In front of so many watchers, this feels intimate, but I nod, stepping closer to him.

He carefully lifts the topmost veil—the sea-green layer.

For a moment, his fingers graze my shoulders, horns tipping as he murmurs for only me to hear.

“Freedom. The day you learned to stand unchained.”

My tears slip free at the quiet respect in his tone. He sets the green veil aside, baring the layer of gold beneath. He brushes a knuckle along the cloth, leaning in again. “Resilience,” he says, voice trembling with emotion. “You rose from the ashes every time they tried to break you.”

I grip his arms, tears dropping onto the veil. “Yes,” I whisper.

He removes the gold layer, exposing the crimson.

A hush ripples through the watchers, sensing the raw intimacy of each unveiling.

His breath hitches as he lowers his face to my ear.

“Your fire,” he murmurs, referencing that defiant flame when I sabotaged the dark elf ship.

“You refused to be a pawn. You burned their chains.”

A sob catches in my throat. I recall that night, the ship’s deck aflame, the terror and triumph that cost so much. I nod, letting him set aside the crimson veil. Now only the gray remains, hugging my form. The final layer, the darkest part of my past.

His eyes glisten. He gently lifts the gray cloth, voice unsteady. “Your fears. The shadows that haunted you since captivity. You overcame them each time you chose to live.”

With that, the last veil slips away, leaving me in a simple shift, tears shining on my cheeks.

The crowd stirs in empathy, each color removed revealing a piece of me once hidden.

Saru cups my face, horns angled close, so I can hear his whisper above the wind.

“No more shadows. You stand unveiled, free, by my side.”

I nod, trembling. The priest sets a small brazier of incense between us.

“Place your offering of the old life into the flame,” Amuka instructs.

I move closer, tossing the layered veils into the brazier’s lower chamber.

The cloth ignites, turning to ash with a soft whoosh.

My entire body quakes with the symbolism—my old identities burned away, forging a new path.

Amuka and her fellow priest chant in a language older than the Bastion, calling upon Zukiev to witness.

The flame in the brazier flickers, then bursts into a gold hue that catches the watchers’ breath in awe.

A hush of astonishment spreads— the flame turning gold is a sign of divine favor.

My heart leaps, hope surging that the goddess blesses this vow, forging us beyond forced brand or Senate decree.

Saru reaches for my hands, the brand on my arm visible in the midday sun. He clears his throat, voice echoing in the silent crowd. “I stand not as Warden and prisoner, but as lifemates. This vow is ours, shaped by choice. Under Zukiev’s flame, I claim you, Naeva, as my equal.”

Tears blur my sight. “I claim you, Saru, not for survival, but because I choose you above all.” My voice quivers, but I project each word to the watchers.

The crowd murmurs, some in awe, some in tears. Davor stands near the front, blinking rapidly with a small grin. Amuka lifts her blindfolded face toward the sky. “Zukiev’s blessing is given,” she proclaims. “Let none deny the vow of House Rhek’tal and his chosen mate.”

Saru folds me into an embrace, ignoring any formal ending.

The watchers break into cheers or respectful applause.

My heart pounds so violently I wonder if he can feel it.

We cling to each other for a moment, tears mixing with laughter, relief flooding every muscle.

The brand that once condemned me now stands as a symbol of shared purpose.

Gradually, the ceremony concludes, the priestesses chanting a final benediction.

Servants move to guide guests toward a reception hall.

Others approach to offer congratulatory bows.

I remain in Saru’s arms, dazed by the significance.

His strong hands caress my back, horns brushing my hair.

In that hush, I sense the weight of the vow that changes everything.

We no longer fear the Senate’s blade or Thakur’s poison.

We stand with Zukiev’s flame at our backs, forging a union beyond any forced code.

At last, we step away from the altar, entering a side chamber of the estate.

Inside, there’s a modest private space where the vow can be sealed in quiet.

My heart flutters as we stand alone, parted from the crowd.

He draws me to a broad window overlooking the sea, the horizon a vast expanse of shimmering blue. The wind rattles the shutters.

He turns to me, a faint trembling in his breath. “We’re free,” he says. “No Senate decree can claim you now. Our vow is recognized by goddess and Bastion both.”

I press my palm to the brand, tears forming again. “And you’re no longer forced to carry me as a prisoner. I stand with you because I want to.”

