Taira walked through the living corridor formed by her people, feeling how this day shattered her dreams, how everything that had once seemed unbreakable cracked from within. She felt every grain of sand beneath her feet, every shadow, every wave of hot air, yet none of it could warm her. Nothing was as it should be.

  Hundreds of eyes followed her—filled with expectation, joy, pride. They believed this union was a gift from the ancestors, an inevitability, that she was now a sacred wife, blessed by fate. They smiled, they rejoiced, they sang, weaving their voices into a melody of unity. But inside her, there was only silence. A hollow, resounding emptiness. She did not know how to breathe anymore, how to walk without feeling every step dragging her toward something that was not hers. She did not know how to live now. But no one would see it. She knew how to hold her back straight. She knew how to walk as if this path belonged to her. She knew how to look ahead without revealing that something inside was crumbling, breaking, turning to dust. She could have stood here in triumph, basked in admiration, let her gaze ignite with playful challenge, seduction, defiance. She could have smiled in a way that burned, ensnared, bewitched. But what do you do when he is not him? What do you do when you no longer know how to be? What do you do when all your dreams collapse?

  Eiris walked beside her. White, as if carved from snow. Straight-backed, cold—an unyielding glacier that would not crack even if the world beneath her feet crumbled. Sealed within her uniform so tightly it seemed less like fabric and more like a second skin, as if anything living, anything real, had long been buried beneath layers of discipline and control.

  She did not glance around. She did not acknowledge the smiles, the greetings, the joy that Taira's people poured into this ritual. She simply walked, measured, impassive, as if everything unfolding around her was nothing more than an empty formality, something that held no meaning, something that did not truly concern her. No hesitation. No tension. No emotion. It was not arrogance. Not superiority. It was the absolute absence of interest.

  She did not notice how they welcomed her. She did not see the greetings, did not recognize the smiles meant for her. None of it existed in her world. To her, this was enemy territory. A necessity. Nothing more than something she had to endure, to carry out, to survive until the law was fulfilled. She did not meet anyone's gaze, did not register how Taira's people parted before them, forming a living tunnel that led to the tent where they were to spend the night. She simply walked. As if this were not a ritual. Not a celebration. Not a moment that would define the rest of their lives. As if it were nothing more than a military procedure—another order to be carried out without emotion.

  A foreign ritual.

  A foreign tradition.

  A foreign fate.

  A foreign woman.

  Her face remained unreadable, a flawless marble mask. And the more Taira felt the emptiness radiating from her, the more she realized that to Eiris, none of this mattered. She wasn't even trying to feel this moment, to see it, to hear it, to understand it. And that realization curled into a tight knot inside Taira—not just irritation, but something crushing, something suffocating, something that tore at the very fabric of her being.

  How could she not feel? How could she walk to her own wedding as if marching in formation? How could she not understand that for someone, this was supposed to be the highest honor—and instead, it had become a nightmare?

  She lifted her gaze and met the eyes of the one who was supposed to be her foundation, her blood, her family. But that gaze did not meet hers.

  The chieftain—her father—stood nearby, unmoving. And in that moment, Taira understood. He was not looking at her. He wasn't even trying. His eyes drifted somewhere beyond, through her, as if she did not exist. As if she had never existed. As if she were not his daughter, not his flesh, not his pride—but merely a figure in a ritual, a piece of the sacred chain of events. Not something living. Not something that mattered. Not someone worth holding on to.

  A sharp pain clenched in her chest, stealing her breath, but she did not allow herself to stop. She did not allow herself to step back. She did not allow herself to show that her world had just cracked for the first time.

  He had known. He had always known.

  And he had said nothing. No one had. No one had warned her, no one had given her a chance to prepare, no one had even sown the smallest doubt so she could have asked the right questions. They had simply brought her here. Like leading someone to an altar. Like offering a sacrifice. Like handing over something that did not belong to itself, but to others.

  Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her skin, but her face did not change. She did not slow her steps. This was not her decision. But she would make sure no one saw how it broke her. If she had to burn in these flames, then so be it. Let her soul shatter into pieces. Let the pain pierce through every inch of her body. But on the outside, it would look flawless. Ceremonial. Beautiful. She would walk this path as if it were her own. As if she did not feel everything she had believed in crumbling inside her. As if she were not dying, step by step. They reached the tent, and the fabric at the entrance was pulled aside. Taira stepped inside, feeling the tension trembling in her fingers. The air here was thick, saturated with the scents of herbs, wood smoke, oil, leather, flowers. It was alive, brushing against her skin, weaving through her hair, wrapping around her as if the very world was breathing with her. The space was warm, welcoming.

  It was hers. It was home.

  Everything was perfect, just as it should be for the sacred first night. Eiris followed. Her steps were as precise as ever—soundless, calculated, devoid of curiosity about where she had arrived. She did not touch anything, did not allow herself to become part of this place, and because of that, the tent seemed to lose its warmth. Taira did not need to look at her to feel it. The absence. The cold. As if she carried emptiness in her wake. She was not here. She was in her own world. A world where there was no Night of Union, no scent of living fire, no sensation of fabric against skin, no meaning in warmth. Taira could not bear it any longer. She felt it bubbling inside her, pushing against her ribs, fraying her breath, rising in a storm she could not contain.

