Chapter 9: Vows
Zaira's Vows
Zaira stands before Zevren, the weight of everything she's endured, and everything they've built, heavy in the air between them. Her voice is steady, but the sincerity in her eyes cuts through the space like a knife.
"Zevren… when I first met you, I never imagined standing here today. You have been my protector, my confidant, and at times, my greatest challenge. But through all of that, I learned what it means to trust. What it means to give someone not just your body, but your soul."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts, her voice thick with emotion.
"I vow to stand by your side, no matter what the future brings. I vow to never let the shadows of the past cloud what we have now. I promise to fight for us, for our love, even when the world seems determined to tear us apart. You are the person I choose, not out of obligation, but because every day I want to choose you."
She smiles softly, her voice softening.
"I promise to be your safe haven, your place of peace, no matter what storms we may face. And above all, I vow to love you—always, honestly, and with all that I am."
Zevren's Vows
Zevren stands, his gaze fixed on Zaira. The weight of the moment hangs in the air, but there is a quiet resolve in his expression. His voice is steady but carries a deep sincerity.
"Zaira… when I first laid eyes on you, I never expected to find someone like you. Someone who could understand the complexities of who I am and still accept me. I thought I was broken. But with you, I learned that love doesn't need to be perfect—it just needs to be real."
He takes a breath, his voice unwavering.
"I vow to protect you, not out of duty, but because my heart belongs to you. I promise to honor the trust you've given me and to never take your love for granted. I will fight for us, not just with my hands, but with every part of my being, every decision, every breath I take."
He steps closer, his eyes softening as he speaks with pure affection.
"I vow to be the man you deserve. I vow to grow with you, to challenge you when you need it, and to stand by you when the world tries to tear us apart. And most of all, I vow to love you without reservation, for as long as I breathe, you will always be my first choice, my love, and my life."
The Wedding Vows Were Now in Vain
The remnants of white lace clung to Zaira's shoulder, stained with dirt and blood. Her veil lay shredded somewhere in the chaos, forgotten like the promises they'd made just hours earlier.
Zevren stood across from her, his once-immaculate suit now torn at the seams, blood streaking the pristine fabric. The ring on his finger caught the dying light, a cruel reminder of the love they had sworn to protect.
The battlefield was no place for lovers—only warriors. Only the betrayed and the betrayer.
"You vowed to protect me," she spat, her voice trembling with rage, eyes burning silver beneath the magic that coursed through her. "To stand by my side no matter what."
"And I meant it," Zevren replied, his voice low and unreadable. His sword lowered slightly, but his stance remained guarded. "I never wanted this."
"But you lied!" she hissed. "You knew who I was. You let me walk blind into a marriage built on deceit."
He said nothing. The silence between them thundered louder than the war cries around them. Somewhere, fire bloomed—magic unleashed from another's fight—but the only battle that mattered was here, between them.
Zaira raised her blade again, her voice sharp. "You said love doesn't need to be perfect. It just needs to be real. Was it ever real, Zevren?"
He flinched—barely. But she saw it.
"Yes," he whispered. "Too real."
She hesitated. Just a breath. Just long enough for the ache in her chest to whisper what if—what if they were on the same side? What if it had all been true?
Then the wind shifted. The memory of their kiss still clung to her skin, now tainted with fury.
And so, like lovers caught in the cruel hands of fate, they danced the dance of blades once more—
Each strike not just for survival, but for all the shattered pieces of a love that should've been.
And as their swords clashed again, the vows they'd whispered that morning echoed bitterly in their minds.
"I vow to love you—always, honestly..."
But honesty had died with the first lie.
And love?
Love was bleeding beneath their blades.
Their blades clashed again, sparks flying between them like shards of a fractured vow.
Zaira's breath was heavy, her muscles burning, but her focus never wavered. Every strike, every dodge, every breath was charged with pain—of betrayal, of love turned into war. She spun, ducked, and lunged, her gown in tatters, the edge of her sword aimed true.
Zevren met her blow with a strength honed from years of blood and shadow. His gray eyes never left hers—not once. "Selene," he murmured as their swords locked, metal grinding between them, "you know I never wanted to fight you."
"And yet here we are," she snapped, twisting her blade free. "Wedding rings still on, hearts already broken."