His horns tilt close. “Yes,” he murmurs. “It changes everything. We can leave the Bastion if we choose. Or remain to ensure it never again threatens your life. We shape our path.”

I let out a shaky laugh, stepping into his arms. “We have time to decide. For now, let me feel this moment.”

We share a soft kiss, the fresh bandages under his tunic reminding me he’s still healing.

I carefully loop my arms around his neck, ignoring the faint ache in my bruised ribs.

The vow’s energy thrums in my veins, and though the day’s ceremony was public, this private hush feels more intimate.

We’re not just Warden and brand now; we’re lifemates forging a future far from the Senate’s meddling.

He brushes tears from my cheeks, voice hushed. “I remember the day I forced the brand on you, how you looked at me with hatred. Now, I see love in your eyes.”

I swallow thickly, tears slipping. “I never thought I’d call a minotaur my mate, that I’d accept any vow. But you proved me wrong, over and over.”

He huffs a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead to mine. “You taught me too. That redemption comes from forging trust, not just from some old code.”

We stay that way, hearts beating in tandem, the window’s breeze ruffling our clothes.

A muffled call from outside signals guests awaiting us, likely wanting to hail the new union.

I almost protest—I need more time with just him.

But Saru’s tail flicks, resigned. “We should greet them, if only to quell rumors.”

I nod, leaning back. “Yes. Then maybe we can escape to the cliffs, find a quiet corner by the sea.”

His eyes warm. “We will. I want you to see the cove near the estate’s base, where I spent my youth swimming.”

We share a playful grin, promise shining in our expressions.

Then we exit, weaving through corridors to join a modest reception—some Bastion officials, loyal guards, even a handful of senators who grudgingly acknowledge our vow.

I sense admiration and curiosity swirling.

Whispers remark how I was once a prisoner, now declared Saru’s lifemate.

But none challenge us openly, not with the brand recognized by Zukiev’s sign.

Food and wine appear, though Saru sips water, mindful of his healing wounds. I take a few bites of spiced meat, hunger overshadowed by adrenaline. Davor approaches, bowing. “Congratulations,” he says quietly. “You’ve changed the Bastion’s future by this union. The staff all talk of it.”

I exchange a glance with Saru. “We only want to live without fear,” I say. “If that changes the Bastion, maybe it’s time it changed.”

Davor smiles, stepping away to let others greet us.

Eventually, we slip out to the cliff’s edge, where the wind whips stronger.

The sea churns far below. Saru stands at my side, cane abandoned.

We watch gulls soar. My veil gown has been replaced with a simpler robe for the gathering, but the memory of those layered veils lingers, a testament to each step that led me here.

He draws me near, speaking above the wind. “I can’t wait to see what life we make. Whether we remain here, oversee the Bastion’s transformation, or roam the seas. You’re free, and I stand with you.”

I turn to him, brushing my lips across his chin. “I choose this. I choose you. That’s all that matters.”

He squeezes my hand, horns dipping in silent agreement. For a moment, we watch the waves crash, salt spray rising. The estate behind us hums with subdued celebration, but we stand apart, forging a new vantage. My brand prickles, not with pain but with a comforting sense of belonging.

As the sun descends, painting the sky in pink and gold, we walk back toward the estate’s entrance, greeted by the warm glow of lanterns.

The day’s vow stands unshakeable. In the hush of twilight, servants guide us to a suite overlooking the ocean, where we can rest without fear of Senate edicts.

He helps me over the threshold, the faint ache in his leg overshadowed by contentment.

Inside, a wide balcony beckons, offering a final view of the sea as night falls.

I linger by the rail, letting the breeze caress my face.

Saru moves to my side, arms circling my waist. We stand in silence, hearts full.

Far below, the waves shimmer under moonlight.

It feels like the end of one story and the beginning of another, where we decide our own destiny, not defined by brands or forced codes.

He presses a gentle kiss to my temple, voice echoing the rawness I feel. “Naeva, lifemate. Are you ready to shape a future beyond the Bastion’s shadows?”

I smile, tears slipping unashamed. “Yes. With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Bathed in moonlight, we wrap ourselves around each other, letting the weight of the ceremony soak deep into our bones.

For all the trials we’ve endured, this union stands as proof that what started in chains can end in choice.

Tomorrow, we’ll navigate whatever remains—dark elf intrigue, Senate politics—but tonight, we stand free, wreathed in the memory of Zukiev’s golden flame, sealing our vow under open skies.