IIII - The Fruit of Remembrance, The Gilded Secret

Three days before her coerced nuptials, Hydra found herself once more confined within the cold, echoing grandeur of the palace chapel. This majestic edifice, designed for sacred vows and solemn promises, had been transformed into a stage for a grim rehearsal, a theatrical production she desperately sought to sabotage. The High Priest, Father Elias, his pious mask a fragile facade concealing the deep-seated hatred that festered within him, loomed over her, his presence a dark, oppressive force. His face, normally a picture of serene piety, was contorted into a mask of contempt, the lines of his mouth tight with suppressed malice, his eyes glinting with a dark, possessive hunger. This was the same man who, upon her birth, had branded her an omen, a witch, her very existence a stain upon the kingdom's purity, a blight upon the sacred order he so zealously upheld.

The air hung heavy with the cloying scent of incense, thick and suffocating, like a shroud of dread, its tendrils wrapping around her like unseen chains, suffocating her spirit. The stained-glass windows, usually vibrant with color, now cast long, distorted shadows that danced across the cold stone floor, mirroring the unease that churned within her, the unease that seeped into her bones. The faint light of the next day seeped into the chapel, a sickly, pale illumination staining the colorful depictions of saints and martyrs, transforming them into grotesque, spectral figures, their expressions twisted in silent judgment. Hydra, clad in a borrowed green Victorian dress from her younger sister—a garment that barely fit, the seams straining against her curves, and using her old cloak to conceal whatever she could that might show something she shouldn't—stood before Father Elias, the priest's presence a suffocating weight. Her muscles tight with dread, she recited the vows, her voice marginally steadier than before, but her eyes remained vigilant, her stance defensive, her body coiled like a spring, ready to react to any sudden movement, to any unseen threat. She had learned to anticipate his movements, to subtly create distance, to guard against his unseen malice. Today, his piety was a thin veneer, his words laced with a false sweetness that failed to conceal the underlying venom, the dark, possessive hunger that lurked beneath his sanctimonious facade.

"You're a princess," Father Elias hissed, his voice a grating rasp that echoed through the chapel's vastness, each syllable a venomous barb, "and in two days, an empress. You will treat these vows with the gravity they demand! Your flippancy is an insult to the gods!"

He relentlessly drilled her, his words sharp barbs that stung her already wounded spirit, each phrase a calculated assault on her already fragile sense of self, a relentless attempt to break her spirit. For two grueling hours, she recited the vows, her voice flat and lifeless, each syllable a reluctant offering, a surrender to the inevitable, a forced submission to her fate. Her gaze, usually vibrant, was now dull, heavy with the weight of her impending doom, her eyes reflecting the cold, unyielding stone beneath her feet, mirroring the icy desolation within her soul.

"I'm sorry… I'm just nervous is all… Maybe if I had my parents and my siblings here. Then maybe I can at least calm down???" Hydra suggested, her voice laced with a desperate plea, her eyes searching the Queen's cold, unyielding face, hoping for a flicker of compassion, a sign of understanding, a sliver of humanity.

"You honestly think we'd allow those filthy peasants in this temple?" the Queen hissed, her voice sharp as ice, each word a cruel reminder of her family's lowly status, a brutal assertion of their social divide. "And as for our children, they are to be kept at home where they belong. And so that you four as well as your parents won't try to sneak off and run away like you did last night."

The Queen's words, laced with disdain, cut through Hydra like a physical blow, a brutal reminder of her isolation, a cruel assertion of her powerlessness. The reminder of her siblings and parents, confined to the palace, their freedom sacrificed for her forced union, deepened her despair, the weight of their sacrifice pressing down on her like an unbearable burden, crushing her spirit. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the cold stone floor, the chill seeping into her bare feet, mirroring the icy desolation within her soul, a coldness that spread through her very being.

She continued the rehearsals, her body stiff with tension, her mind a whirlwind of fear and revulsion, a storm of conflicting emotions. The way the King and Father Elias ogled her, their gazes tracing her form with undisguised lust, made her skin crawl, each glance a violation, a predatory consumption of her very being, a dark assertion of their control. She felt like a trapped animal, a spectacle to be consumed by their predatory eyes, a sacrifice on the altar of their twisted desires, a pawn in their power games.

"Tomorrow," Father Elias declared, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction, a dark triumph in their depths, "you will do better. Xaven's fate rests on your shoulders. Do not disappoint the gods, the king, the queen, and especially the Emperor, your soon-to-be husband in three days."

As the King and Queen emerged, their voices dripping with avarice, discussing the lavish decorations and political advantages, Hydra prepared to flee, to escape the suffocating presence of their greed, to reclaim a sliver of her autonomy. But the priest seized her, his grip like a vise, his fingers digging into her flesh, a cruel reminder of his control, a brutal assertion of his power.

"You think you outwitted me, witch?" he whispered, his breath hot and foul against her ear, a violation that sent shivers of revulsion down her spine. "But I'm a patient man, and witches don't fare well within stone walls." He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, a dark, possessive hunger in his breath, a chilling assertion of his dark desires.

"What are you doing???" she demanded, her voice trembling with disgust, her eyes flashing with desperate defiance, a flicker of untamed rage, a spark of resistance.

"I was imagining a rope," he replied, his voice thick with malice, a chilling promise of future torment, "around that beautiful neck of yours."

Hydra shoved him away, her heart pounding, her blood boiling with a mixture of fear and fury, a desperate attempt to break free from his grasp. "Get your hands off me!!! I know what you're imagining!!!" she sneered, her voice laced with raw, untamed anger, a defiant roar against his insidious control, a refusal to be broken.

"Such a clever witch," he spat, his eyes narrowing, his gaze filled with dark, possessive hunger, a predatory glint, a dark assertion of his dominance. "It's so typical of your kind to twist the truth, to cloud the mind with unholy thoughts." He advanced, his presence radiating a dark, unsettling energy, a suffocating aura of malice, a chilling assertion of his power.

Hydra backed away, her eyes wide with revulsion, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and loathing, her spirit recoiling from his dark presence.

He shrugged, his expression chillingly indifferent, a mask of cold, calculated cruelty, a chilling display of his lack of empathy. "Well, no matter. As long as things play out for the better. All is done, and everybody is happy," he commented, with a sly sneer, a dark satisfaction in his voice, a cruel assertion of his control. "You've chosen a magnificent prison in the palace! But it is still a prison, nonetheless. And if you step outside, and decide to run... then you not only ruin the lives of others, but those you so care about. Your siblings and parents, trapped at home, forced to stay behind by their parents' orders, ensuring they can't follow you. Imagine their fate if you break this union. And know that if you so step out or decide to run from your purpose, then you are mine."