With a sharp movement, she kicked him back, landing lightly on her feet. A wisp of her dark hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat and fury. She flung it away and charged again, blade flashing with pure, focused rage.
Zevren sidestepped, grabbing her wrist. "Stop," he said, his voice rough, desperate. "You don't have to do this."
Zaira froze—for just a heartbeat. But it was enough. The hurt in his voice, the tremble in his grip—it reminded her of the nights they had spent tangled in sheets and whispers, of the way his hand would brush her hair aside in the early morning light.
And for a second… she wanted to believe him.
But she remembered the look on his face when the hooded man said The Ghost is Lancaster.
She twisted her wrist free, drove her elbow into his side, and sent him stumbling. "You made me your enemy, Zevren. You."
Zevren stood slowly, his breaths shallow, his expression unreadable. The scythe-wielding attacker may have vanished—but the true war had only just begun.
The air between them pulsed—magic flaring, swords gleaming, emotions raw.
This wasn't just a battle between assassins.
It was a battle between hearts too full of love, and too full of hurt, to know what to do with it anymore.
They rushed each other again.
And the dance of blades continued.
Until one of them could no longer stand.
"Stop!" Aeris's voice rang out, sharp and desperate, cutting through the tension like a blade.
She stepped between them without hesitation, arms outstretched, eyes blazing with a fury neither had ever seen from her before. Dirt and wind whipped around her gown, her hair unbound and wild.
Zaira halted mid-swing, blade inches from Aeris's shoulder. Zevren had frozen as well, his magic flickering at his fingertips, caught in hesitation.
"Just look at yourselves," Aeris hissed, her voice trembling with emotion. "Still in your wedding clothes, still wearing your rings—and you're ready to kill each other like strangers in the dark."
Zaira's chest rose and fell rapidly. "He lied, Aeris. He lied about everything."
Zevren's voice was low. "I was trying to protect her."
"Protect her by lying?" Aeris snapped. "You both were hiding behind masks—assassin, Ghost, rival—but not once did you think of the people you are underneath those masks."
Zaira lowered her sword slightly, her gaze wavering as she looked at Zevren. His face was blank, but his eyes… those gray eyes were burning with everything he couldn't say.
Aeris stepped closer to Zaira, gently pushing her blade down. "Selene… Zaira… this isn't who you are. You fight for life, not against it."
She turned to Zevren. "And you. You've loved her longer than you'll admit. Are you really going to let secrets tear apart what you two built?"
Silence fell—tense, breathless.
Zevren opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Zaira stood still, sword lowered, hands trembling. The battlefield seemed to exhale around them.
And for the first time… neither of them knew what to do next.
Zaira's breath caught.
"What?" she whispered, the weight of her sword suddenly unbearable in her hand.
Zevren stiffened beside her, jaw clenched. "Aeris, don't—"
"No. She also deserve the truth," Aeris cut him off, voice steady despite the trembling in her fingers. She looked between the two—the woman she considered like a sister, and the man who had been her brother in everything but blood. "This war between you two… this mess, the secrets, the manipulation—it was orchestrated from the start."
She swallowed hard, her eyes on Zaira. "The person who fed you intel, who pitted you against the Ghost… was my father. Director Kael Viremont. And the one who gave Zevren the orders to hunt you down under the Ghost codename… was also him."
Zaira's heart plummeted.
All this time, her informant—the one who claimed to guide her missions, who "protected" her identity, who told her the Ghost was a threat—was his father?
"You're saying…" Zaira's voice cracked, her gray eyes wide with disbelief. "All of this… every mission, every fight… the blood, the betrayal—it was engineered by him?"
Aeris nodded slowly, her expression pained. "He wanted to test you both. To see who was worthy. To create the perfect assassin... or destroy both. And he used your love—your marriage—as the ultimate weapon."
Zevren's fists curled. "I should have told you earlier, Zaira… but I couldn't. Not without putting you in more danger."
She stared at him, shattered. "So, you knew."
"I suspected," he said hoarsely. "I confirmed it two weeks before the wedding. That's what I wanted to tell you… before we were interrupted."
Zaira took a step back, the weight of betrayal crashing all over again—but this time, not from Zevren. Not entirely.
From the shadows, Kael Viremont had twisted their lives like a master puppeteer.
