Ashford Estate. Wedding Day.
The manor had been transformed.
Red silk banners hung from every pillar. Paper lanterns swayed in the afternoon breeze, casting warm light across the stone pathways. Servants rushed between buildings carrying trays of food and drink, their voices mixing with the murmur of gathered guests.
For a declining family in a border town, the Ashfords had pulled out every resource they had. This wedding would be remembered. It had to be.
Cael stood at the entrance to the main hall, dressed in ceremonial robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold. His father had insisted on the traditional colors. A new beginning, Marcus had said. The start of our family's revival.
If only he knew how right he was.
The courtyard was packed with guests—local merchants, minor nobles, representatives from neighboring towns. Anyone with even a passing connection to the Ashford family had received an invitation.
Almost all of them had come.
From the Sterling family?
Three people.
Cael watched the small procession enter the estate grounds.
An elder he didn't recognize walked at the front, expression bored, posture radiating I don't want to be here. Behind him came a young maid, head bowed, carrying a small chest of what were presumably Sera's belongings.
And between them, supported on the maid's arm, walked the bride herself.
Sera Sterling.
The crowd went silent.
She was beautiful.
Cael had expected beauty. The Sterling bloodline was famous for it, and even the reports he'd read had mentioned Sera's legendary appearance.
But reading about something and witnessing it were entirely different experiences.
Her face was pale—too pale, the pallor of illness rather than cosmetics—but it only enhanced the ethereal quality of her features. High cheekbones. Delicate jaw. Lips the color of winter roses. Hair like spun midnight, pinned up in an elaborate style that someone had clearly spent hours arranging.
And her eyes...
Dark. Deep. Utterly empty.
Like looking into a frozen lake and realizing there was nothing beneath the surface.
She wore wedding robes of white and silver—Sterling colors, not Ashford. A final subtle insult from her family.
They really don't care about her at all.
Cael felt something cold settle in his chest. Not anger, exactly. Something quieter. More patient.
I'll remember this.
The ceremony proceeded.
Guests whispered among themselves, unable to look away from the bride. Half of them were captivated by her beauty. The other half were wondering why such a goddess was marrying into a backwater family like the Ashfords.
The young men in attendance looked at Cael with naked envy. How does a nobody like him get a woman like that?
If only they knew what she really was.
Not a burden. Not damaged goods.
A future Overlord.
But Cael's attention wasn't on the crowd. It was fixed on the woman beside him.
Specifically, on the way her hand trembled in his.
The traditional ceremony required kneeling. Three times—once to the heavens, once to the ancestors, once to the parents.
For most couples, it was a formality. Bend the knee, bow the head, rise again. Simple.
For Sera, it was torture.
Cael felt it the moment she began to lower herself. Her grip on his hand tightened convulsively. Her breathing grew shallow. A fine tremor ran through her entire body.
She was in agony.
Every movement sent waves of pain through her shattered Divine Marrow. The spiritual damage wasn't just crippling her cultivation—it was destroying her body from the inside out.
And yet she didn't make a sound.
No gasp. No whimper. No plea for mercy.
She simply knelt, bowed, and rose again, her face a mask of serene composure that betrayed nothing of the hell she was experiencing.
Three times.
This woman, Cael thought, watching her from the corner of his eye, has a spine of iron.
The ceremony concluded without incident.
No dramatic interruptions. No jealous rivals bursting through the doors. No sudden revelations or last-minute betrayals.
Just a quiet, dignified wedding between a declining family's heir and a crippled daughter no one wanted.
The Sterling elder departed almost immediately afterward, not bothering with pleasantries or well-wishes. He'd fulfilled his obligation. Nothing more was required.
Cael watched him leave, then turned to look at Sera.
She was staring at the elder's retreating back. Her expression hadn't changed—still calm, still composed—but something flickered in those empty eyes.
Pain.
Not physical this time. Something deeper.
"He's not coming, is he."
It wasn't a question.
Sera's voice was soft. Melodic. The kind of voice that should have been reciting poetry or singing ballads, not speaking words heavy with quiet despair.