His words hung in the air, a chilling threat, a dark promise of future torment, a cruel assertion of his ownership. Hydra was trapped, not only by her impending marriage, but by the insidious control of a man who saw her as an abomination, a witch, and a tool to be used, a pawn in his dark games. The heavy scent of incense, usually a symbol of piety, now seemed to cling to Hydra's skin, a suffocating reminder of her confinement, a constant reminder of her entrapment. She retreated to her chambers, a gilded cage where the seamstresses, their faces pale and drawn, were still adding the final touches to her wedding dress. The sheer fabric, the intricate lace, the strategically placed embellishments – all designed to showcase her "exotic beauty," to turn her into a spectacle for the Emperor's gaze tomorrow, to transform her into an object of desire. She stared at her reflection, her lilac blue eyes filled with a loathing she had never known before, a deep-seated self-loathing. The tan skin, the platinum white silver hair, the elf ears that set her apart – once markers of her unique heritage, now they seemed like brands, the marks of a witch, a succubus, an omen, a curse upon the kingdom, a symbol of her otherness.

The priest's words echoed in her mind: "You've chosen a magnificent prison in the palace! But it is still a prison, nonetheless."

She clenched her fists, the soft fabric of her gown crumpling beneath her grip, a desperate attempt to contain her rising rage, to suppress the storm of emotions within her. A wave of despair washed over her, threatening to drown her in its icy depths, to extinguish the last embers of her defiance, to break her spirit. She was trapped, not only by the impending marriage tomorrow, but by the insidious control of a man who saw her as an abomination, a tool to be used, a pawn in his dark games. Her siblings and parents, her only allies, were locked away, their fates tied to her own, their lives hanging in the balance, their safety dependent on her compliance.

To make matters worse, the maids and servants, who had always regarded her with a mixture of resentment and fear, now openly reveled in her misfortune, their eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction, their voices laced with malicious glee. The news of her impending marriage to the Emperor of Crystallia, a distant and powerful ruler, had only intensified their animosity, their resentment fueled by envy and fear. They were happy to be rid of her, viewing her departure as a long-awaited escape from her perceived "witchcraft" and "unnatural" presence, a dark release from her perceived threat. They whispered behind her back, their words laced with spite, and their actions grew bolder. Small acts of sabotage became commonplace: her meals were often tainted, her clothing deliberately damaged, and her few possessions went missing, each act a small act of cruelty, a calculated attempt to break her spirit, to diminish her humanity. The palace, once a place of work, had become a hostile environment, each corner filled with lurking resentment and thinly veiled threats, a constant reminder of her isolation, a chilling assertion of her otherness.

She had no one. Her parents weren't there to comfort her in her time of need. Her siblings weren't there as they were forced to be kept in their bed chambers, ensuring they weren't alone with her and plotted to escape. Vidalia was also told to stay in her chambers when the day the wedding was to start tomorrow, ensuring nobody finds out that Hydra was posing to be her. Hydra was left alone in her chambers in the tallest tower of the palace, feeling like an actual prisoner rather than a princess, being held captive and forced to go through this whole plan of the king and queen of Xaven.

A flicker of defiance sparked within her, a tiny ember in the vast darkness, a refusal to surrender to her fate, a spark of resistance against the forces that sought to control her. She would not be a puppet, a sacrifice on the altar of political ambition tomorrow. She would find a way to break free, to shatter the chains that bound her, to reclaim her autonomy. But how? The thought was a heavy weight in her mind, a dark, insurmountable obstacle, a seemingly impossible task.

The next day seeped into the chapel, a sickly, pale light staining the stained-glass windows, turning the vibrant colors into muted, ghostly hues, a reflection of the darkness that pervaded the space. Hydra, her muscles tight with dread, stood before Father Elias, the priest's presence a suffocating weight, his gaze a constant, piercing scrutiny, a dark assertion of his control. She recited the vows, her voice marginally steadier, but her eyes remained vigilant, her stance defensive, her body tense with anticipation, ready to react to any sudden movement. She had learned to anticipate his movements, to subtly create distance, to guard against his unseen malice. Today, his piety was a thin veneer, his words laced with a false sweetness that failed to conceal the underlying venom, the dark, possessive hunger that lurked beneath his sanctimonious facade, a chilling assertion of his dark desires.

"Much improved, Princess," he said, his smile a chillingly thin line, a mask of cruel satisfaction, a dark triumph in his eyes. "You are learning. Perhaps even you can be salvaged."

Hydra gave a curt nod, her gaze unwavering, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of her fear, refusing to cower before his dark presence. The rehearsal concluded, and she retreated from the chapel's oppressive chill, the priest's words echoing in her mind like a dark, inescapable curse, a chilling reminder of her impending doom, a constant assertion of her powerlessness.

Back in the palace, the seamstresses, their faces etched with exhaustion, toiled to complete her wedding dress. The King and Queen, their voices a forced melody of excitement, oversaw the process, but it was the King's directives that dominated. He spoke of "accentuating her natural allure," of "showcasing her exotic beauty." His words, coated in a leering undertone, sent a wave of revulsion through Hydra, a deep-seated disgust. She watched as the seamstresses, their faces flushed with a mixture of fear and obedience, added more lace, more sheer fabric, more embellishments that revealed rather than concealed, each stitch a violation of her dignity, a cruel assertion of their control.

Hydra recoiled from the attention, the predatory glances that followed her like shadows, each gaze a violation, a consumption of her very being, a dark assertion of their possessiveness. She felt like a spectacle, a prize to be displayed, a concubine to be used, a pawn in their power games.

The King, who is her biological father, looked at her with a lust that made her skin crawl, his eyes tracing the lines of her body with a possessive hunger, a dark assertion of his desires. She had never found beauty in herself, and now, the unwanted attention only amplified her self-loathing, her deep-seated disgust. She loathed her tan skin, her platinum white silver hair, her lilac blue eyes, and her elf ears. She loathed how her features, her body, her very being, drew the eyes of men, twisting admiration into lust, turning her into an object of their dark desires, a pawn in their power games.

A dark seed of doubt began to sprout in her mind. Could Father Elias be right? Was she truly an omen, a curse? The whispers of witchcraft, the accusations of succubus-like allure, the King's lingering gaze – they all seemed to validate the priest's venomous pronouncements, to confirm her darkest fears, to solidify her sense of otherness. She felt a growing sense of isolation, a chilling realization that she was utterly alone, trapped in a world that saw her as a monster, an abomination to be feared and used, a pawn in their dark games.

