Ophelia walked to the arch and came to a stop at Klein's right side.
The two of them stood face to face.
Klein looked at her.
The high collar of the wedding dress sat close to her neck, the cuffs covered the backs of her hands, and the skirt hung perfectly straight.
The white satin shimmered with a faint luster in the morning light, like the thin ice that forms on a river in winter—clean and quiet, yet with living water flowing beneath.
Raymond opened the booklet in his hand and cleared his throat.
The garden fell silent. The wind happened to stop as well.
“Everyone,” Raymond’s voice was not loud, but every word was articulated clearly. “Today, we are here to witness the union of Klein and Ophelia.”
He paused, lifting his gaze from the booklet to glance at the newlyweds.
His eyes lingered on Klein's face for less than a second.
In that second, his Adam's apple bobbed once.
Then he lowered his head again and continued reading.
“Under the witness of sacred law and those present here today—”
Klein moved his fingers slightly in secret.
Ophelia's peripheral vision caught the small movement. The corner of her mouth twitched for an instant before she quickly suppressed it.
Raymond finished the opening blessings.
It was the standard language for an imperial noble wedding ceremony—not a word too many, not a word too few.
He turned the booklet to the next page.
“Now, the groom will read his vows to the bride.”
Klein took half a step forward.
He spoke.
“I, Klein, hereby swear.”
“From this day forward, I take you as my partner and as my family. Whether in sickness or in health, in poverty or in wealth—”
“In good times or in bad—”
He looked into Ophelia's eyes. They were golden and very bright.
“I will walk with you, never to leave or forsake you, until the end of my life.”
Ophelia looked at Klein, a smile in her eyes, though she didn't let it show on her face. She simply looked at him and gave a very slight nod.
“Now, the bride will read her vows to the groom.”
Ophelia hadn't written a script beforehand. Raymond had provided a template, but she had looked it over once and said she didn't need it.
She spoke directly.
“I, Ophelia, hereby swear.”
Her voice was steadier than Klein's. It wasn't because she was deliberately suppressing her emotions; it was naturally steady.
“From this day forward, you are my husband, and I am your wife.”
There was no flowery rhetoric, no parallelism, and no quoting of classics.
“I will stay by your side. No matter what the path ahead may be, I will be there.”
In the first row of the guest seats, the Sage's fingers tightened slightly on her knees.
Ophelia continued.
“I, Ophelia, am willing to become Klein's knight and to wield the sword for Klein.”
She paused.
“This is my promise, and my choice.”
She was finished.
It was very much something she would say.
Klein was momentarily stunned.
Then he smiled.
He was truly moved but didn't know what other expression to make, so he simply smiled.
He couldn't even suppress the curve of his lips.
Raymond looked down at the booklet again and turned to the next page.
“Please exchange tokens.”
Klein took two rings from his chest pocket.
They were silver, made by his own hands.
These rings were no ordinary items; they were works that condensed his current highest level of alchemy. Words were engraved on the inner bands—words known only to the two of them.
He first picked up Ophelia's ring.
Ophelia extended her right hand.
Klein slid the ring onto her ring finger.
The fit was perfect.
Then Ophelia picked up the other ring.
The ring slid onto Klein's finger.
Her fingertips lingered on his knuckle for a moment before letting go.
Klein looked down at the ring on his hand and flexed his fingers.
The silver band was thin but fit so well it felt as if it had always belonged there.
Raymond closed the booklet.
He didn't turn any more pages.
The required procedures were complete.
“From this moment,” his voice rose slightly in volume, “Klein and Ophelia are officially joined as husband and wife.”
He tucked the booklet behind his back and stood up straight.
“The groom may now kiss the bride.”
When Klein heard these words, he gave a light cough.
It wasn't that he was unprepared, but now that the moment had actually arrived in front of so many people—even if there weren't many—his mind still went blank for a second.
Ophelia looked at him.
She didn't urge him, nor did she show any sign of impatience.
She just watched him.
However, her eyelashes were lowered slightly more than usual, as if she wasn't entirely prepared either.
Klein took a step forward.
He raised his hand, his fingertips brushing the side of Ophelia's face.
Her skin temperature was slightly higher than he had expected.
Then he leaned down and kissed her.
It was light. And short. His lips lingered at the corner of hers for less than two seconds.
As he pulled away, he felt Ophelia's breath graze his jaw.
A faint trace of warm air, as if she had only let out a breath the moment he withdrew.
The Sage sat in her seat, motionless.
Her gaze was fixed on the two people under the arch—the deep blue and the white standing side by side. The morning light cast their shadows onto the path, overlapping with one another.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
Those golden eyes reflected the silhouettes of the couple.
