The ballroom opened before them, and Emily felt her heart might burst.

  She'd imagined this day a thousand times in the darkness of the catacombs. Pictured every detail. The flowers, the music, the people she loved gathered to witness.

  This was better.

  The ballroom gleamed under crystal chandeliers. Afternoon sunlight poured through tall windows, painting everything gold. A few rows of chairs lined the aisle, and several seats were occupied.

  Translucent servants sat scattered among them. Edward's manifestations, echoes of people who'd worked here long ago. The butler's form was clearest, standing at Edward's shoulder. The others were vaguer, like half-remembered dreams, but they sat in respectful silence, turned toward the aisle.

  Edward had tried. He'd given her witnesses. Even if they weren't real, even if they were just fragments of memory given shape and purpose, he'd tried to give her the wedding she'd wanted.

  At the front of the room stood Father Bevin, robed and ready. Edward waited beside him. Her Edward, solid and real. When their eyes met, his filled with tears. He looked like he was seeing the sun for the first time.

  Cara and William sang from the side, their voices blending beautifully.

  Emily realized she'd been rushing. She slowed her pace deliberately, matching the rhythm of the song. One step, then another. The aisle felt impossibly long and far too short at the same time.

  Edward's face grew clearer with each step. The hope in his eyes. The trembling in his hands. The way he stood straighter when she drew near, as if her presence alone could make him whole again.

  When they reached the front, Emily felt lightheaded. The world narrowed to just Edward's face. She barely noticed John stepping away, taking his seat. Barely registered Father Bevin's welcoming smile.

  There was only Edward, reaching for her hand.

  John found a seat in the front row as Father Bevin opened the small prayer book he'd brought.

  "We are gathered here," the priest began, his voice carrying easily through the ballroom, "in the sight of Alora and these witnesses, to join Edward and Emily in holy matrimony."

  The ghosts didn't react. They just stared at each other, hands clasped, completely oblivious to everything else in the room.

  John suppressed a grin. Father Bevin could probably set the building on fire and neither of them would notice.

  "Marriage is a sacred bond," Father Bevin continued, undeterred. "A promise that transcends the mortal world. These two have already proven the strength of their devotion. Seventy years of separation could not break what they share."

  Emily was crying. Edward's eyes never left her face, drinking in every detail like he was memorizing her all over again.

  "Edward. Emily." Father Bevin's voice grew softer. "You have already walked through darkness. Already endured what would break lesser souls. The vows we speak today are not a beginning. They are an affirmation of what is already true."

  Cara and William stood perfectly still, caught up in the gravity of the vows.

  "Edward Thornwick," Father Bevin said. "Will you take Emily as your wife? Will you love her in truth, as you have loved her in absence?"

  "I will." Edward's voice was raw. "Always."

  "Emily Whitmore, will you take Edward as your husband? Will you choose him, as you chose him seventy years ago, as you have chosen him every day since?"

  Emily couldn't speak. She just nodded, over and over, until finally she managed: "Yes. Yes. I will."

  "Then by the power granted to me," Father Bevin said, his voice carrying through the ballroom, "by the grace of Alora, I pronounce you husband and wife." He looked at Edward with gentle kindness. "You may now kiss your bride. Finally."

  Edward cupped Emily's face in his hands like she was something precious and fragile. Emily rose on her toes to meet him.

  When they kissed, the whole room seemed to hold its breath.

  Light began to emanate from where they touched—soft, golden, warm. It spread outward from them in gentle waves, washing over the assembled guests like a blessing.

  A shudder ran through the mansion. Not the violent tremors from before, but something gentler. Something settling after years of strain, like an old house finally allowed to rest.

  Father Bevin let out a breath and swayed slightly, catching himself on his cane. Beside him, Cara gasped softly, her free hand pressing against her heart. William's arm tightened around her, his own expression one of relief, as if some invisible weight had lifted from the air itself.

  John hadn't felt anything. Just the light. The warmth.

  The manifestations began to disappear. The ghost servants faded like morning mist under sunlight, their blurred features peaceful as they vanished. Within heartbeats, the chairs were empty.

  All except the butler, who remained at Edward's side. He reached up with trembling fingers and wiped at his eyes, leaving wet tracks down his too-perfect cheeks.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Father Bevin stood waiting, his prayer book still open. He looked expectant at first, then puzzled when nothing changed.

  The ghosts remained. Edward and Emily, still holding each other. Still very much present.

  "Why haven't you moved on?" Father Bevin asked gently. "You're married now. You should be at peace."

  Edward looked at him like the question made no sense. "Move on? Why would we leave now that we finally have each other?"

  Emily nodded, smiling through her tears. "Especially now. Now we can have children. Raise a family together. Live the life we were supposed to have."

  The room went quiet.

  Cara's eyes widened. William looked between the ghosts and John. Father Bevin seemed genuinely confused.

  "Children?" the priest repeated carefully. "But you're dead."

  Emily looked at John with surprise. "You didn't tell them what this was for?"

  "In my defense," John said, standing, "I only figured it out this morning."

  Cara blinked. "Figured what out?"