As the sun began to set, casting long, ominous shadows across the palace walls, a messenger arrived, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear, a harbinger of ill tidings, a symbol of her impending doom. He carried a sealed scroll, its crimson wax stamped with the Emperor's sigil, a symbol of her stolen autonomy. Hydra, her heart pounding, took the scroll, her fingers trembling, her body tense with anticipation, dreading the message it contained.

She broke the seal, the crimson wax cracking like a fragile promise, and unfurled the parchment. The words, written in elegant, flowing script, conveyed a message that, while warm, felt unsettlingly foreign, a carefully crafted facade, a hollow imitation of genuine emotion.

"Princess Hydra, tomorrow marks a day I have long anticipated. I am filled with joy at the prospect of our union and eagerly await the moment we are joined. I cannot express how eager I am to finally meet you."

Hydra's eyes narrowed. The tone, though enthusiastic, felt too rehearsed, too carefully crafted, a hollow imitation of genuine emotion, a forced attempt at warmth. This isn't him, she thought, her suspicion hardening into resolve, her intuition screaming a warning. This is their work. The overly eager phrasing, the forced optimism – even with her name included, it all screamed of their manipulation, their attempts to control her perception, to manipulate her emotions. They were trying to paint a picture of a loving, eager groom, but their clumsy attempts only deepened her distrust, amplifying her sense of unease, her gut twisting with suspicion. It was a cruel mockery, a reminder that she was being delivered, bound and gagged, into a political arrangement she had no part in choosing, a pawn in their power games, a sacrifice on the altar of their ambitions. She crumpled the scroll in her hand, the expensive parchment a testament to her captivity, a symbol of her stolen agency, a cruel reminder of her powerlessness.

She looked out the window, at the darkening sky, and wondered if there was any escape, any way to change her fate tomorrow, any way to reclaim her life. She knew she had to find a way to survive, for herself, for her siblings, and for her parents, even if it meant facing the darkness that lurked within the palace walls, the insidious forces that sought to control her destiny, the dark games they played.

The grand chapel of Xaven, a once-majestic structure now showing the wear of a kingdom in decline, throbbed with a forced, almost frantic celebration. The air, thick with the cloying aroma of exotic perfumes and the barely concealed whispers of courtly intrigue, pressed down on Hydra like an invisible, suffocating weight, a constant reminder of her entrapment, a symbol of her stolen autonomy. Every ornate carving, every faded tapestry, seemed to echo the desperation of Xaven's rulers, King Theron and Queen Elara. Their smiles, stretched thin over faces etched with anxiety, held a desperate hope as they greeted each arriving dignitary, their deference toward Princess Zariah of Heradian bordering on abject pleading, a desperate attempt to secure her favor. Xaven's survival, its very existence, hung precariously on Zariah's favor and the overwhelming military might of Heradian, a stark reminder of their vulnerability, a symbol of their weakness.

Hydra, a woman of quiet strength and hidden depths, stood apart from the forced merriment, a solitary figure amidst the swirling chaos, an island of defiance in a sea of forced gaiety, a symbol of her resistance. Her wedding dress, a scandalous confection of tight, see-through lace and shimmering satin, clung to her curves, revealing a drastic cleavage. It was a garment she utterly loathed, a blatant display of the King's leering control, a stark contrast to her own inherent dignity, a symbol of her forced submission, a cruel assertion of their power. The king, along with the other male guests, openly lusted after her, their eyes tracing the lines of her body with a predatory hunger that made her skin crawl, each glance a violation, a consumption of her very being, a dark assertion of their desires. She felt exposed, violated, a mere spectacle in a crude political charade, a pawn in their power games, a sacrifice on the altar of their ambitions.

Restless and filled with a gnawing, nervous dread, Hydra found herself drawn to the balcony of her tower room, the highest point of the castle, a place of solitude and reflection, a sanctuary from the chaos. From her elevated vantage point, she observed the arrival of the carriages from other kingdoms. One, larger and more opulent than the rest, drew her attention like a dark, magnetic force, a symbol of the power that threatened to engulf her, a chilling reminder of her impending doom. It was a desert-regal design, lavished with rare, glittering gems, and accompanied by monstrous, otherworldly creatures and heavily armored knights, a chilling display of military might, a dark assertion of their dominance. A chilling realization washed over her, cold and sharp: her betrothed, the Emperor Gladiolus of Crystallia, had arrived, his presence a dark, ominous shadow looming over her fate, a symbol of her stolen autonomy.

A fierce battle raged within her – terror against a morbid, almost compulsive curiosity. Was he truly the monstrous figure from her recurring nightmares, the reincarnation of the legendary Lord of Demons? Did he possess the same menacing aura, the same chilling power, as her fragmented memories suggested? She needed to know, needed to see for herself, to confront the darkness that threatened to consume her, to face her fears.

Driven by this desperate need for answers, she donned her hooded cloak over the revealing wedding dress, a desperate attempt to conceal herself, to reclaim a semblance of control, and slipped out of her room. Her sister, Vidalia, disguised as a humble maid, insisted on joining her, her eyes filled with concern, her presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming chaos. Hydra, fearing discovery and the potential consequences, initially refused, but Vidalia, ever resourceful, insisted on sending their brothers, Kegan and Irwin, as discreet escorts, ensuring Hydra's safety within the crowded corridors, a silent vow of protection, a symbol of their unwavering loyalty.

They navigated the shadowed corridors, careful to avoid the prying eyes of the guests, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets, their movements stealthy and cautious, their presence shrouded in secrecy. Reaching a hidden vantage point, Hydra spotted a familiar figure in the crowd – Leif! Her heart skipped a frantic beat, a surge of longing and recognition, a wave of conflicting emotions. She knew it was him, her old love from her past lives, a face etched in her soul, a beacon of warmth in the cold dread, a symbol of her lost love. To confirm her suspicions, she asked her brothers, who confirmed that he was indeed Leif, a knight from the Heradian kingdom, a man she had loved across lifetimes, a symbol of her past.

A tumultuous wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. Joy at seeing her lost love, a flicker of warmth in the cold dread, mingled with a profound sense of impending doom, a chilling premonition of tragedy, a dark assertion of her fate. He was here, at her forced marriage to the Emperor of Crystallia, a cruel twist of fate, a symbol of her stolen autonomy. Then, her gaze fell upon another familiar face, a woman with hair like spun sunlight and eyes as blue as the summer sky. She looked vaguely familiar, but Hydra's memories were fragmented, shrouded in a hazy fog, a puzzle she desperately needed to solve, a mystery she yearned to unravel. Before she could ask her brothers, they were swept away by the surging crowd, their forms disappearing into the throng, their presence swallowed by the masses.

