Bride of The Eclipse

The Age Of A Bride And The Proposal

18, a strange age I'd say.

It changes how others see us. At eighteen, we are no longer daughters. We become offerings. The moment the day arrived, the palace shifted—not with celebration, but with quiet preparation. Servants moved more carefully. Messengers came and went with sealed scrolls. Even the air felt heavier, like something inevitable had finally arrived.

Seraphine turned eighteen the same day I did. Fate seem to prefer symmetry when it came to us. Her celebration began at sunrise. Mine was never mentioned.

The palace bloomed in gold that morning. Light poured through the high windows, reflecting off polished marble and gilded pillars. Music echoed through the halls, soft at first, then rising into something grander as more guests arrived. They gathered for her. I stood at the edge of it all, half-hidden behind a column, watching as Seraphine descended the grand staircase like she had been born for that exact moment.

She wore sunlight. Not literally—but it might as well have been. Her gown shimmered in layers of gold-threaded silk, crafted by mortal hands yet enhanced with divine blessing so it would not harm her. It clung to her like admiration itself. Everything about her was designed to be seen.

“Beautiful,” someone whispered nearby. “Perfect,” another agreed. “A bride worthy of the highest gods.”

I looked down at myself. My gown was quieter. Woven from moon-thread, pale and luminous in a way that did not demand attention. It did not shine like hers. It did not draw eyes. It simply existed. Like me. No one announced my name. No one celebrated my age. And yet—I had also become a bride.

The first sign came not from the court—But from somewhere far below it. In the underworld. I did not see it with my eyes. But sometimes, when the night stretches long enough, something within me… llistens

They say the underworld has no light. That everything there exists in shades of shadow and blood and silence too heavy to break. At its center sits a throne not made for comfort, but for dominion. And upon it—Malakar Noctryx. He was not a god. He was something older. Something that did not need worship to exist.

That day, he was looking for a bride. Again. “They did not survive,” one of his men said carefully. “How many?” his voice answered—low, measured, untouched by regret. “A few.”

A pause. Then— “Then find me another.” There was no anger. No frustration. Just expectation. A list was brought to him. Names. Families. “Which family holds power?” Malakar asked. “The Thunder Court,” his servant replied. “The God of Thunder has two daughters of age.” I do not know what made him choose. Perhaps nothing at all. “Send the proposal,” he said. And just like that—Fate moved.

Back in the celestial palace, the first letter arrived before noon. It was not carried like the others. It did not pass through servants or messengers or golden halls.

It appeared. A seal of black wax. The moment it was placed before my father, the room ccanged

“Elira,” my father said quietly. My stepmother’s expression tightened the moment she saw the seal.

“No…” He opened it anyway.

“Well?” Seraphine demanded. My father did not answer immediately. When he finally did, his voice was different. “The Underworld has sent a proposal.” The room seemed to shrink. Seraphine scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re joking.” No one joined her. “For whom?” she asked. And for a moment—No one spoke. Then my stepmother said it. “For this family.”

Seraphine’s smile vanished.At the same time— Another presence entered the palace. Not shadow. Not fear. But light. Unavoidable in a completely different way. The guards did not announce him. They didn’t need to. The moment he stepped into the hall, the atmosphere shifted—not with tension, but with clarity. Like the world had straightened itself. The Sun God had arrived. Solarius Aurelian. I had expected something overwhelming. But he was not like that. His presence was bright, yes—but not harsh. It did not burn. It warmed.

His eyes scanned the room. Seraphine smiled widely, hope sparkles inside her eyes. She loved that guy clearly. But then, The Sun God's gaze found me. For a moment, I forgot how to bbreathe I was seen Not as an afterthought. But as something real.

“Lord Kaeltharion,” he greeted, his voice calm, unwavering. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.” My father inclined his head slightly. “You are always welcome.”

Seraphine had already recovered. She stepped forward, radiant, confident. “My lord,” she said with a smile that had never failed her before. But Solarius did not return it. His attention remained on me. “I have come,” he said, “to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” The words settled into the room like sunlight.

Seraphine’s expression froze. My father nodded slowly. “Which daughter?” And for the first time in my life—The answer mattered. Solarius did not hesitate. “Selene.”