  John gestured to the ghosts, then to the mansion around them. "The children from Eric the Red's dungeon. They won't trust anyone. Not even the Valebrants, and Leon's about as non-threatening as nobility gets."

  And where else could they go? Regular orphanages were overcrowded places where staff barely had time to feed everyone, let alone deal with severe trauma.

  These kids needed stability. Safety. People who wouldn't abandon them when things got difficult. Ghosts couldn't abandon anyone, they were literally bound here. And these two had already proven they wouldn't give up."

  He met Edward's gaze. "They need ghosts who can protect them. Absolutely. No abuser, no kidnapper, nothing can get past Edward in his own domain."

  Emily's hand went to her mouth. "They were in a dungeon?"

  Father Bevin shook his head. "This is unprecedented. I'm not sure it's wise—"

  "Then stay," John said. "All of you. Run this place together."

  Cara's head snapped toward him. William stared, his mouth slightly open.

  John looked at Father Bevin, holding the old priest's gaze. "Your church is dying. No money, no congregation. But here? You'd have children who need guidance. Ghosts who need... grounding."

  The old priest hesitated, his weathered hands tightening on his cane.

  "I work for the Valebrants," William said, though his voice was uncertain.

  John waved a hand dismissively. "I'll pay double what they give you. Leon won't mind me stealing you anyway."

  "Uh—" William began.

  "Great!" John clapped his hands once, cutting off any protest. He pulled his coin purse from his spatial ring and held it out to Father Bevin. "This should cover getting started. Repairs, food, clothes for the children."

  The purse was heavier than Father Bevin expected. His hands dipped as he took it, and when he loosened the drawstring to look inside, his expression shifted to shock. "How much is this?"

  "Lots. It’s my bounty for killing Eric the Red." John shrugged. "Seems fitting it goes here."

  Father Bevin stared at the coins, his eyes wide. "Alora's mercy. This could feed a hundred children for years."

  "We could really do this," Cara said, looking between William and the ghosts. The fear from earlier had burned away, replaced by something brighter. "I was the oldest of seven. I know how to look after children."

  William nodded, his hand finding hers. "We both grew up in the poorest district. We can teach them street smarts too—how to read people, spot danger, protect themselves."

  Edward hadn't moved. He still held Emily close, and when he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "I always wanted children."

  Emily's hand came up to touch his cheek. "It won't be easy," she said gently. "They'll be frightened. Hurt. Some might not trust us right away." Her smile was watery but genuine. "But we get to be parents, Edward. Finally."

  Something shifted in Edward's expression. "We have time. All the time in the world."

  "And they will learn to trust us," Emily said with quiet certainty. "We just need patience."

  Edward met John's eyes. "When can we start?"

  "As soon as we can arrange it. I need to talk to Leon Valebrant, work out the logistics." John looked around at the group. "This is your last chance to back out."

  Cara's answer came immediately. "I'm staying."

  William glanced at her, then at the ghosts, then at Father Bevin. He took a breath and straightened his shoulders. "So am I."

  Father Bevin was quiet for a long moment. His weathered hands gripped his cane as he looked between the eager young faces and the translucent couple still holding each other. Finally, he let out a slow breath.

  "I've served Alora for forty years," he said quietly. "I thought I understood her grace. Her mercy." He looked at Edward and Emily. "But this... ghosts raising orphans in a haunted mansion. It defies everything in the scripture."

  Edward's expression faltered slightly.

  "And yet," Father Bevin continued, his voice strengthening, "what better mercy could there be? Children who need love, given to those who have endless patience. Parents who want children, given purpose beyond their grief." He straightened, a smile breaking across his weathered face. "Perhaps this is exactly the kind of grace Alora would provide."

  He looked at John. "Then I believe we have our answer." He turned to Edward and Emily, and his expression softened. "But first—you two just got married. That deserves at least a toast."

  The butler disappeared and returned moments later carrying a dusty bottle and crystal glasses on a silver tray.

  They gathered in a loose circle. Father Bevin poured for the living guests. The ghosts held empty glasses, but it didn't seem to matter.

  "To Edward and Emily," Father Bevin raised his glass. "Who proved that love outlasts death itself."

  "To Edward and Emily," the others echoed.

  The ghosts looked at each other, and Emily's eyes filled with tears again. Edward kissed her forehead gently.

  "You should have tonight," John said after a moment. "We'll come back in a few days with supplies, give you time to actually be newlyweds."

  "Tomorrow," Edward said firmly. His arm tightened around Emily. "Come back tomorrow."

  They left together, filing out to where the carriage waited. Edward and Emily stood at the mansion entrance, watching. Emily leaned against her husband’s shoulder, and for the first time since John had met her, she looked truly at peace.

  John's mind was already racing ahead as they climbed into the carriage. He needed to talk to Leon, explain the situation in a way that didn't sound completely insane. "So I found this haunted mansion with friendly ghosts who want to adopt orphans" probably wasn't going to cut it.

  But diverting the Magister was no small thing. He could spend some of that goodwill on this.

  The carriage rolled forward, wheels crunching over gravel and weeds. John leaned back against the seat and watched through the window as the mansion grew smaller behind them. Ahead, late afternoon sunlight painted the road gold, stretching shadows long across the countryside.

  He had work to do.