It wasn't a gust of cold, but rather a wave of heat. It started in the fingertips gripping the bouquet and spread throughout her entire body. It was like a firm, invisible embrace. As if someone stood behind her, placed their hands on her shoulders, and whispered: "We are here."
Ema opened her eyes. The illusion was gone, but the strength remained. She took heart. She straightened her back. She was no longer just Ema. She was someone who had shadows at her back.
Another knock came at the door, this time more respectful. "Come in," Ema said in a firm voice. The door opened and the maids stepped aside. Heinrich entered. Today he had swapped his usual uniform for a ceremonial tailcoat with medals on the lapel. He looked serious, almost solemn.
"My lady," he bowed deeply. "It is an honor to escort you." "Thank you, Heinrich," Ema replied. She looked in the mirror one last time, gripped her bouquet, and stepped out into the corridor.
Heinrich didn't lead her to the main staircase, nor to the castle chapel. He led her to an inconspicuous door on the ground floor that looked like the entrance to a cellar. When he opened it, the chill of old stone breathed upon her. They began to descend.
It wasn't just an ordinary wine cellar. Ema watched in amazement as the corridor widened. They descended deeper and deeper, the stairs carved directly into the rock and polished by the thousands of footsteps of previous generations. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a space opened up before her that took her breath away. She had no idea something like this was hidden beneath the castle. It wasn't a cellar; it was an underground city.
The corridors were wide enough for two cars to pass side by side. The ceilings vaulted high overhead, supported by massive stone pillars upon which shadows cast by torches danced. The space was rugged, full of intersections and branches that vanished into the darkness. Ema felt like she had stepped into a labyrinth, into the very roots of the Architects' power. From some of the side passages, she could hear a distant hum.
"This way, please," Heinrich gestured, leading her down the main, widest artery of this underground world. Ema walked with her head held high. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the space. She felt small against that mass of stone, but the warmth inside her did not fade.
Finally, they stood before massive, wrought-iron doors that must have weighed tons. They were adorned with scenes from the Family's history—battles, constructions, power. Heinrich stopped, placed his hand on the cold metal of the handle, and looked at her. "Are you ready, my lady?" Ema took a breath. The air here smelled of wax and ancient power. "Yes," she lied.
The doors opened. It wasn't just an entrance to a hall; it was an entrance to another world.
Ema stood on the threshold of an underground cathedral whose sheer size took her breath away. It was a monument of power and darkness, carved into the rock beneath the castle, a temple built for gods who had long since departed. The ceiling disappeared into an unfathomable height, drowned in impenetrable shadows occasionally pierced by the flicker of a distant torch. The entire mass of stone above was supported by pillars as thick as ancient sequoias, their surfaces decorated with reliefs of battles and family trees stretching into obscurity.
The space was not lit by electricity. Light was provided only by thousands of candles. They burned in massive wrought-iron chandeliers, lined the main aisle, and stood on stone ledges, their flames flickering and casting dancing shadows on the walls as if the rock itself were alive. The air was heavy with the scent of wax, incense, and the subterranean chill that seeped right into the marrow.
Down the middle of the hall ran the main aisle, wide as a royal highway, strewn with white petals that glowed like snow in the gloom. On either side, in side naves separated by colonnades, stood hundreds of people. The elite of the Architect Family. Men in formal dark suits with medals on their lapels, women in gowns whose fabrics shimmered not only with precious stones but with their own subtle magical aura. Their faces, illuminated only by candlelight, looked like masks carved from marble—expectant, proud, full of power.
But what caught Ema's attention the most were the vessels lining the path to the altar. They were neither stone nor metal. They were massive vases carved from clear, transparent ice, as tall as a grown man. Each was filled with crystal-clear water, its surface completely still in the chill. They looked like the frozen tears of the earth.
At the very end of this magnificent scene, on a raised podium of black marble, stood the altar. It was simple, carved from a single piece of stone, and behind it waited a priest—an old man with a long white beard, dressed in heavy, gold-embroidered robes that glinted in the candlelight. He stood with his back to the darkness that spread behind him like an abyss, ready to unite two worlds.
At the beginning of the aisle, right by the entrance, waited Friedrich. In the white uniform of the Architects, a sword at his side, wearing an expression of absolute control. When he looked at Ema, there was no love in his eyes, only the satisfaction of an owner taking possession of his most prized asset. He offered her his hand. Ema looked at him. Azriel's voice echoed in her mind again: You have decided to walk a path paved for you by others... For the last time. With a perfect, rehearsed smile, she accepted his hand. Friedrich's grip was firm, possessive. They began to walk.
Step by step, slowly, majestically. No music played; the only sound was the rustle of her dress and the quiet, collective breath of hundreds of people. And then it began to happen. With their every subsequent step, the surrounding Architects began to move. It was nothing dramatic, just subtle movements of their fingers, almost imperceptible hand gestures, as if they were conducting an invisible orchestra. The air in the hall thickened, soaked with an energy that could be tasted on the tongue like a metallic tang.
