Vyrhen

In the wildflower fields at the foothills that mark the space between east and west, there is a wedding.

A real wedding this time, rather than a desperate grasp at love before certain doom.

Once again, Dēor and Sagitta Feran stand before a congregation of friends. Once again, Ava stands between them and speaks the words that join two opposites into one.

Some here have witnessed this event before, in less peaceful circumstances. But some have not. Indeed, as Guildmaster Neufort looks upon Sagitta’s beaming face with a wry smirk, she thinks: who would have known that her stolen invitation could lead to all of this?

Other Council members are dotted around the event, eager to appraise the antlered Westerner who it seems may soon join their ranks. Dēor’s family are all here, too, down to the most distant cousins, and there are even a fair few guests around whom Sagitta simply took a liking to after meeting them once on the street. The crowd is bursting with colour, a kaleidoscope of Easterners and Westerners, and of many from far beyond, to whom the divide has little significance.

In a world where the sun is setting on fate and rising on something new, the couple hope that the divide might begin to fade somewhat for the Vyrhene, as well. It feels like a possibility, when, after the vows and the dancing, the rapt company watches in unity as A Crux of Fate is played upon a stage garlanded with flowers.

Twilight softly blankets the land, but the stage is still lit by glimmering stars. This story will never be forgotten.