Chapter 4

The storm raged like a beast unchained, clawing at the shattered chapel with thunder and lightning. Stained glass lay in shards across the floor, catching sparks of fire from the broken candles as though even the remnants of beauty were bleeding.

Kira knelt at the altar, her gown ruined, her hands drenched in blood that was not her own. Sajah’s body rested in her lap, his warmth slipping away too quickly. She pressed her ear against his chest, desperate for the rhythm that had once steadied her storms.

Nothing.

Her tears fell in silence at first, then came like rivers, soaking his lips, his wounds, his vows. “No,” she whispered, voice raw, trembling. “You don’t get to leave me. Not when we swore. Not when you promised me forever.”

Around them, guests wept, some praying, others staring hollow-eyed at the broken altar that had been meant for celebration. But Kira’s world had narrowed to one truth: the man she loved was slipping through her fingers, and she could not—would not—let him go.

Then—faint, impossible—his fingers twitched. A spark of fire licked at his skin, curling along his veins like living ink. Gasps broke the silence. The air thickened, trembling under unseen power.

“Kira…” The voice came not from his lips, but from everywhere—the storm, the walls, the very marrow of her bones. “Our vow is not broken. It lives in you.”

Lightning split the sky, bathing Kira in silver fire. Her tears dried into fury. She cupped his blood-stained face, her voice fierce, unshaken: “If the heavens think they can take you, then let them try. I will burn their laws, I will rewrite their contracts, until even death kneels before me.”

For a moment, time itself seemed to bow. Guests fell silent, watching her not as a grieving bride, but as a queen forged in fire and defiance.

But the silence fractured.

From the far side of the altar, a low laugh slithered through the smoke—dark, mocking, cruel.

Kira froze.

The weight in her arms suddenly felt wrong—too heavy, too still. She looked down at the body she cradled… and her blood ran cold.

A shadow moved through the stormlight. From the haze emerged another man, identical in face, in form, in fire. His eyes gleamed with the same darkness, but his smile was sharp with cruelty.

Her heart stuttered.

“No…” she whispered, trembling. “This isn’t possible.”

The lifeless man in her arms was not Sajah at all.

Alive, battered but unbowed, the true Sajah stood before her—blood soaking his shoulder, yet his stance unyielding. His gaze fixed on the corpse she clutched, and something hard flickered in his expression.

“My brother,” he said at last, his voice like steel over flame. “Even in death, you still try to steal what is mine.”

The guests gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire. A twin. Hidden. A truth buried so deeply it was revealed only now, drenched in blood and betrayal.

Kira’s hands shook around the body. Her breath faltered, her heart torn between relief and horror. The man she had sworn herself to was alive. But the corpse she had clung to—the one who wore his face—was his twin.

Her gaze darted between them, between love and lies, between the living and the dead. And for the first time, she realized—she had never truly known the man she vowed eternity to.

The storm roared, and the vow that bound them grew heavier, darker, more dangerous than ever before.

The storm shrieked against the chapel walls, its fury clawing at the stained glass until colors bled into darkness. Inside, silence weighed heavy.

Kira knelt at the shattered altar, her wedding gown soaked in blood, clutching Sajah’s lifeless body as if her arms could anchor him to the earth. His weight pressed into her, heavy and final. She pressed her face to his chest, desperate for the faintest beat of life, but heard only the echo of her own broken sobs.

“No…” her whisper cracked, lost to thunder. “You are not allowed to leave me. Not when we swore. Not when you vowed.”

Her tears fell on his lips, mingling with the streak of blood that stained them, as if sorrow itself could be a breath of resurrection. She remembered his hands, warm and steady, tracing her skin in the quiet of night. She remembered his promises, whispered like oaths etched in her soul. And now—silence.

Around them, the guests bowed their heads, some weeping openly, others frozen in fear. This wedding—meant to seal a vow eternal—had dissolved into a funeral rite.

Then, the impossible happened.

His hand twitched. Just a flicker, fragile and unnatural. A gasp broke from Kira’s throat as she looked down. At his fingertips, a spark flared—tiny, defiant—fire born from nothing. The flame pulsed once, twice, like a heartbeat.

Gasps rippled through the chapel.

And then, a voice—not from his lips, but from the storm itself—echoed in her ears:

“Kira… our vow is not broken. It lives… in you.”

Her chest tightened, hope colliding with dread. She clutched his face, trembling. “Then stay. Please, stay with me. You cannot sign out of this vow—I won’t let you.”

The ground trembled, as if the storm bent to her will. Lightning crowned her hair, casting her in a glow that made her look less like a bride and more like a queen. Fury replaced her grief, sharp and consuming.

“If the heavens think they can take him from me,” she said, voice steady, blazing, “then let them try. I will burn every clause, rewrite every vow, until even death kneels.”

The guests looked up at her, eyes wide, awe mingling with fear. For the first time, they saw not just a young bride, but a woman forged by fire.

But then—laughter cut through the storm.

Low. Mocking. Chilling.

Kira froze, clutching the body tighter. Her heart turned to ice as shadows stirred at the far end of the chapel. From smoke and lightning, another figure emerged. His stride was confident, his posture unbroken, his eyes ablaze with the same dark fire.

Her heart stuttered.

It was Sajah.

Alive. Standing. Watching her with a gaze so sharp it felt like a blade.

Her breath caught, confusion spiraling. She looked down at the man in her arms—identical face, identical fire—but lifeless. Too lifeless.

“No…” her lips trembled. “This isn’t possible.”

The standing Sajah’s voice was cold, jagged. “My brother.” His eyes flicked to the corpse in her arms, and something darker than grief passed through him. “Even in death, you still try to take what is mine.”

Gasps erupted from the guests. A twin—hidden, buried in secrets, revealed only in blood.

Kira’s heart thundered in her chest. Which one had whispered vows to her? Which one had touched her with fire and kissed her soul? Had her love been truth—or a shadow’s lie?

She clutched the lifeless man tighter, horror and betrayal twisting in her chest. Her eyes darted between the living Sajah and the corpse in her arms, her tears mixing with blood.

For the first time since she had fallen into Sajah’s world, Kira realized—

she had never truly known the man she vowed herself to.