"Yes."
She squeezes my hand. "We've got this."
Borgat begins the rite. Ancient words, rhythmic and deep. I respond in kind, reciting the oaths I memorized.
Then the human portion. Trinity's friend officiated, someone legally certified, which apparently matters.
We exchange tokens. I give Trinity a carved bone bracelet, traditional orc craftsmanship. She gives me a copper ring stamped with her bakery's logo.
"So you remember where home is," she murmurs.
Home.
The word sits strange and solid in me.
We seal it with the forehead press, then a kiss. The witnesses approve with varied cultural expressions—orc chest-thumps, human applause.
It's done.
Hybrid title. Recognized bond. A future that's messy and uncertain and ours.
Later, in Trinity's tiny studio, we collapse on her bed.
"That was exhausting," she says.
"Agreed."
"But good?"
"Very good."
She rolls to face me. "So. Officially partnered. How's it feel?"
I consider. "Terrifying."
She laughs. "Romantic."
"Also romantic."
"Which part terrifies you? The commitment? The cultural blending? My aunt's casserole?"
"All of it." I trace her jaw. "Mostly losing you."
Her expression shifts. "Korgan?—"
"I know it's irrational. We just formalized everything. But you're human. Your world is—" I search for words. "Bigger. Brighter. Full of opportunities I can't provide. What if you wake up one day and realize you've tied yourself to someone who doesn't fit?"
Trinity's silent for a moment.
Then she sits up, tugs me upright too.
"Okay. Let's make a deal."
"A deal."
"A bargain. Orc-style negotiation." She's completely serious now. "You're afraid I'll choose the human world over you. I'mafraid you'll decide I'm not worth the political headache and cultural compromise. So we make promises. Real ones."
"I'm listening."