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  She could not stop it.

  She could not accept it.

  The warmth of this place no longer reached her. It did not sink into her skin, did not brush her shoulders, did not wrap around her like the breath of home.

  It was empty.

  Artificial.

  Unneeded.

  Like distant stars—shining, but never giving warmth.

  Taira felt her world unravel. Her expectations die. Everything she had prepared for lose its meaning. And there was nowhere left to run.

  "I have known since childhood. I was the Thousandth Firstborn, born as a symbol of union, destined to bridge two races, to preserve the balance—because the stars decreed it, because the Great Spiral of Time had completed its full turn. I was not just one among many—I was the one they awaited. I knew! I was ready. I grew up knowing that one day I would walk this path, that the fires of my people would light my way, that their voices would weave into my breath, that I would become a woman my people could be proud of. They taught me to see honor in this, not fear. I knew my husband would not be a warrior of my tribe. More than that—I knew he would not even be of my kind! But they raised me with pride, with strength, with the belief in my ancient purpose.

  But why? They lied.

  The Rite of Union is unbreakable, sacred, woven into the very fabric of this world—and I accepted it long before today. I was the Thousandth. I was proud of it.

  But now... How am I supposed to be proud—when I don't even know who I am anymore? Sacred lands..."She suddenly covered her face with her hands, her breath ragged, torn.

  Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. But no pain compared to the one tearing her apart from within. Everything she was. Everything she had been built to be. Everything she had believed in for years.

  Shattered.

  "Father knew."

  She pulled her hands away from her face, her gaze snapping to Eiris—dark, burning, drilling into her.

  "He knew all along. Since I was a child. Your Alliance had dealings with my people, one way or another....So why? Why did they raise me to believe I would belong to a warrior of the Alliance—when all this time, I was meant for... you?"

  The words lodged in her throat. She clenched her teeth, her lips trembling from the sheer weight of that thought, from the realization, from the storm inside her that could not be silenced.

  "How am I supposed to understand this now?"

  Taira broke. She lunged forward, past the fire, past the garlands, past the flowers, past herself. She no longer saw the decorations. No longer felt the heat of the flames. No longer heard the muffled hum of her people beyond the tent. None of it mattered anymore. There was nothing left in her chest but exhaustion — deep, crushing, suffocating. So heavy, it stole the air from her lungs.

  "It wasn't supposed to be like this..."

  The words were quiet, but they shattered into the emptiness, lost between the flickering candles and the carved fabrics of the tent.

  "I am the first beauty of my tribe..."

  Her fingers curled into a fist. Not from anger. From helplessness.

  "I was raised to drive my husband mad. I knew how to make him lose his mind.

  I knew how to make him want me. How to make him need me."

  She turned. Not with anger. With emptiness. A hollow, all-consuming void that seeped into every corner of her being. Her gaze locked onto Eiris.

  "What am I supposed to do with you?.. Sacred lands... What!?"

  Eiris did not move. Only posture. Only rigid, ice-cold control. She doesn't even look at me like a person. She doesn't even wonder what it's like to be here. She just stands there—like none of this means anything. And that. That shattered Taira more than anything else. Her people waited. They stood outside the tent, woven into the fabric of this night, a ritual older than memory itself. They waited for sound. For proof. They waited for their Thousandth to unite with her chosen one. With the wife the stars had given her. But her body refused to accept this bond. Her soul rejected it. She was the first beauty of her tribe. She could have chosen the strongest warrior, the most beautiful, the most passionate. She knew how to seduce, how to make someone crave her. She was raised in a culture where the body was music, emotions were language, and the night an art form.

  She was made to be wanted. But her husband was not a man. Her bondmate was a frozen blade. Locked inside her uniform, rigid, unyielding. Cold, like the stars over the Black Cliffs.

  A heavy tension hung in the air. Taira felt their expectations pressing down on her, even without seeing their faces. They did not speak, but the silence was louder than any scream. Someone coughed—soft, hesitant, an attempt to fill the void. Someone shifted too suddenly, a bracelet clinking, the metallic sound cutting through the moment.

  "She won't handle it..."

  Cold. Sinking under her skin, spreading through her like ice. Like a searing blade dragged across flesh. But the wound was not on the surface. The voice was quiet, restrained. But it struck her nerves like a spark flung into the night. Like a flame falling onto dry grass. She knew that voice. Her friend. Her closest friend.

  Her father turned away.

  Her father. The one who knew. The one who said nothing.

  The tribe waited for a spectacle. Her friends did not believe in her.

  She was the Thousandth?

  She was the pride of her people?

  Or was she a mistake?

  Well then...

  Her fingers trembled. But she did not allow herself to linger on the feeling. Something inside her broke. But on the outside only emptiness.

  A flame flickered in her eyes. Not fear. Resolve. Not pain. Rage. Not doubt. Pride. But pride was just a word. The fire inside her—that was real.

  And it burned.

  ***

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