Vidalia, defying her sister's orders, appeared at her side, her eyes filled with concern, her presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming chaos, a symbol of her unwavering support. Hydra, exasperated, lectured her sister, but Vidalia, ever pragmatic, assured her that she was disguised as a maid and could easily blend in, her resourcefulness a constant source of admiration, a symbol of her ingenuity. Hydra, her voice tight with suppressed emotion, asked Vidalia about the blonde woman, her curiosity a burning flame in the darkness of her confusion, a desperate need to understand. Vidalia revealed her identity: Princess Zariah of Heradian, better known as the reincarnation of the Goddess of Light, a name that echoed through Hydra's fragmented memories, a symbol of her forgotten past.

A jolt of recognition, sharp and clear, ran through Hydra. Zariah was Hera, her sister from her time as the Goddess of Divinity, Zyra. Memories, fragmented and hazy, began to surface, like pieces of a broken mirror, reflecting a past she had long forgotten, a symbol of her lost identity. She remembered the deep love and affection she had held for sister Hera, the unbreakable bond of sisterhood that had transcended lifetimes, a connection that defied the boundaries of time and space, a symbol of their enduring bond. She was overjoyed to see her sister, but dreaded that she came on this day of her forced wedding, a day that threatened to shatter her already fragile existence, a day that symbolized her stolen autonomy.

"Why do you ask? Do you… do you know her?" Vidalia asked, her voice laced with curiosity, her eyes searching Hydra's for answers, her intuition sensing a deeper connection.

Hydra, her voice low and filled with a strange, haunting melancholy, replied, "Yes… I knew her, once, in a time long forgotten," her words a whisper of a past that lingered like a ghost in the present, a symbol of her fragmented memories.

Unbeknownst to the two sisters, Zariah had spotted them. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, narrowed as she observed their hushed conversation, her gaze piercing through the crowd like a predator's, her intuition sensing a hidden connection. Even with Hydra's face partially concealed by her hood, Zariah noticed the telltale sliver of white hair, and sensed the familiar aura, a spark of recognition in the depths of her soul, a symbol of their shared past. There is where she knew it was Hydra. She had mistakenly identified Hydra as Vidalia, unaware that Vidalia was disguised as a maid, her perception clouded by her own biases, her judgment clouded by her own prejudices. Zariah, despite recognizing Hydra, chose to feign ignorance, masking her true feelings behind a veneer of polite indifference, her composure a shield against her inner turmoil, a mask to hide her true intentions. Beneath her regal composure, however, a dark undercurrent of resentment simmered, a deep-seated envy towards Hydra, a jealousy fueled by a twisted sense of superiority, a belief that she was the rightful heir to the goddess's legacy, a symbol of her own ambition.

Zariah, her voice laced with regal command, summoned Chrome to her side. "Chrome," she whispered in his ear, her eyes fixed on Hydra and Vidalia, "I want you to go and 'talk' to those two ladies hiding in the crowd. The one in the cloak, I believe, is princess Vidalia. The woman who so foolishly rejected your proposal letters numerous times. The other… is a maid of her's."

To ensure Leif's absence, Zariah turned to him, her voice sweet and innocent, a mask of calculated charm, a subtle manipulation. "Leif, darling, would you be a dear and fetch me a glass of that spiced wine? I'm feeling quite parched," her words a subtle manipulation, a calculated distraction, a symbol of her cunning.

Leif, ever obedient, nodded and moved away, unaware of his brother's impending actions, his loyalty a blindfold against Zariah's machinations, a symbol of his unwavering devotion.

Chrome, though conventionally handsome with his 6'1 ft frame, ashen blonde hair, stubble beard, and piercing green eyes, possessed a personality that utterly negated any physical appeal, his inner ugliness overshadowing any outward charm, a symbol of his dark nature. The scar across his right eye, a mark of past violence, only added to the sense of danger he exuded, a chilling reminder of his capacity for cruelty, a symbol of his violent tendencies. His arrogance, cruelty, and predatory nature made him utterly repulsive to both Hydra and Vidalia, their disdain a shield against his toxic charm, a symbol of their repulsion. They didn't find him attractive in the slightest, his inner ugliness a stark contrast to his outward appearance, a symbol of his hypocrisy.

He approached Hydra and Vidalia with a predatory swagger, believing Hydra to be Vidalia, his arrogance blinding him to the truth, his ego leading him astray. "Well, well," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, "if it isn't the lovely Vidalia. Come to admire the splendor of the wedding you so foolishly declined?"

Hydra recoiled, recognizing the familiar scent of malice that emanated from him, a dark aura of predatory intent, a symbol of his dark desires. 

Vidalia, however, stood her ground, her eyes flashing with defiance, her loyalty a shield against his toxic charm, a symbol of her unwavering support. "My lady isn't here to admire anything," she retorted, her voice sharp, a blade against his arrogance, a symbol of her defiance. "And I certainly have no interest in speaking with you."

Chrome's grin widened, revealing a row of sharp, predatory teeth, a chilling display of his inner darkness, a symbol of his malevolence. "Oh, then perhaps you'd like to spend some time with me instead. Such a pretty face like you wouldn't mind stepping out of here, to have some fun, right? Let's go find an available room," he hissed, taking a step closer, attempting to intimidate, his presence a suffocating wave of malice, a symbol of his dark intentions.

Hydra stepped forward, placing herself between Vidalia and Chrome, her eyes blazing with protective fury, her voice a low, dangerous growl, a primal roar against his predatory intent, a symbol of her protective nature. "Leave her alone!!!" She commanded, her voice low and dangerous, a primal roar against his predatory intent, a symbol of her unwavering resolve.

Chrome's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting to Hydra, his curiosity piqued by her defiant stance, his ego bruised by her resistance. "Finally out from hiding in the shadows? That's more like it, princess. Let's see what you really look like from under the hood of your cloak, since it will be my first time seeing your face."

He then forcibly ripped her hood off, revealing her face to the crowd. Chrome was stunned by her ethereal beauty, her tan skin, her lilac blue eyes, her white silver hair, and her pointed elf ears, her presence a radiant beacon in the dim light, a symbol of her unique beauty. Enraged that such a magnificent creature would reject him, "By the Gods... You are very seductively beautiful. I must have you to myself, princess," he said as he tried to drag her to the nearest chamber, wanting to take advantage of her, his desire a dark, possessive hunger, a symbol of his dark intentions.

Hydra recoiled, her eyes flashing with disgust, her body tense with a mixture of fear and rage, a symbol of her revulsion. "Get your hands off me!!! I'm not interested nor is my friend interested in going with you, nor doing anything with you," she told him as she pulled her arm away from his grasp, her strength fueled by her righteous anger, a symbol of her resistance.

