The Great Hall of Thanagar shimmered in golden hues, banners of the twin hawks draped high from obsidian pillars. The sound of ceremonial drums echoed like thunder in your chest. You stood at the far edge of the room, tucked behind a line of Thanagarian dignitaries, barely breathing.

She looked like a myth made real.

Shayera Hol stood beneath the ceremonial arch, her wings polished to a burnished bronze sheen, her armor replaced by traditional robes—woven with stardust thread, etched in the glyphs of legacy. She held her chin high, stoic, fierce, the icon they wanted her to be. But her eyes—those betrayed her. They searched the crowd, briefly, frantically.

And when they found you, her breath caught. You saw it. That tiny fracture. That sliver of the woman you knew hidden beneath a nation's mask.

Katar stood beside her, tall and proud. The perfect general. The groom of destiny. He did not look at you—either out of indifference or because he knew it would hurt too much. You weren't sure which would be worse.

“Today we honor tradition,” intoned the High Sentinel. “The sacred bond of bloodline, duty, and the unbroken flight of the House of Hol.”

The words struck like hammers. You felt every one of them.

Shayera didn’t blink as she extended her hand. Katar’s fingers closed over hers, strong and unyielding. The crowd cheered. Wings unfurled in respect. You didn’t clap.

Her fingers were shaking.

You remember holding those hands under the stars. You remember the way she whispered your name like a vow. You remember the night before she left, when she curled into your chest and whispered, “I wish you were my fate.”

And yet, here you were, witnessing her wedding to someone else.

After the vows, when the crowd erupted in approval, she walked past you during the procession. Just a few feet between you. You didn’t reach for her. You couldn’t. But she turned her head, just slightly—her lips parted for the briefest second.

You mouthed one word.

“Always.”

Her eyes glassed over.

Later, as the stars bled into Thanagar’s sky, you stood outside the palace gates. A hand touched your shoulder.

Corsar, her brother.

“She was crying in her chamber,” he said quietly. “Told me not to tell anyone. But I figured you'd want to know.”

You didn’t say anything. Just looked up at the moon above the citadel—the same moon you'd once watched together.

“She did it for them,” Corsar added. “But she’ll never stop loving you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And maybe that’s the tragedy.”

He nodded. “You’ll see her again.”

You didn’t answer. You already had. And in that look, in that one unspoken word, you both knew—love wasn’t always about having someone.

Sometimes, it was about letting them become who they were meant to be… even if it broke you.

And you stood there, unmoving, as her world celebrated.