"Your father," Cael said.
"My father." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. "The great Patriarch Sterling. Too busy to attend his own daughter's wedding."
She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"I knew he wouldn't come. I told myself it didn't matter. That I'd already accepted being discarded." Her hands clenched in her lap. "But some part of me still hoped..."
She trailed off.
Cael said nothing. What was there to say? Sorry your family treats you like garbage? Hollow words wouldn't help.
Instead, he reached out and placed his hand over hers.
She flinched—surprised by the contact—then slowly relaxed.
"From today forward," Cael said quietly, "you're an Ashford. Whatever the Sterling family did or didn't do no longer matters."
Sera looked at him. Really looked, for the first time since she'd arrived.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"What did you expect?"
"Resentment. Disappointment. Disgust." She shrugged one delicate shoulder. "You were supposed to marry my sister. Instead, you got the cripple. Most men would be furious."
"Most men are fools."
The words came out with more conviction than Cael had intended. But he didn't take them back.
Sera studied him for a long moment. Whatever she saw in his face, it made something shift in her expression.
Not hope. Not yet. She was too broken for hope.
But perhaps... curiosity.
"You're strange, Cael Ashford."
"I've been told."
That Night. Bridal Chamber.
The room had been prepared with obvious care. Fresh flowers in porcelain vases. Scented candles casting soft light across silk sheets. A bottle of wine and two glasses on the bedside table.
Everything a wedding night should have.
Sera sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, cheeks flushed with something between embarrassment and resignation.
She knew what came next. What was expected of her.
She was a wife now. This was her duty.
It didn't matter that her body screamed in protest at the mere thought of exertion. It didn't matter that every nerve ending felt like exposed wire. She would endure, as she always endured.
Just close your eyes and let it happen.
The bed shifted as Cael sat beside her.
Sera tensed, preparing herself—
And then he simply... put his arm around her. Gently. Carefully. Like she was something precious that might break.
"Husband?" The word felt strange on her tongue.
"You're exhausted," Cael said. "And you're in pain. Don't think I didn't notice during the ceremony."
Sera's flush deepened. "I can manage. It's my duty to—"
"Your duty," Cael interrupted, "is to rest and recover. Everything else can wait."
She stared at him.
In her entire life, no one had ever prioritized her wellbeing over her usefulness. Her father had valued her talent. The clan elders had valued her potential. Even the servants had only cared for her because of her status.
No one had ever looked at Sera Sterling—not the genius, not the prodigy, just Sera—and decided that she mattered.
Until now.
"But..." She struggled to find words. "I can't give you anything. I can't cultivate. I can't fight. I can't even walk without help. What use am I to you as a wife if I can't even—"
"Sleep."
Cael pulled her gently down onto the pillows, arranging the blankets over her with practiced efficiency.
"We have time. There's no rush."
Sera's eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.
"You're too kind," she whispered. "You'll regret marrying me."
Cael's hand brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"I don't think I will."
She fell asleep within minutes, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
Cael remained awake, watching her breathe.
Too kind, she says.
He almost laughed.
Kindness had nothing to do with it. He was playing a long game, and Sera was the most valuable piece on the board. Rushing things would be foolish. Counterproductive.
But...
Looking at her now—this broken woman who'd been abandoned by everyone who should have protected her—Cael felt something beyond calculation stir in his chest.
She deserved better than what life had given her.
And he was going to make sure she got it.
The Sterling family threw you away like trash, he thought. They have no idea what they've lost.
But I know.
And I'm going to show them.
The ingredients for the Genesis Restoration Pill were nearly gathered. Another week, perhaps two, and he'd have everything he needed.
Once her Divine Marrow was restored, everything would change. Her cultivation would return—stronger than before, if his research was correct. Her body would heal. The constant pain would fade.
And then...
Then they'd have children. Powerful children. Children with Aureate-grade potential running through their veins.
The Ashford bloodline would be reborn.
And the world would tremble.
Sleep well, wife, Cael thought, finally closing his own eyes. Your suffering ends soon.
I promise.