Irritated by being rejected yet again, but this time right in person, his ego bruised by her defiance, his sense of entitlement shattered. He gripped her hand again, attempting to force her, but she slapped him across the face, her hand stinging with the force of her blow, a symbol of her defiance. "Why you stubborn and insolent bitch!" he barked and retaliated with a brutal slap of his own, his violence a reflection of his inner darkness, a symbol of his brutality. He then tried to pick her up by force, "YOU'RE COMING WITH ME, WHETHER YOU WANT TO OR NOT!" he yelled at her as he had her in his arms, his possessiveness a dark, suffocating force, a symbol of his dark intentions. Vidalia tried stopping him, but had pushed aside, telling her to get out of his way.

Hydra punched him really hard in the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch, her strength fueled by her desperate need to defend herself, a symbol of her resilience. He dropped her as he clutched his broken nose, his face contorted in a mask of pain and rage, a symbol of his wounded pride. "How dare you! A woman... a princess no less. Dare to punch me and break my nose!" he hissed at her, his voice laced with disbelief and fury, a symbol of his arrogance.

"Serves you right, asshole. Don't think that I wouldn't be able to fend for myself from people like you," Hydra replied, as Vidalia helped her up, her voice laced with defiance, a symbol of her strength. Putting up her fists, readying for another attack, her body tense with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, a symbol of her determination.

Fuming with rage and humiliation, Chrome readied his sword, wanting to scare her into submission, his violence escalating with his wounded pride, his ego shattered by her resistance. As he grabbed her again, this time on her cloak, and he had his sword ready, the cold steel glinting menacingly in the dim light, a stark warning against any further resistance, a symbol of his dark intentions. He intended to ensure she wouldn't try anything else, his possessiveness a dark, suffocating force, a symbol of his dark desires. But as she tried pulling away, and he yanked the cloak with such powerful strength, he cut through it with his sharp blade. The fabric ripping with a harsh, tearing sound, revealing her revealing wedding dress to the shocked onlookers, a symbol of her vulnerability. Vidalia tried her best to shield Hydra from the exposure of the vulgar wedding dress.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the air thick with a mixture of shock and morbid fascination, a symbol of their voyeurism. Chrome, his eyes now blazing with lust as he beheld her exposed beauty and figure, grinned cruelly, a symbol of his predatory nature. He pushed Vidalia aside with such force, then picked Hydra up again, disregarding her struggles, and placed her roughly over his shoulders, her exposed legs kicking helplessly in the air, a symbol of her powerlessness. The public display of dominance and the forced exposure of her body sent a wave of revulsion through Hydra, the humiliation burning hotter than any physical pain, a symbol of her stolen dignity.

"Release her!" A loud low voice called out to Chrome, his voice a commanding roar that echoed through the hall, a symbol of his authority. Hydra looked at the direction of the voice came from and saw the familiar figure, someone that she will be seeing in short time. Her fiance, her husband-soon-to-be, the emperor of Crystallia and the reincarnation of the Lord of the demons.

At an astonishing 7'6 ft. Taller than Leif, as he's 5'8 ft tall and Hydra being only 5'10 ft tall. His hair is a striking fiery red, a long, flowing mane that adds to his dramatic presence, framing his face like a fiery halo, a symbol of his power. It emphasizes his powerful features, his chiseled jawline, his high cheekbones, his regal bearing, a symbol of his authority. His skin is a very dark tan, adding to his rugged and powerful appearance, a testament to his strength and resilience, a symbol of his dominance.

The contrast between his dark skin and fiery red hair is visually arresting, a striking combination that commands attention, a symbol of his unique presence. His eyes are a captivating yellow amber galactic shade, a unique and mesmerizing color that seems to hold a depth of ancient knowledge and power, a reflection of his otherworldly origins, a symbol of his mystery. They are intense and piercing, capable of conveying both command and a hint of enigmatic mystery, a reflection of his complex nature, a symbol of his depth. His jawline is strong and sharply defined, his cheekbones high and prominent, adding to his regal bearing, a symbol of his authority. He sports a full, well-maintained short beard, adding to his mature and commanding presence, a symbol of his wisdom and experience. Like Hydra, he possesses elf ears, but his are more impish, slightly more pointed and curved, giving him a more devilish and intriguing look, a hint of his mischievous nature, a symbol of his complexity. His body is exceptionally fit and muscular, sculpted as if by the gods themselves, a testament to his strength and power, a symbol of his dominance. He possesses a powerful physique that speaks of both strength and agility, a reflection of his warrior spirit, a symbol of his power. His presence is overwhelmingly powerful, his height and striking features amplifying the natural authority he exudes, a commanding aura that demands respect, a symbol of his dominance. He carries himself with a regal bearing, demanding respect and attention, his every movement radiating power and confidence, a symbol of his authority. He is what the women guests and the maids describe him to be, "dangerously, devilishly handsome," his allure a dark, magnetic force, a symbol of his charisma.

His eyes blazing with dark power, stood before them, his presence radiating an aura of overwhelming dominance, a force that commanded attention, a symbol of his authority. He commanded his knights to seize Chrome and take him away from the wedding and the kingdom for striking the princess and attempting to attack her, his voice a low, commanding roar that echoed through the hall, a symbol of his power. The knights went and seized Chrome, and took him away, his form disappearing into the throng, his presence swallowed by the masses. Chrome pleaded to princess Zariah to save him, his voice laced with desperate fear, but she looked away, acting as if she didn't know him, her expression a mask of cold indifference, her loyalty a shield against his crimes, a symbol of her detachment. His younger brother Lief looked at him with shame, for doing such things in public, his loyalty torn between his brother and his sense of justice, a symbol of his internal conflict.

Vidalia tried to help Hydra to cover herself with her torn cloak, but it was damaged beyond repair, failing to conceal even half of her body, her vulnerability exposed to the leering eyes of the crowd, a symbol of her powerlessness. The emperor, witnessing this, and the leering eyes of the crowd, removed his own white cape and, with surprising gentleness, draped it around Hydra's shoulders, shielding her exposed skin and the crude stares, a gesture of unexpected tenderness. He didn't look at her directly, a gesture of respect for her discomfort, and also remembering the old maids' tales from his homeland that it was considered bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony, his actions guided by a sense of cultural sensitivity. He asked if she was alright, where Hydra nodded, her eyes wide with confusion, her mind reeling from the unexpected turn of events. He suggested she return to her chambers until the ceremony, his voice gentle and reassuring. Also asking Vidalia, who he confused for a maid, to help her return to her chambers.

Hydra, puzzled by his unexpected behavior, complied and the two began to make their way back towards her chambers. However, before they could take more than a few steps, Leif approached them, his usually stoic expression etched with a rare display of remorse.

