The bus came to a halt, and for a moment, the silence was more deafening than a stadium crowd. Jax tried to open the door, but the handle felt like it was made of ice, searing his palm. "Power's dead," Sarah whispered, staring at her dead tablet. "The batteries were at ninety percent." Elara stepped out first, her heels clicking on the white gravel with a sound like breaking teeth.
The air didn't smell like the countryside; it smelled like burnt hair and expensive, antique perfume.
A man emerged from the shadows of the portico, dressed in a suit that looked woven from shadows. His skin was the color of a lead pipe, smooth and poreless, reflecting the blue lantern light. "Miss Vance," he said, and his voice didn't come from his throat, but from the air around them.
"I am Silas. The ceremony is prepared. The guests have traveled very far to hear you." "Where are the bridesmaids? The caterers?" Elara asked, looking at the dark, silent windows. "They are within. They prefer the shade," Silas replied, bowing with a stiff, mechanical grace.
The band unloaded their gear, but the instruments felt heavier, as if the gravity here was denser. Leo dropped a drumstick; it didn't bounce, it simply thudded and stayed, stuck to the ground. They entered the foyer, a cavernous space lined with mirrors that didn't show the ceiling. Elara caught her reflection, but her eyes looked different—larger, darker, reflecting a light that wasn't there. "This place is incredible," Sarah whispered, though she was shivering uncontrollably in the heat.
The walls were covered in tapestries depicting stars that didn't belong to the Milky Way. There was no electricity, yet the chandeliers glowed with a soft, pulsing violet luminescence. "Setup on the dais," Silas instructed, pointing to a platform made of polished obsidian. Jax plugged his bass into the vintage amp provided, but no hum of electricity followed. He struck a string; the note was deep, vibrating the very marrow of Elara's bones. "That's not a standard A-tuning," Jax muttered, looking at his shaking hands. "The air is thick."
Elara looked up at the gallery, where figures sat in absolute stillness, draped in heavy veils.
They didn't speak, they didn't cough, they didn't move; they simply waited for the sound. "Everything is normal," Elara lied to her band, her voice trembling just enough to notice. "It's just an eccentric, high-society wedding. Just sing, get the money, and we leave." But as she spoke, she saw a drop of black liquid fall from a chandelier and hiss on the floor. The "Founders" were watching, and the air began to vibrate with the hunger of a thousand years.
Silas reappeared with a tray of silver flutes filled with a liquid that looked like liquid mercury. "Drink," he urged. "It will help you reach the frequencies required for the union."