The water in the ice vases trembled. First, only gentle ripples appeared on the surface. Then, defying all laws of physics, the water began to rise. It emerged from the vases in thin trickles that merged into thicker streams, like snakes of liquid glass. The flames of thousands of candles suddenly elongated. Their light intensified, shifting from yellow to a blinding white and orange. They detached from their wicks and took to the air, as if drawn by the invisible force of the water.
It was a breathtaking, terrifying beauty. Water and fire began to intertwine. They didn't create steam; they didn't extinguish each other. They were held together by the pure will of the Architects. They formed spirals that undulated above the guests' heads, creating complex geometric patterns and Family symbols that glowed in the darkness. The water acted as a perfect prism, refracting the firelight into thousands of iridescent reflections that danced along the walls and ceilings like living beings. The entire hall transformed into a pulsing, magical organism.
The little bridesmaids walking ahead of them joined in as well. With childish laughter, they wiggled their tiny fingers, and from the water droplets drifting down from the magical streams, they formed tiny, transparent frogs. These water sculptures hopped across the petals, splashed apart, and reformed, a playful contrast to the solemnity of the ceremony.
Ema was fascinated. It was a display of power that surpassed anything she could have imagined. It was a beauty that could kill. And she was at its center. As they passed the front rows, her gaze met Hanna's. Her friend stood there in a beautiful blue dress, smiling, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. They were full of fear, regret, and a mute apology. Ema just gave her a curt nod. It was too late for apologies.
They reached the altar. The priest was waiting for them. The moment they stood before him, the magic in the hall reached its peak. The streams of water and fire withdrew from the space above the guests and formed an impenetrable, rotating wall around the altar, the priest, and the betrothed. It was a barrier of liquid light and heat that isolated them from the rest of the world, yet simultaneously illuminated them like actors on a main stage. The heat of the fire and the chill of the water mingled in a strange, electrifying silence that reigned inside the barrier. All eyes fell upon her.
The priest raised his hands. "We are gathered here," he began, and thanks to the hall's acoustics and the magic, his voice echoed like thunder, "in this sacred temple, carved into the roots of the earth, to bear witness to and guard the beautiful union of two souls. Two Architects." He paused to let the words fade.
"We are those to whom God, in His infinite wisdom, entrusted His power. Not so that we might rule, but so that we might protect the order of the world. We are the builders of reality, the guardians of the borders between being and non-being. Our blood is sacred, our mission is eternal." His words were full of pathos and ancient solemnity. He spoke of a God who, though silent, had His will imprinted into the very essence of their magic. He beseeched Him, despite His absence, to look down upon this ritual and consecrate it with His grace.
"This union we bear witness to today is not merely a bonding of bodies," the priest continued, his voice growing grave. "It is a profound intertwining of inner selves, a merging of essences that transcends death. They shall be together for better or for worse, in power and in powerlessness." Then his tone changed, becoming cautionary. "However, I warn everyone, and especially the two of you. This union is sacred and irrevocable. It is a bond tied to the soul itself. If one of the pair begins to act against the other, if they betray this oath, the pain will manifest immediately and cruelly. The soul itself will begin to fight the betrayal, punishing the body that hosts it."
The priest turned to Friedrich. He stood upright, with an expression of absolute determination. "Friedrich of the House of von Riese, son of ancient blood, I ask you before the face of God and your Family. Do you take the woman standing before you to be your wife? Do you accept her into your inner self, to share your power, your fate, and your soul with her, and do you bind yourself to protect and honor her for all eternity, until death and beyond do you part?"
"I do," Friedrich said firmly, without hesitation. His voice resonated in the silence of the hall. He turned to Ema and offered her a triumphant look. It is done, his eyes said.
The priest turned to Ema. A dead silence fell over the hall. Only the crackling of the fire and the rushing of the levitating water in the magical wall could be heard. Every breath was held, every eye hung on her lips.
"Ema, daughter of an unknown house, who has been accepted among us," the priest pronounced solemnly. "I ask you before the face of God and this Family. Do you take the man standing before you, Friedrich of the House of von Riese, to be your lawful husband? Do you accept him into your inner self, to share your power, your fate, and your soul with him, and do you bind yourself to protect and honor him for all eternity, until death and beyond do you part?"
Ema looked around. She saw the faces behind the wall of water. Full of expectation, pride, and the power bestowed upon them. She saw Hanna, praying for her to say yes. She saw a world that wanted to devour her, digest her, and spit her out as an empty shell.
She looked at Friedrich. At that beautiful, powerful liar who thought he owned her. And then she smiled. It was a smile full of profound sorrow, of the pain of a lost illusion, but for the first time in a long time, it was also a smile full of freedom.
Whatever the outcome, she thought, feeling the warmth inside her—the gift from the dead woman—intensify, I will walk my own path.
She took a breath. "NO," she said clearly, loudly, into that absolute silence.