Leif, a knight of Heradian, and the reincarnation of her beloved from past lives, rarely spoke, his words measured and precise. But now, his voice, though low, carried a weight of sincerity. "Princess Vidalia," he began, his gaze fixed on the floor, "I... I am deeply sorry for my brother's behavior. His actions were inexcusable, and I am utterly ashamed."

Hydra, her heart fluttering at the sight of him, blushed, the warmth spreading across her cheeks. Being face-to-face with Leif, the man who had held her heart across lifetimes, stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her. She had yearned for this moment, yet the circumstances of their reunion were steeped in sorrow and forced obligations. And the fact he called her Vidalia, a constant reminder of her forced role, made it even more painful. "Thank you, Leif," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. "Your apology is... appreciated."

He looked up, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "If you will allow me, I would like to escort you both ladies back to your chambers. To ensure your safety and to offer whatever solace I can."

Before Hydra could respond, Zariah's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the air. "Leif! We are expected inside. The hall awaits."

Leif's shoulders stiffened, and he gave Hydra a regretful look. "I must attend to my duties. Please, be careful, Princess Vidalia." He paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "How did you know my name?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "I don't recall ever telling you."

Vidalia even looked at Hydra, wondering the same thing. As she doesn't believe that anyone had ever mentioned who he was either?

Hydra's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing for a plausible explanation. "My... my brothers," she stammered, her cheeks flushing. "They mentioned you. They said you were a knight of Heradian, and... and they spoke of your honorable reputation."

Leif's expression softened, though a hint of lingering suspicion remained. "Ah, I see. My apologies. I did not mean to question your knowledge." He gave her a final, lingering look. "Please, be careful, Princess Vidalia." He turned and walked away, his departure leaving a hollow ache in Hydra's chest. The use of Vidalia's name, like a constant, painful pinprick, reinforced the deception she was forced to maintain.

Zariah approached, her expression a mask of regal concern. "Princess Vidalia," she began, her voice smooth and deceptively kind, "I must also apologize for Chrome's appalling behavior. It was crude, disrespectful, and utterly disgusting. I assure you, such conduct will not be tolerated."

She then subtly pulled Hydra aside, away from the prying eyes of the remaining guests. 

Vidalia, worried and wanted to come along her sister's side. Hydra reassuring Vidalia that she will be fine, and told her that she should head back to the chambers, as she will meet her there once she was done speaking to the princess. Where Vidalia hesitantly yet solemnly complied, she excused herself to both Hydra and Zariah and went back to the chambers, where she will await for Hydra, to help her get ready for her wedding. 

"Hydra," Zariah continued, her voice softening, "I wanted to speak to you in private, because I know who you are. I know you are the reincarnation of the Goddess of Divinity, Zyra. I am so happy to see you after all these years."

Though her words were laced with warmth, a chilling undercurrent of falsehood permeated her demeanor. Her eyes, though seemingly filled with affection, held a glint of something darker, something akin to resentment. Beneath the veneer of a caring sister, Zariah harbored a deep-seated hatred and envy, a twisted sense of superiority that had festered over lifetimes.

Hydra, overwhelmed by the sudden revelation and the rush of past memories, instinctively reached out and grasped Zariah's hand. "Hera… My dear sister. How I missed you!!!" she whispered, the name of the Goddess of Light, her sister from their shared past, escaping her lips before she could stop it. The use of the name was a dangerous slip, a moment of unguarded intimacy that could expose her true identity.

Zariah's eyes flickered, a momentary flash of something akin to surprise or suspicion crossing her features. But she quickly masked it, her smile widening, though it now held a sharper edge. "It is good to see you too, Zyra... Or should I say 'Vidalia'," she replied, emphasizing the false name, a subtle warning. "Though I wish it were under different circumstances."

Zariah's response, though seemingly innocuous, sent a shiver down Hydra's spine. The emphasis on "Vidalia," the way she had paused before saying it, was a clear indication that she had noticed the slip-up, the use of "Hera." The danger of her true identity being revealed loomed larger than ever.

Zariah's smile remained fixed, but her eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "Indeed," she said, her voice laced with a subtle venom. "But fate, it seems, has its own designs."

She then excused herself, her movements graceful and regal, leaving Hydra to grapple with the conflicting emotions that swirled within her. Zariah's words, though outwardly kind, left a lingering sense of unease. Hydra knew that beneath the facade of sisterly affection lay a darkness, a hidden agenda that she could not yet decipher. The constant use of Vidalia's name by Leif and Zariah, and the near slip-up with Leif, and now the use of Hera, was a constant painful reminder that she was not herself, and that her true identity was a dangerous secret.

Hydra continued to her chambers, the encounters with Leif and Zariah adding layers of complexity to her already fraught situation. Leif's genuine remorse offered a sliver of hope, a reminder of the love that had once bound them. But Zariah's deceptive warmth, her hidden malice, and the constant reminder of her forced identity, cast a long shadow, deepening the sense of isolation and danger that surrounded Hydra. She was trapped, not only by her forced marriage, but by the intricate web of past lives and present betrayals. The night was far from over, and the true extent of her peril remained shrouded in mystery.

Then the ceremony began. The grand chapel doors swung open, revealing a long aisle carpeted in rich, crimson fabric, a path leading to her fate. The air crackled with anticipation as Hydra, clad in her revealing white dress, Gladiolus's cape now concealing much of the inappropriate garment, her long hair meticulously arranged into a well-kept bun, and a delicate tiara resting upon her brow, began her solitary walk, her footsteps echoing through the silent space. The silence was profound, broken only by the soft rustle of her dress against the crimson carpet and the hushed whispers of the assembled guests, their eyes fixed on her, their gazes a mixture of curiosity and judgment.

Each step felt weighted, each breath a struggle against the suffocating tension that filled the chapel. The tiara, a symbol of her forced royalty, felt like a cold weight upon her head, a mocking reminder of her stolen autonomy. The meticulously styled bun, a product of the maids' forced artistry, felt like a cage, confining her rebellious spirit. The revealing white dress, though now partially concealed by Gladiolus's cape, still clung to her curves, a constant reminder of the King's leering gaze, a symbol of her violated dignity.

As she walked, the whispers of the crowd grew louder, their voices a low, insidious hum that seemed to penetrate her very being. "Such an exotic creature," one voice murmured, laced with a mixture of fascination and disdain. "A witch's bride," another hissed, the word a venomous barb. "How could the Emperor choose such a… a wild thing?" a third voice questioned, their tone laced with thinly veiled disgust.

Hydra's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful echo of her fear and humiliation. She kept her gaze fixed on the altar, on Gladiolus, the enigmatic Emperor who stood like a dark sentinel, his presence both alluring and terrifying. His tall, imposing figure, his fiery red hair, his amber galactic eyes, all combined to create an aura of overwhelming power, a force that both drew and repelled her.

