Short Story - That One Night

 Story Written by Exul 

    Wedding bells toll through the nighttime skies of the Sanctuary. Hundreds of people from across the land crowd into a large fortress, taking their seats in the rows of erected pews. Above the inner sanctum of the fortress, a young Masklin bride-to-be stares into the densifying crowds through a small windowed balcony. Her expression is etched with building excitement and fear; she was never fond of large crowds. An older lady silently floats up beside her. 

    “You would think that one would be brimming with happiness on their wedding night,” the old lady remarks. The bride, absorbed in her thoughts, suddenly realizes someone is next to her, momentarily scaring her before she realizes who it is. “MOTHER! Don’t you scare me like that!” the bride shrieks. The old lady chuckles as the bride collects herself: “You almost made my core shatter!” Her mother looks at her with a knowing smirk. “Surely my daughter can recognize the presence of her family right beside her,” she opines. “Besides, I couldn’t resist seeing my daughter one last time before I go walking her down the aisle.” The mother hugs her daughter, their incorporeal forms wrapping around each other. The bride softly laughs, a small relief to her pent-up stress, “I know, mother. I’m just… nervous.

    About being watched by so many people… about what they’ll think of me.” 
Her mother releases from the embrace, looking at her daughter with confusion in her mask. “And why would that be of concern? No self-respecting person would dare so much as insult a bride-to-be on her wedding night! If there are any, I’ll have the guards escort them out of the ceremony and thrown into the street!”  

    “Mother…” The bride feels a thump from her core, and holds her ethereal hand to her chest. Her gaze falls to the floor in shame. “...you already know why.” The mother’s face contorts with righteous indignation. “Nonsense, utter nonsense!” She points, tapping at the core in her daughter’s chest. “No one will know until you’re safely in your husband’s arms. We have ALL made sure of that.” The daughter’s core thumps again, momentarily glowing a pale blue through her white wedding dress. The mother still sees the doubt in her daughter’s face, and begins to take off her woolen ceremonial shawl.

    “You’ve received a beautiful gift, darling, and no one will scorn you for it,” the mother says, wrapping the opaque shawl around her daughter’s chest. “If they do, they will have to deal with your mother’s signature brand of discipline.” The bride giggles softly at the suggestion her mother makes. Imagining her frail mother disciplining random citizens like misbehaving children puts her a little more at ease. “I know you won’t let anything happen, mother. It’s just… I’m just far too on-edge tonight.” 

    Another woman walks up to the pair: a lady-in-waiting. “Ladies, he has just arrived. We will begin the ceremony shortly.” The bride wraps her mother’s shawl tighter around her chest. Her mother then interjects on her daughter’s behalf. “Splendid!” she exclaims as she turns to her daughter. “Let’s go meet the lucky fellow.” The lady-in-waiting smiles. “Excellent. Follow me.” 

    In a few minutes the massive fortress doors are closed. The clang of the shutting doors silences the crowd. From the sides of an altar erected at the end of the large hall, two choirs begin to sing. The bride, accompanied by her mother, then begin to slowly walk from the entrance of the fortress down the aisle. The bride stares straight ahead with a feigned stoicism, careful not to look into the crowds of people to her right and left. She squeezes her mother’s hand tightly, prompting her mother to use her other hand to caress hers. The bride loosens her grip slightly, making her feel a little less nervous despite so many eyes looking upon the pair as they walk closer to the altar, and to the bride’s waiting husband-to-be. 

    After what feels to the bride like an eternity, they finally make it to the altar, where a priestess and the bridegroom stand. The mother lets go of her daughter’s hand as she takes her place in front of the handsome lucky man. His outfit is lavish: ceremonial ivory armor inlaid with intricate patterns of solid gold. Compared to that, her relatively plain white dress (and the roughly knit woolen shawl covering her chest), are peasant’s clothing. The bridegroom notices his bride’s expression falter as she gazes upon his ornate armor. Gently placing his ethereal hand under her mask’s chin, he raises her gaze back up to his. “Don’t worry, my love,” he whispers to her. His hand then reaches around to cup her face, as she subconsciously tilts her head into his palm. “I only wear this out of required custom. I would choose more modestly otherwise. Your mask alone is more beautiful than any suit of armor.” She bashfully averts her gaze for a moment before her eyes finally settle back onto her love’s. The groom then turns to the priestess. “We are ready.” The priestess nods back to him. “As you wish, my lord.” The priestess’ voice then booms through the crowded hall, prompting the congregation to stand. “Let us begin!” 