Light and shadow shifted within her pupils.
Then she looked away, focusing on a patch of untended wildflowers in the corner of the garden.
As the wind blew past, her gray-blue skirt fluttered slightly.
She reached out and pressed down on the hem of her dress.
The garden was very quiet, so quiet that the cry of a bird could be heard from the distant fields.
...
Raymond put away the wedding booklet and stepped back, resuming his proper position as a steward.
His expression returned to being meticulous, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were slightly more relaxed than usual.
The wedding was over.
But the liveliness within the manor was only just beginning.
Klein let out a long breath, his shoulders finally relaxing from their stiff posture.
Martha was the first to rush forward.
To be precise, she sprang up from her seat. She moved so fast that Margaret, sitting next to her, didn't even have time to grab her sleeve.
“Congratulations, congratulations, congratulations—”
She said it three times in a row, her eyes and the tip of her nose still red. Her face was wrinkled with a smile as she grabbed Klein's hand and shook it vigorously before turning to grab Ophelia's.
Ophelia let her shake her hands twice without pulling away.
“Miss Ophelia—no, Madam! I should call you Madam!” Martha grew more excited as she spoke, her voice loud enough to startle the birds in the garden. “You look so beautiful in that wedding dress. I almost cried out loud just now—”
“You did cry out loud,” Margaret said as she followed, her tone flat.
Martha’s smile froze for half a second. “...I didn't, did I?”
“The sound of you sniffing was heard throughout the garden.”
Martha's face turned from red to an even deeper red. She gave a dry cough, trying to save the situation. “That was just the wind.”
“There wasn't much wind today,” Klein added, dealing the final blow.
Martha looked at Klein, then at Ophelia, and finally glared at Margaret—surrounded on three sides, with no one to help her.
She chose the wisest strategy: changing the subject.
“Anyway! Congratulations to you both! I’m going back to prepare the snacks!”
With that, she ran off.
She nearly tripped over her own skirt.
Margaret sighed and followed after her. Before leaving, she stopped and performed a perfect, formal bow to Klein and Ophelia.
“Congratulations, Young Master. Congratulations, Madam.”
It was brief and proper, but when she looked up, there was a smile on her lips.
Then she turned and left quickly, giving no one a chance to say anything.
The other maids also stepped forward one by one to offer their congratulations.
Some were bold, others were reserved, and one of the youngest was so nervous she even stammered over the word “congratulations.”
Ophelia nodded to each of them, her gaze resting seriously on their faces.
Raymond stood at a distance, not joining in the commotion, but his gaze remained on Klein.
Once the servants had dispersed, he gave a slight nod and turned to arrange the subsequent matters.
The garden became quiet again.
Klein flexed his fingers and looked down at the ring on his ring finger.
A small patch of sky reflected off the silver surface, shimmering for a moment.
He looked up.
His gaze naturally drifted toward the guest seats.
The first row.
One person was still sitting there.
The Sage hadn't moved.
The surrounding chairs were empty, but she maintained her original sitting posture—back straight, hands on her knees, the gray-blue skirt falling to her ankles.
She hadn't come forward to offer congratulations like the others.
Throughout the entire wedding, she had sat there.
Quietly, without clapping or making a sound, just watching.
Klein walked toward her.
Ophelia followed at his right side, half a step behind.
When the two of them reached the Sage, they stopped almost simultaneously.
Because the Sage had looked up.
The morning sun had not yet risen fully, and it shone obliquely into the garden, illuminating that face clearly.
Klein saw those eyes.
Golden.
A pure, bright gold.
They were exactly the same as the eyes of the person beside him.
He was stunned.
Because it wasn't just the eyes.
He could see shadows of both of them in the Sage's face.
Klein's breath hitched for a beat.
He couldn't describe the feeling. It wasn't that he recognized someone or remembered something; it was a very primal, instinctive reaction that bypassed logic—as if something inside his body had been touched, and his brain hadn't caught up yet.
He turned to look at Ophelia.
Ophelia was also looking at that face.
Her expression rarely changed; that was everyone's impression of her. But Klein was close enough to see her pupils contract.
It was a very subtle reaction.
But Klein had known her long enough. He knew what that reaction meant—it meant she had noticed it too.
Their gazes met for a moment before they both looked back at the Sage.
The Sage sat there, looking back at them.
Her expression remained the same—neither warm nor cold, neither distant nor close, somewhere between polite and detached. It was as if she didn't know why these two had stopped in front of her, as if she were merely a stranger who happened to be sitting there as a guest.
The garden remained silent for a few seconds.
But it was the Sage who spoke first. “Congratulations to you both.”
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