The groom's mask fell; it was not Asher's face beneath. Silence hit the Ceremonial Hall like a struck gong. Stone benches held dozens of auras—blue, green, thin silver veils of spirit—frozen mid-breath. Candles guttered; even the incense held still. Riley stood at the altar, palms flat on the Lumin Stone's cool rim. Her wedding sash hung straight. The carved runes on the stone glowed faint, hungry. Above them, the rafters hummed with the gathered ranks: elders, visiting masters, junior acolytes. All eyes had come for one name. When the mask slipped, the room did not murmur. It hissed—hot, sharp—the sound of the air being cut. "It can't be—" someone near the back breathed. The face under the mask was younger than Asher, quieter. Mason's face. Soft jaw, eyes like old iron. He looked as if someone had handed him a role he had never asked for. Riley's fingers tightened. A laugh crawled up someone's throat and died. Nikolai Wood's shadow fell across the altar; his aura flared, black-gold, a tide no one dared meet. He had the power to bind or unbind vows here. He had the authority to declare the ceremony void at a word. His jaw was a line of stone. "Explain." Nikolai's voice arrived like a commandment. No one moved. The hush stretched taut. Mason's mouth opened. He did not reach to lift the mask back on. He simply stood there