And now… the strings were beginning to snap.
Zaira said nothing. Her fingers loosened around the hilt of her sword until it dropped to the ground with a dull clang that echoed louder than any shout.
She turned away.
Her wedding dress—tattered, stained with ash and blood—fluttered softly in the wind as she began to walk. Each step was silent, yet every footfall screamed of heartbreak. Zevren started to follow her, but Aeris held out her hand.
"Let her go."
He stopped, torn between running after her and collapsing under the weight of what they'd just uncovered.
Zaira didn't look back. Not once.
The battlefield stretched around her, but the war raging inside her was far louder than the chaos left behind. Her heart was breaking. Not because of the fight. Not because of the truths unveiled.
But because deep down, she still loved him.
Hours passed.
The sky turned from golden dusk to the deep indigo of night. The once-bustling wedding venue was now abandoned—chairs overturned, petals scattered like remnants of something beautiful turned tragic.
Zevren stood at the edge of the ruins, still in his torn suit, his eyes scanning the shadows.
"She couldn't have gone far," he muttered, more to himself than to the two guards he sent searching earlier. He ignored the pain lacing his side from the earlier fight and kept walking. Lantern light flickered in his hand, but his mind burned with something else—regret.
He checked the hospital.
He checked her old base.
He checked every place that had even the faintest trace of her presence.
Nothing.
Until—
He found a small trail of blood in the woods outside the estate. Barely visible, but he recognized it instantly. Her wound must've reopened.
He followed it, heart thundering in his chest. His breath hitched when he saw her—sitting by a quiet stream, the moonlight casting a pale glow on her dark hair. Her wedding veil had fallen beside her, forgotten.
"Zaira," he said softly, afraid even his voice might shatter her.
She didn't turn around.
"I never meant to lie to you," he continued, slowly walking closer. "But I did. And I kept too much to myself."
Still, she said nothing.
So he dropped his lantern, letting it roll to a stop, and knelt behind her. "I chose you every time, Selene. Not because it was convenient. Not because it was arranged. But because no matter who you were—the Ghost or the girl who glared at me across a ballroom—I fell for you."
She closed her eyes.
"You don't have to forgive me," he said, voice breaking. "But let me fight for you this time. Not as an assassin. Not as your enemy. But as the man who still wants to be your husband."
Silence.
Then she finally spoke, voice trembling:
"You hurt me, Zevren… deeper than any blade ever could."
His throat tightened. "I know."
She turned slightly, gray eyes locking onto his. "Then show me you still deserve me."
Zevren stepped closer, his breath shallow as he reached out—tentative, careful, as if she might vanish again. His fingers grazed her cheek, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
Zaira didn't move, but she didn't pull away either.
"I thought I hated you," she whispered, "but even when I raised my sword against you… a part of me still hoped you'd catch me. Still hoped you'd fight for me."
He leaned in, his forehead touching hers, eyes closing. "I never stopped fighting for you."
Her hand lifted slowly, resting against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, and entirely real. It wasn't the rhythm of an assassin, or a ghost. It was her husband's.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "Of running. Of hurting."
"Then stop," he murmured, lips brushing her temple. "Stay with me. Hate me. Love me. Break me. Just stay."
She turned to him then, their lips meeting again—not rushed or fueled by fury like before, but slow, deliberate, aching with all that had gone unsaid. His hands slid to her waist as she deepened the kiss, her fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt.
"I still hate you sometimes," she murmured against his mouth.
"Good," he said, smirking. "Makes it more fun when I make you moan my name."
She let out a shaky laugh, smacking his chest lightly, but didn't stop him when he pulled her closer. The tension between them crackled again—not from anger, but from want. From need.
Clothes shifted, touches lingered, but neither of them rushed. There in the quiet, beneath the canopy of trees and stars, the battlefield turned into something else—something raw and real.
He kissed the curve of her neck, voice low and reverent, "Let me remind you what forever can feel like, Zaira."
And this time, she didn't resist.
Their breaths mingled, heavy with longing and forgiveness, as they held each other close. Under the hush of night, with the world momentarily forgotten, they let themselves be vulnerable—no titles, no secrets, no weapons.
Just Zevren and Zaira.
And in the quiet warmth between them, everything else simply faded to black.