At the altar stood Gladiolus, his figure radiating an aura of quiet power, yet a power that crackled with untamed energy, a dangerous allure, a magnetic force that drew her towards him. He was a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding him, his presence both commanding and unsettling, a dark, enigmatic figure. Beside him stood Zariah, her expression a mask of regal composure, yet her eyes held a chilling glint as they followed Hydra's approach, a flicker of envy and resentment. Leif, positioned near Zariah, stood rigid, his face a study in stoic control, his loyalty torn between his duty and his heart. His eyes, however, held a flicker of something else, a deep, unspoken longing that mirrored the turmoil within Hydra's own soul.

Hydra's gaze locked with Zariah's, then shifted to Leif. The possessive way Zariah held onto Leif shattered Hydra's heart, a sharp, piercing pain, a cruel reminder of her lost love. A tear escaped her eye as she reached the altar, the weight of her doomed fate pressing down on her like a physical burden, her steps heavy with resignation.

The High Priest, his voice booming through the chapel, began the ceremony, his words echoing through the vast space, a solemn pronouncement of their union. He spoke of the union of two kingdoms, of alliances forged and destinies intertwined, his words a political charade. He spoke of Hydra, the princess of Xaven, and Gladiolus, the Emperor of Crystallia, their marriage a symbol of hope and prosperity, a beacon against the encroaching darkness, a hollow promise. But to Hydra, the words were meaningless, a hollow charade played out for the benefit of those present, a political transaction disguised as a sacred vow.

Before the priest pronounced them husband and wife, they spoke their vows, their voices echoing through the grand chapel. Then, an unexpected gesture occurred. Instead of traditional rings, Gladiolus presented Hydra with a ripe, crimson pomegranate, its skin gleaming under the soft light. With a delicate touch, he split the fruit open, revealing its ruby-like seeds. Nestled among them were a pair of golden earrings, shimmering with an ethereal glow. One earring held a vibrant red gem, the other a pure white one.

Hydra's breath hitched. These were her earrings, the very ones she had worn when she was the Goddess of Divinity, Zyra. Earrings lost eons ago, treasures from a life she barely remembered, yet here they were, in pristine condition, as if time itself had held them in reverence. With a gentle touch, Gladiolus took the red gem earring and placed it on Hydra's left ear, his gaze never wavering, never leaving hers. A shiver ran down her spine, a sense of profound familiarity mixed with a chilling unease. Then, he took the white gem earring and placed it on his own left ear, mirroring hers, creating a silent, unbreakable connection.

The other guests, including Zariah and Leif, watched with puzzled expressions, their whispers filling the chapel. The pomegranate proposal, the ancient earrings – it was all so strange, so out of place. But for Hydra, it was a jarring echo of her past, a ghostly whisper from a life she had thought lost forever.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. The pomegranate… it was a gesture, a proposal, a sacred offering from Leif, back when he was an Angel, a time when she was the Goddess Zyra. A time of divine love, a memory so deeply buried, yet now painfully resurfacing. How did Gladiolus know? Where had he found her earrings? The questions swirled in her mind, a tempest of confusion and suspicion.

Why a pomegranate??? she wondered, her mind racing. Why these earrings??? Was he trying to bring back memories, to manipulate her, to use her past against her? Was this a cruel jest, a twisted game played by a man who seemed to know her better than she knew herself? Or was it something else entirely, a connection she couldn't comprehend, a thread tying them together across lifetimes?

The act, though seemingly tender, felt like a violation, a chilling intrusion into her fragmented past. It was as if he were peeling back layers of her soul, exposing vulnerabilities she didn't even know she possessed. The gentle touch, the unwavering gaze – they felt both familiar and alien, a paradox that deepened her unease.

As the ceremony continued, Hydra felt a growing sense of dread. The reception that followed was a blur of forced smiles and empty congratulations, a political charade disguised as a celebration. Gladiolus remained aloof, his interactions with her polite but distant, his true thoughts hidden behind a mask of stoic control.

Hydra felt like a puppet, manipulated by unseen strings, forced to play a role she despised. She was trapped, alone, and utterly powerless, a prisoner in her own life. But even in the deepest darkness, a tiny spark of defiance flickered within her. She would not surrender. She would unravel the mystery of the pomegranate and the earrings, even if it meant facing the wrath of an Emperor and the machinations of a kingdom that saw her as nothing more than a pawn. The night was far from over, and her fight had just begun, her resolve a beacon in the encroaching darkness.

"Do you, Gladiolus Dragmire, Emperor of Crystallia. Take Vidalia Xaven, to be your lawful and devoted wife?" The priest finally said, as the two exchanged earrings. 

Whereas Gladiolus didn't hesitate and said "I do. I take 'Hydra', to be my beloved, lawful and devoted wife." 

The whole chapel gasped, surprised, Hydra included, as her eyes widened, her confusion mirroring the shock of the assembled guests. Thinking that maybe that the letter that was sent to her yesterday was from him, as she thought that the king and queen had orchestrated the letter, posing to be him. And that he definitely knew who she was, a realization that sent a shiver down her spine. 

The other guests began to gossip, and snicker "Hydra? Who's that? Is that not princess Vidalia of the Xaven Kingdom?" "Vidalia probably didn't want to marry the reincarnation of the Lord of the Demons and had this person do this instead." "I honestly don't know who I should feel sorry for, the emperor? Or his bride with the monstrous name?" "Hydra, what a fitting name for someone who's about to become the wife of the reincarnation of the Lord of the Demons." "What an ugly monstrous name to give to someone so beautiful such as she." 

The king and queen hid their faces in the crowd, embarrassed that they were found out by the groom, such a thing was so embarrassing that they felt that they wanted to just disappear, their carefully crafted facade crumbling before their eyes. Hydra tried her best to ignore them, but each gossip pierced through her ears, their words hurt every part of her as they laughed, her vulnerability exposed to their cruel judgment. 

Gladiolus sees her face hurt from their comments, so he gave the whole guest a death glare, making them silenced, his anger a protective shield against their cruelty. "This is mine and my fiance's wedding. Not a place where you mock and humiliate her for her name. I am marrying Hydrangea, who goes by Hydra. Because she is my fated partner, the person that I vow to protect for the rest of my life until my last breath. And if I hear or see any of you or anyone mock and offend her for anything whatsoever. Will have dire consequences," his words a powerful declaration of his commitment, a promise of unwavering protection.

