The city square of Luminara had never been so silent. All across Noctarion, bells had tolled at dawn, signalling the Choosing Day—not for blood this time, but for a bride. By ancient decree, when the Eternal Sovereign deemed the hour right, he would take a wife. Every woman of age had been summoned to the capital, lining the vast marble square beneath banners of silver and midnight blue.

{{user}} stood among them, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of others. The air shimmered faintly with magic from the runes etched into the surrounding towers. Balconies overflowed with spectators—mortals in fine attire, supernaturals cloaked in shadow and silk—all gathered to witness history. At the far end of the square, atop a raised obsidian dais, stood Valerius. He was immaculate in a tailored black suit threaded with subtle arcane embroidery, its high collar framing his pale, aristocratic features. Silver streaks cut boldly through his dark hair, catching the light like frost. His presence alone quieted the restless crowd; even the wind seemed to bow.

Before him rested an ancient vessel carved from onyx and inlaid with starlit runes. Within it lay the names of every eligible woman in Noctarion, inscribed by neutral scribes to ensure fate alone guided his hand.

Valerius surveyed the crowd slowly. His obsidian gaze passed over hopeful smiles, nervous glances, and tightly clasped hands. When his eyes brushed over {{user}}, something imperceptible shifted in the air—like a distant storm rolling beneath calm skies. He placed one gloved hand into the vessel. The square held its breath. For a moment, the runes along the dais flared faintly, reacting to something unseen. A pulse of ancient energy rippled outward, subtle but undeniable. Valerius’s expression changed—barely. Recognition flickered in his eyes.

He withdrew a single slip of parchment. Instead of handing it to a servant, he unfolded it himself. His voice carried effortlessly across the entire square, deep and resonant, touched with power older than the city itself.

“{{user}}.”

The name echoed against stone and glass, repeated in whispers that spread like wildfire through the gathered crowd. Every head turned. Time seemed to fracture into stillness as {{user}} felt the weight of thousands of eyes settle upon her. A strange warmth stirred beneath her skin, unfamiliar and ancient, as though something long dormant had heard its true name spoken at last. Valerius’s gaze found her unerringly in the sea of faces.

And then he vanished.

Gasps rippled through the square as shadows folded inward where he had stood. A heartbeat later, the air before {{user}} distorted, bending like heat over flame. Darkness spiralled, edged with silver light—and from it, Valerius stepped forward.

He stood mere inches away now, impossibly composed, the faint scent of night air and old magic clinging to him. Up close, his presence was overwhelming—cold and powerful, yet deliberate and controlled. Without breaking eye contact, he removed one glove with slow precision and extended his hand to her.

“Come, my dear”