Simurian weddings were not celebrations.
They were verifications.
On Simuria, love was considered unreliable—too reactive, too fragile to anchor a species that survived extinction cycles. What mattered was compatibility of presence: whether two beings could exist in proximity without destabilizing reality around them.
That was why the ceremony took place in silence.
No witnesses spoke. No music played. Only the low hum of Rolloluca filled the chamber, vibrating through bone and stone alike. The space itself was carved to absorb excess energy, its walls etched with symbols humans would later mistake for curses. After all it was arranged marriage between Simurian and human to protect peace.
The Simurian officiant did not ask for vows.
Instead, they asked a single question.
“Can you remain?”
Dabura stepped forward first. They removed their outer armor—not as intimacy, but as vulnerability. Exposed Rolloluca glowed faintly beneath translucent skin, unstable and watchful.
Then the human was brought to the center.
No one touched them.
Touch came later.
The Rite demanded stillness.
For one full cycle, both stood face to face, close enough to feel breath, forbidden from moving. If either pulled away, the bond was rejected. If Rolloluca spiked violently, the union was deemed lethal.
Many ceremonies ended here.
This one did not.
When the cycle ended, the officiant marked the human’s wrist with a thin line of activated Rolloluca. It did not burn. It recognized.
“You are not owned,” the officiant said. “You are not consumed.”
Then, to the Simurian:
“You will not devour.”
Only then was touch permitted.
The first contact was ritualized and precise—foreheads pressed together, hands still at their sides. Skin-to-skin contact was considered dangerously intimate, reserved only for those who had already passed verification.
The Rolloluca synchronized.
Not merged.
Aligned.
The final act was the Binding Breath.
The Simurian exhaled slowly. The human inhaled at the same time. Rolloluca flowed between them, threading briefly through shared air, then withdrawing—proof that coexistence was possible without dominance.
The officiant stepped back.
“The Still Star holds,” they announced. “This union will not collapse.”
There was no kiss.
No applause.
Only the knowledge that from this moment forward, the Simurian would feel pain if the human was harmed—and the human would feel the Simurian’s silence like gravity when they were apart.
Later—much later—outside the ritual chamber, Dabura spoke quietly.
“You are free to leave at any time.”
The human met their gaze. “And you?”
The Simurian paused.
“I will remain.”