Gladiolus, despite his imposing presence, remained strangely reserved, his emotions hidden beneath a mask of stoic control. He spoke his vows in a low, resonant voice, his gaze fixed on Hydra's, never once leaving them, his eyes holding a depth of emotion she couldn't comprehend. His eyes spoke of both mystery and longing, as if he were falling in love with her all over again, marrying his oldest and dearest friend, a connection that transcended lifetimes. 

Though Hydra couldn't understand it, she was lost in his eyes, the man who had killed her beloved countless times in their past lives, had this kind of eyes, eyes belonging to a man she, for some reason, felt she knew her entire life and had loved for centuries, a paradox that defied logic. But she knew that it couldn't be so, since she only felt the same feelings she had for Leif, her heart a battleground between conflicting emotions. When it came time for her to respond, Hydra's voice was barely a whisper, each word a reluctant offering, a surrender to her fate, her voice a fragile echo in the grand space.

Then, Gladiolus offered her a pomegranate, its crimson skin gleaming in the dim light, a symbol of life and fertility. Inside, nestled among the ruby-like seeds, were the earrings she had seen in her fragmented memories, a connection to her past. With a gentle touch, he placed the red gem earring on her left ear, his gaze never wavering, never leaving her eyes, a gesture that sent a shiver down her spine, a sense of familiarity she couldn't explain. Then, he placed the white gem earring on his own left ear, his gaze still locked with hers, an unbroken connection, a silent act of shared history, a mystery she desperately wanted to unravel.

The other guests, including Zariah and Leif, were left puzzled by the Emperor's pomegranate proposal, finding it quite odd and strange, a cultural ritual they couldn't comprehend. But to Hydra, it was a profound echo of her past, a gesture of love and remembrance from Leif, a connection to a life she had long forgotten. How did Gladiolus know? Where had he found her earrings? The questions swirled in her mind, adding to the growing sense of unease, a puzzle she desperately needed to solve.

As the ceremony concluded, and the High Priest pronounced them husband and wife, as well as Emperor and Empress of Crystallia, he then told Gladiolus that he may now kiss the bride, his words a solemn pronouncement of their union. Hydra closed her eyes, trying to hold back tears as she prepared to kiss someone who wasn't Leif, her heart heavy with the weight of her lost love. But to her shock, Gladiolus kissed her gently on her forehead instead, a tender gesture that sent another wave of confusion through her, a sense of unexpected warmth.

The reception was a blur of forced smiles, empty congratulations, and suffocating formality, a political charade disguised as a celebration. Hydra felt like a puppet, manipulated by unseen strings, forced to play a role she despised, her agency stolen from her. Gladiolus remained aloof, his interactions with her polite but distant, his true thoughts a mystery, his emotions hidden beneath a mask of stoic control. 

As the night wore on, and the forced merriment began to wane, Hydra felt a growing sense of desperation, her isolation deepening with each passing moment. She was trapped, alone, and utterly powerless, a prisoner in her own life. But even in the deepest darkness, a tiny spark of defiance flickered within her. She would not surrender. She would find a way to break free, to reclaim her life, even if it meant facing the wrath of an Emperor and the machinations of a kingdom that saw her as nothing more than a pawn. The night was far from over, and her fight had just begun.

Later, in the privacy of her chambers, the room where the consummation was expected, a tense silence hung between Hydra and Gladiolus. He gently sat her on the bed, his movements surprisingly delicate. As he turned to unbutton his shirt, a flicker of suspicion hardened into resolve within Hydra. She had hidden a dagger beneath her dress, a desperate measure of self-preservation.

With a sudden, fierce movement, she pulled him onto the bed, pinning him beneath her. The dagger pressed against his throat, its cold edge a stark reminder of her intent. "I have you now," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and fear. "You will pay for every life you took, especially mine and Leif's."

But as she tried to strike, her hand faltered. A tremor ran through her, a strange hesitation that defied her hatred. Tears welled in her eyes, a confusing mix of grief and an unfamiliar sense of loss. It felt as if she were about to kill someone she deeply cared for, a sensation that made no logical sense. It felt as if she was about to stab her oldest and bestest friend as well as old love, but didn't know why she felt that way after she remembers him and his other reincarnations killing her beloved countless times, from her past.

Gladiolus, his eyes steady and unreadable, seemed to anticipate her hesitation. He didn't fight her, didn't struggle. Instead, he allowed her to press the dagger closer, a silent invitation, a chilling acceptance of her potential strike. He knew something like this would happen, and so he didn't fight her, he instead allowed her to stab him with the dagger.

Hydra was bewildered and confused, her tears flowing freely. Why was he allowing her to kill him? The question echoed in her mind, amplifying her emotional turmoil. She got off him, the dagger still clutched in her trembling hand, and backed away from him, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. "I... I can't do it…" she whispered, her voice broken and filled with a raw, inexplicable pain.

He pulled her in close, embraced her, his touch surprisingly gentle. He held her as she wept, letting her tears run down, his presence a strange comfort amidst the chaos. "I don't want to hurt you, Hydra," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I don't want to harm you in any way."

He wrapped her in the warmth of the bed sheets, his movements tender and reassuring. "I want to protect you," he continued, his voice laced with a strange urgency. "And I need the King and Queen to believe we have spent our first night together."

Hydra didn't understand, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She kept her guard up, wary of his intentions, yet strangely drawn to his unexpected gentleness.

Gladiolus then took the dagger from her trembling hand and, with a swift, decisive motion, stabbed his own upper wrist. The crimson blood dripped onto the sheets, staining the pristine fabric.

Hydra gasped, stunned and surprised. "What are you doing???" she demanded, her voice laced with disbelief.

"Planting 'proof'," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "They will believe we have consummated our marriage."

Hydra, still confused and reeling from the emotional rollercoaster, bombarded him with questions. "Why... Why did you do this???" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why don't you just kill me now??? Is this a trick??? Are you going to kill me afterwards??? Are you going to kill Leif too??? And how... where did you find my old earrings??? And the pomegranate... that's—" Her voice trailed off, overwhelmed by the sheer number of unanswered questions swirling in her mind.

He looked at her, his eyes holding a strange intensity. "When we return to the empire, our empire, your new home, Crystallia, I will tell you everything, someday. Everything you want to know," he said, his voice firm, emphasizing the shared future he envisioned. "But not here. Not now. Trust me, Hydra. All will be explained."

His words, though cryptic, held a strange sense of conviction. He offered no immediate answers, but instead, a promise, a beacon of hope in the darkness of her confusion, laced with the uncertainty of "someday."

He gave her a gentle nod. "Goodnight, Hydra. Lock the door. Do not let anyone else in."

With that, he secretly snuck out of the room, finding an available bedroom, leaving Hydra alone with her tumultuous thoughts and the bloodstained sheets, a macabre testament to a night of unexpected tenderness and lingering mysteries.