    With that, prayers are begun, chanted by the choirs as the crowd follows along. Following this, the priestess then speaks. “Today, we have the highest of honors bearing witness to the most sacred of institutions granted to us by the gods. Today, we bear witness to the union of these two souls in holy matrimony. As it was written long ago in the texts passed down by our ancestors: ”

“Oh, even when I return one more;
A different gaze, an alien form;
A story rekindled from pages torn;
It is love that will keep me from falling.”

    “No matter the circumstances that may befall us, the hardships faced, how alien this world may seem to us now: love will keep us from falling. The bonds of love know no force that may tear it asunder in this life, as we trust in the gods’ divine Providence for the bonds of love to last until our lives’ end, for it is written further: 
 

“My trust in the skies that hug the above.
It is love that will keep me from falling.”

    “In the ancient names of the gods we now pray that these lovers, husband and wife, may be linked forever in the yoke of each others’ love, until death do they depart.” 

    The crowd responds in kind: “May the gods let it be.” The priestess then walks to the altar, returning to the standing couple with a box and opens it, revealing two intricately designed golden rings, inlaid with black and white gemstones. The priestess asks for the groom’s and bride’s hands as she places the rings on their ethereal fingers. Now each with a ring, they clasp their hands together and draw close. “In wearing these rings, passed down through the generations, you vow to be forever marked by the gods as husband and wife, until in death you depart. Do you affirm these vows to trust in the gods of the skies above, to remain faithful to each other, even in the alien crises of this life?” 

    The couple, holding each other in their arms, look into each other’s eyes. An “I do,” comes from the bridegroom’s mouth, and in a much more bashful voice, is reciprocated by his bride. “Then by the power of the gods, you are hereby marked as husband and wife, King Hercules and Queen Lucina Maschera, the new rulers of the Fantasmasq Dynasty!” 

    The crowd erupts in a roar of applause, cheering their newlywed rulers. The bride and groom fully embrace, sharing a deep kiss as the crowd goes wild. As they pull away, gazing into each other’s eyes, Hercules’s gaze meeting Lucina’s, they smile. Lucina’s mask shines beautifully in the light of the fortress, colored by the stained glass windows. 

    Another light suddenly flashes brightly, blinding everyone in the fortress seconds before a massive boom rings through the hall. Hercules instinctively holds his wife tightly in his arms as they’re knocked to the floor by the subsequent shockwave centered on them. Stained glass windows shatter as chaos erupts in the crowds, dispersing from the hall and out through the fortress doors into the streets. Shouting abounds as soldiers try and fail to control the torrent of congregants fleeing outside. 

    Regaining his sight, Hercules, laying on his side, sees his wife unconscious in his arms, the light from her ethereal body fading in brightness, and her dress charred by fire from a magical explosion. His pupils dilate in fear as he frantically tries pulling himself and his injured wife up off the ground. He can only get onto one knee before he sees a figure in the distance in front of him, standing in the aisle that his wife only a few minutes before walked down. He can barely make out the sharp, almost beak-like shape of a mask before the silhouetted figure disappears into the panicked crowd. Lucina’s mother rushes to Hercules, shaking him out of his state of shock. Looking down to his wife’s fading form, shawl fallen away, he sees the core in her chest thump frantically, as if it was experiencing pain and fear of its own. His paralysis finally clears as he gets back up to his feet, rushing with his injured wife and her mother to the back of the hall and its inner sanctum.

    “QUICKLY! SOMEONE, ANYONE!” he calls out, as soldiers quickly surround him and his family to shield them from more potential attacks. “Please! Help me save my wife!” He looks to the core glowing in her chest, under her now burnt and torn shawl and dress. The fear in his eyes is hauntingly palpable.

    “Help me save my son!”