MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The interior of the cathedral was designed to steal the breath, and it succeeded. Light streamed through colossal stained glass windows, casting prismatic, shifting patterns across the polished marble floors. The vaulted ceiling soared impossibly high, its white stone carved with intricate scenes of celestial glory and angelic triumphs. At the far end of the impossibly long aisle, the main altar rose on a dais, flanked by golden braziers whose flames burned with a pure, smokeless light.
But it was the congregation that truly commanded Amelia’s attention.
On the left, angelic nobles sat in their finest regalia: robes of white and gold and silver, their feathered wings folded neatly behind them, their expressions carefully, unnervingly neutral. On the right, the demonic delegation sat in stark contrast: dark, impeccably tailored suits and elegant gowns in shades of crimson and black, their eyes gleaming with a sharp, calculating intelligence. The aisle between them felt less like a path and more like a chasm, a declaration of the distance that still separated their two worlds.
Amelia and Harry began their walk. Her hand remained in his, their fingers intertwined, a small point of connection in the overwhelming space. She focused on his presence beside her, on his steady, sure steps, rather than on the crushing weight of every gaze that followed their progress down the long aisle.
The angelic choir began to sing, their voices impossibly pure. The sound filled the space, transcendent and achingly beautiful, a sound meant to evoke peace and heavenly grace. But beneath the perfect harmony, Amelia sensed something else, a dissonant undercurrent. It was a thrumming tension in the air, a feeling of magic gathering like a storm preparing to break. Is this just my nerves? Or is something wrong?
They reached the altar, and the high priest stepped forward to greet them. He was ancient even by angelic standards, his wings a shade of pure, unblemished white, his face lined with the wisdom of centuries. He raised his hands, a gesture of command, and the choir fell silent.
"We gather today," the priest began, his voice resonating through the cathedral with a practiced, melodic cadence, "to witness a union that transcends mere matrimony. This is a binding of realms, a promise of peace, a sacred commitment to end the cycle of hatred that has defined our existence for far too long."
Amelia scanned the congregation as discreetly as she could. There, in the front row on the angelic side, sat Queen Eliza Seymour, Harry’s mother. She sat with perfect, rigid posture, her expression serene, but her eyes held a quality Amelia could not quite name. It was not just maternal pride. It was something more possessive, more controlling. It was a look that made Amelia’s skin prickle with an inexplicable unease.
And there, among the demonic delegation, sat Lord Cassian Dray. The influential adviser to the Demon King was strikingly handsome, his dark hair swept back from sharp, aristocratic features, his suit tailored to perfection. When his eyes met Amelia’s, she felt a jolt of something that felt like recognition, though she was certain they had never met. His expression was unreadable, a mask of polite interest, but something in his intense gaze felt calculated, almost predatory.
"Lady Amelia Liora," the priest intoned, his voice drawing her attention back to the altar. "Do you come to this union freely, understanding the immense weight of what you undertake for your people?"
"I do," Amelia said, her voice clear and steady, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
"Prince Harry Seymour, do you come to this union freely, understanding the sacred responsibility you accept for your realm?"
"I do," Harry replied, his voice firm.
The priest nodded slowly and gestured to his attendants. They came forward bearing a carved wooden box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. When they opened it, it revealed an artifact Amelia recognized from her studies: the Aetheric Seal. It was a crystalline sphere that pulsed with a soft, contained power, and it was said to hold fragments of both pure celestial light and raw infernal fire, bound together by ancient magic into a fragile, perfect balance.
"The Blessing of Union," the priest announced, lifting the sphere from its velvet cushion. "Let the energies of both realms flow through this sacred bond and recognize it as one."
He placed the sphere on a golden pedestal between Amelia and Harry, then gestured for them to extend their hands over it. The moment they did, the sphere began to glow, its internal light brightening.
Light and shadow swirled within the crystal, two distinct forces that danced together without consuming one another. The temperature in the cathedral shifted, becoming both warmer and cooler at the same time. Amelia felt her own magic stirring in response, the shamanic power her father had nurtured rising to meet the powerful ceremonial ritual.
"Join hands," the priest instructed.
Harry’s fingers interlaced with hers over the glowing sphere. The moment their skin touched, power surged between them with an audible crackle. Amelia gasped at the intensity. The sphere’s glow intensified, sending tendrils of pure light and deep shadow spiraling upward toward the vaulted ceiling. She felt magic flowing through her, through Harry, and between them in a circuit that seemed to tap into something vast and ancient.
For an instant, a vision flashed through her mind: great wings unfurling, both feathered and membranous. Fire and starlight dancing together in a cosmic ballet. A sense of power so immense it bordered on the terrifying.
Beside her, Harry made a small, choked sound. His grip tightened on her hand, and his breathing grew labored. When she glanced at him, she saw his jaw was clenched, and a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his brow.
"Harry?" she whispered, a thread of alarm weaving through her.
"I am fine," he managed to say, but his voice was strained, thin.
The energy continued to build, the sphere now blazing so brightly that several members of the congregation had to look away. Amelia felt her own strength being tested, pulled into the ritual’s powerful current. But something felt distinctly wrong. The balance was tilting. The energies were no longer harmonizing. They were clashing.
As the priest raised his hands to begin the final vows, Amelia looked at Harry again. A chill of true fear went through her when she saw that his eyes had gone distant and unfocused, as if he was looking at something far beyond the cathedral walls.
Something is wrong.
The thought crystallized with absolute certainty. But before she could speak, before she could do anything to stop the ceremony, the priest’s voice rang out, powerful and final. "Speak now your vows of union, and let the realms bear witness."